It certainly seems in character!
But my anger at Victarion pales compared to what I think of Theon right now, as the next update will show...
Release The Kraken! {AGoT}
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It certainly seems in character!
But my anger at Victarion pales compared to what I think of Theon right now, as the next update will show...
Chapter VI
Stannis Baratheon is nothing if not determined. Hearing tales of how his city once again lies prostrate before me, Stannis gathered together what men he could at his ancestral seat of Storms End and struck north to drive me from the Crownlands, little knowing that they were now stalked by other beasts. My own numbers depleted from battle and siege, I withdrew by sea to Rosby and watched as the Baratheon army stumbled into the forces of the Upstart Falcon, Harold of the Vale, who now claims the name of Arryn.
My scouts reported that the resulting battle was quite bloody, resulting in the near destruction of both forces, but that ultimately it was Stannis that had to quit the field, only to find his retreat blocked by the advancing armies of the Young Wolf and, striking from the south like the spear that is their symbol, the unbloodied forces of Dorne.
Taking much pleasure in my old enemy's misfortune, I resolved to claim what prize I could from him whilst he yet retained his bald head. I sent envoys to him, offering fair return of his city and his family in exchange for a fortune in gold. He must have hated it, I am certain, but what choice did he have? Gold he had aplenty, yet his soldiers and heirs were rather rarer commodities.
We returned to Pyke richer than ever before, and I set my mind to spending it wisely. My Ironborn had prospered under my reign, the old castle and the village that huddled beneath it could scare contain us. Pyke's walls were once again expanded, and I gave orders for a new town to be constructed nearby, to house our ever-growing numbers. I named it Krakenrock, to honour my house and the Seastone throne on which I sit.
These were days of peace for us, we feasted and watched as Stannis conceded defeat to the Young Wolf and, one enemy placated, somehow beat the Vale into submission, leaving only Dorne to stand against him. It was during that time that a most unusual visitor came to Pyke. Jaime Lannister, The Kingslayer himself, bearing the Valaryian Blade known as Widow's Wail, forged from the Starks ancient blade Ice for Joffrey the Drowned King, borne by Tommen the Never-Crowned until his death, with Ser Jaime informed us had come quite recently from a sudden chill. The Kingslayer offered the sword to my son Dagon as Tommen's last brother, asking only that I release Cersei into his care. I agree to the proposal. Cersei grows old in any event, and it will mean a quieter time of things. We part on far better terms than we met, and she would still visit Pyke on occasion to see her children.
Not long after this, my days of contentment were shattered. My daughter Asha came to me one evening, looking as pleased as I have ever seen her, showing a smile that I have ever distrusted. The Wall, she told me, stood hard pressed by Wildings and worse, and had sent a call for all brave warriors to join the ancientbrotherhood of the Nights Watch. I sneered and asked her if any men of note had been foolish enough to take such offer, renouncing all lands and titles. She laughed and told me that there had been few who took the black, but that chief among them was the famed warrior and champion of the North, Theon Greyjoy.
My rage at my idiot son knew no bounds. With a single oath he had turned my plans for the Dragon Princess to broken kindling. Now even if my brother passes early to the Drowned God's halls Theon will never wed Daenerys. The Night's Watch take no wives. Worse, the fool had robbed me of a male heir. Asha now stands to inherit my crown, but she refuses all suitors and is as well approaching the end of her childbearing days. My children by Cersei are too close to their mother, and I would not hand the Seastone Chair to the Lions.
I turn thought to Victarion, but his Dragon Princess is yet to show signs of pregnancy, and not for want of trying if I know my brother still. It becomes clear to me that I must take action myself. I am old, but not so old that I cannot father children on nubile wenches. I need a new wife. A true wife, not one of salt like Cersei. Regretfully I set my wife Alannys aside, though she has grown so mad I do not think she notices. Seeking to gain some small profit from this foolishness I approach the Young Wolf, who agrees to give my the hand of his sister, the Lady Sansa. The Starks care greatly for their family, and I now know that Robb can be counted on as ally in the future.
The decision proves wise. Sansa is a quiet woman, but there is steel inside her, and she adapts well to Pyke, becoming fast friends with Daenerys. Further proof that the Drowned God approves of our union came scant months later, when Sansa's belly began to swell with child.
I pray for a son, though a daughter would be acceptable if she grows up less wilful than Asha. My family affairs for now in order, I turn attention back to the green lands, to see how Stannis fairs.
At first inspection it looks as if the Stag has been blessed by his Red God. The Vale fully subdued, he turned and mauled the Dornish forces and drove them back to their desert. But it was then that the Little Lion struck.
I do not know how long Tyrion Lannister plotted his move, but the dwarf had ruled the Westerlands quitely since Tywin's death, near ten years ago now. When he struck it was with all the might and fury that house Lannister could muster. He smashed Stannis's tired and depleted army on the very cusp of their victory, before marching to King's Landing with forty thousand men. The city fell with barely a fight. At first, men supposed that Tyrion would do as the Dornish had intended and crown his niece Myrcella, but they reckoned without the Dwarf's ambition or audacity. Before the Sept of Baelor, his brother Jaime leading the Kingsguard in escort, Tyrion Lannister took the Iron Throne.
Stannis Baratheon is nothing if not determined. Hearing tales of how his city once again lies prostrate before me, Stannis gathered together what men he could at his ancestral seat of Storms End and struck north to drive me from the Crownlands, little knowing that they were now stalked by other beasts. My own numbers depleted from battle and siege, I withdrew by sea to Rosby and watched as the Baratheon army stumbled into the forces of the Upstart Falcon, Harold of the Vale, who now claims the name of Arryn.
My scouts reported that the resulting battle was quite bloody, resulting in the near destruction of both forces, but that ultimately it was Stannis that had to quit the field, only to find his retreat blocked by the advancing armies of the Young Wolf and, striking from the south like the spear that is their symbol, the unbloodied forces of Dorne.
Taking much pleasure in my old enemy's misfortune, I resolved to claim what prize I could from him whilst he yet retained his bald head. I sent envoys to him, offering fair return of his city and his family in exchange for a fortune in gold. He must have hated it, I am certain, but what choice did he have? Gold he had aplenty, yet his soldiers and heirs were rather rarer commodities.
We returned to Pyke richer than ever before, and I set my mind to spending it wisely. My Ironborn had prospered under my reign, the old castle and the village that huddled beneath it could scare contain us. Pyke's walls were once again expanded, and I gave orders for a new town to be constructed nearby, to house our ever-growing numbers. I named it Krakenrock, to honour my house and the Seastone throne on which I sit.
These were days of peace for us, we feasted and watched as Stannis conceded defeat to the Young Wolf and, one enemy placated, somehow beat the Vale into submission, leaving only Dorne to stand against him. It was during that time that a most unusual visitor came to Pyke. Jaime Lannister, The Kingslayer himself, bearing the Valaryian Blade known as Widow's Wail, forged from the Starks ancient blade Ice for Joffrey the Drowned King, borne by Tommen the Never-Crowned until his death, with Ser Jaime informed us had come quite recently from a sudden chill. The Kingslayer offered the sword to my son Dagon as Tommen's last brother, asking only that I release Cersei into his care. I agree to the proposal. Cersei grows old in any event, and it will mean a quieter time of things. We part on far better terms than we met, and she would still visit Pyke on occasion to see her children.
Not long after this, my days of contentment were shattered. My daughter Asha came to me one evening, looking as pleased as I have ever seen her, showing a smile that I have ever distrusted. The Wall, she told me, stood hard pressed by Wildings and worse, and had sent a call for all brave warriors to join the ancientbrotherhood of the Nights Watch. I sneered and asked her if any men of note had been foolish enough to take such offer, renouncing all lands and titles. She laughed and told me that there had been few who took the black, but that chief among them was the famed warrior and champion of the North, Theon Greyjoy.
My rage at my idiot son knew no bounds. With a single oath he had turned my plans for the Dragon Princess to broken kindling. Now even if my brother passes early to the Drowned God's halls Theon will never wed Daenerys. The Night's Watch take no wives. Worse, the fool had robbed me of a male heir. Asha now stands to inherit my crown, but she refuses all suitors and is as well approaching the end of her childbearing days. My children by Cersei are too close to their mother, and I would not hand the Seastone Chair to the Lions.
I turn thought to Victarion, but his Dragon Princess is yet to show signs of pregnancy, and not for want of trying if I know my brother still. It becomes clear to me that I must take action myself. I am old, but not so old that I cannot father children on nubile wenches. I need a new wife. A true wife, not one of salt like Cersei. Regretfully I set my wife Alannys aside, though she has grown so mad I do not think she notices. Seeking to gain some small profit from this foolishness I approach the Young Wolf, who agrees to give my the hand of his sister, the Lady Sansa. The Starks care greatly for their family, and I now know that Robb can be counted on as ally in the future.
The decision proves wise. Sansa is a quiet woman, but there is steel inside her, and she adapts well to Pyke, becoming fast friends with Daenerys. Further proof that the Drowned God approves of our union came scant months later, when Sansa's belly began to swell with child.
I pray for a son, though a daughter would be acceptable if she grows up less wilful than Asha. My family affairs for now in order, I turn attention back to the green lands, to see how Stannis fairs.
At first inspection it looks as if the Stag has been blessed by his Red God. The Vale fully subdued, he turned and mauled the Dornish forces and drove them back to their desert. But it was then that the Little Lion struck.
I do not know how long Tyrion Lannister plotted his move, but the dwarf had ruled the Westerlands quitely since Tywin's death, near ten years ago now. When he struck it was with all the might and fury that house Lannister could muster. He smashed Stannis's tired and depleted army on the very cusp of their victory, before marching to King's Landing with forty thousand men. The city fell with barely a fight. At first, men supposed that Tyrion would do as the Dornish had intended and crown his niece Myrcella, but they reckoned without the Dwarf's ambition or audacity. Before the Sept of Baelor, his brother Jaime leading the Kingsguard in escort, Tyrion Lannister took the Iron Throne.
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I am now rooting 100% against you. Victarion must die, as well as any wife of King Tyrion, so that the Imp can wed the Dragon and breed a new dynasty of 100% awesome.
Asha's not bad, really. She's just as much a ruthless marauder, but she doesn't have the senseless, stupid cruelty, and appearantly treats her captives humanely. If I'd been at the Kingsmoot, I'd have thrown my support behind Asha.
Well it looks like she's going to be Iron Queen now, assuming Sansa doesn't pop out a son. I'm hoping that whatever kid Sansa has, Vic and Dany have the opposite sex. That way I may eventually get a goddamned dragon.
If we do see Queen Asha the tone of this AAR should change. There'll be less vindictive drownings of kings, queens, and random slaves for one thing.
Hahaha, oh god. Solid update, but damn! Your eldest son seems intent to piss you off!
Chapter VII
Days turn to weeks in the wake of the Dwarf-King's triumph. Sansa bore me a daughter, who I named Yara, and hoped she would be of different temper than Asha. The air grew colder across Westeros and Winter, my young wife reminded me, was coming. But no ice threatened us on Pyke. For us it was a season of fire.
My good-sister Daenerys's dragons have grown large indeed during their stay here large enough to rekindle the fires of the great dragon Nagga, that warmed the Grey Kings halls. They have taken a liking to the seals that ply the waters round my Iron Islands, swooping from the air to pluck even full grown bulls from the sea. The black one, Drogon, is rumoured to take the odd thrall-child, but that is of little concern. Like us, he takes what he wants.
Before long Daenerys began to test herself against her children, and we had our reavers keep wary eye for books of dragon lore to aid her in her efforts. Finally the day came when I joined my brother on the walls of Pyke to watch his little wife take wing on Drogon's back. Victarion is proud, I can see the wench has won his loyalty at least, but I feel a stab of caution in my heart. It will be harder now to keep our princess on her leash.
Yet for the moment Daenerys was our ally still, and a not the only one I had. The not-so-Young Wolf still held strong, and I began to ponder the opportunities the Dwarf's coup had presented. Tyrion ruled over the greater part of Westeros, but the Reach still lay locked in what would later be called the War of the Flowers, and the Stormlands, Crownlands, and Vale stood ravaged by war, able to muster no more than a few thousand soldiers at most.
My mind set, I first used coffers overflowing with the plunder of a lieftime's reaving to gather free companies to my banner from Westeros and beyond. With mighty host assembled I made pact with my good-brother Robb Stark and we struck at the Dwarf-King's homeland with all the fury we could muster. The Westerlands would be mine.
As Stark marched his well-trod path south I landed my host at the foot of Casterly Rock, ancestral home of House Lannister. With Daenerys and her dragon harrying the Lannister guardsmen from above our path up the Rock is made easier than we would have expected, but we take heavy losses regardless, as the defenders rain down arrow, rock and oil on our warriors. Some three thousand Ironborn and Sellswords bleed out onto the slopes of the Rock, but we finally push though, hacking down the gate with heavy axes and swarming into the treasure house of the West.
Men used to say that Tywin Lannister shit gold, and if the haul we took is any indication they were right. To my amusement, Cersei was among the prizes taken. I considered carrying her off again, but was advised it would sit ill with my young wife. We released her, and she chose to stay in the Westerlands rather than flee to her stunted brother, so much did she despise him.
We left Casterly Rock in Ironborn hands and set out east to join up with the Stark host. En-rout we stumbled across a Westerman host of roughly half our number and destroyed it in detail. As I watched my men take the Iron Price from the mountains of the slain I reflected that my years of war had turned me into a master of it indeed.
We met the Wolves near Riverun, bare days ahead of Tyrion's forces. The battle that followed has since entered legend, and rightly so, for it is the largest I have ever fought in. Some sixty thousands of us faced perhaps fifty thousand Southrons, and annihilated them. Whether it was the strategies of the Young Wolf, the ferocity of my Ironborn, or the fury of the dragon is something men will argue of till the sun winks out, but it matters little. We were victorious.
The night after the battle Jaime Lannister was brought before us in chains, a wry smile crossing his face as he saw Stark and recalled another battle, long ago. We gave the Kingslayer terms and sent him back to his brother. A Lannister would continue to rule the Westerlands. Dagon Lannister, to be specific, and he would do fealty to the Seastone Chair of Pyke.
Bidding farewell to Robb Stark, who has proven firmer ally than I thought, I returned west to carve up the spoils. Many Westermen Lords were displaced, their lands taken by Ironborn conquerers, but there were more that kept position. They may be trouble one day, but as a man past seventy it is of little concern.
Ah, to have grown so old despite a history as bloody as any mans! Yet fire still burns within me, and I am pleased when my wife once again grows fat with child. Victarion, now named Lord Reaper of Crakehall, proves similarly virile, and Daenerys and Sansa are soon prattling on of how their children will be the best of friends.
Sansa bears me another daughter, much to Asha's amusement, whilst my brother's hopes of a strong son are quashed when Daenerys bears him a girl, stunted as Tyrion himself. Perhaps the Westerlands are cursed.
If so, that curse proves to be anything but done with Tyrion, and we soon hear word that he has fallen gravely ill. Sure enough, the Dwarf-King weakens and dies, his brother Jaime following him scant days later. I laugh when I hear the news. By the Drowned God I will outlast them all.
What is dead may never die.
Days turn to weeks in the wake of the Dwarf-King's triumph. Sansa bore me a daughter, who I named Yara, and hoped she would be of different temper than Asha. The air grew colder across Westeros and Winter, my young wife reminded me, was coming. But no ice threatened us on Pyke. For us it was a season of fire.
My good-sister Daenerys's dragons have grown large indeed during their stay here large enough to rekindle the fires of the great dragon Nagga, that warmed the Grey Kings halls. They have taken a liking to the seals that ply the waters round my Iron Islands, swooping from the air to pluck even full grown bulls from the sea. The black one, Drogon, is rumoured to take the odd thrall-child, but that is of little concern. Like us, he takes what he wants.
Before long Daenerys began to test herself against her children, and we had our reavers keep wary eye for books of dragon lore to aid her in her efforts. Finally the day came when I joined my brother on the walls of Pyke to watch his little wife take wing on Drogon's back. Victarion is proud, I can see the wench has won his loyalty at least, but I feel a stab of caution in my heart. It will be harder now to keep our princess on her leash.
Yet for the moment Daenerys was our ally still, and a not the only one I had. The not-so-Young Wolf still held strong, and I began to ponder the opportunities the Dwarf's coup had presented. Tyrion ruled over the greater part of Westeros, but the Reach still lay locked in what would later be called the War of the Flowers, and the Stormlands, Crownlands, and Vale stood ravaged by war, able to muster no more than a few thousand soldiers at most.
My mind set, I first used coffers overflowing with the plunder of a lieftime's reaving to gather free companies to my banner from Westeros and beyond. With mighty host assembled I made pact with my good-brother Robb Stark and we struck at the Dwarf-King's homeland with all the fury we could muster. The Westerlands would be mine.
As Stark marched his well-trod path south I landed my host at the foot of Casterly Rock, ancestral home of House Lannister. With Daenerys and her dragon harrying the Lannister guardsmen from above our path up the Rock is made easier than we would have expected, but we take heavy losses regardless, as the defenders rain down arrow, rock and oil on our warriors. Some three thousand Ironborn and Sellswords bleed out onto the slopes of the Rock, but we finally push though, hacking down the gate with heavy axes and swarming into the treasure house of the West.
Men used to say that Tywin Lannister shit gold, and if the haul we took is any indication they were right. To my amusement, Cersei was among the prizes taken. I considered carrying her off again, but was advised it would sit ill with my young wife. We released her, and she chose to stay in the Westerlands rather than flee to her stunted brother, so much did she despise him.
We left Casterly Rock in Ironborn hands and set out east to join up with the Stark host. En-rout we stumbled across a Westerman host of roughly half our number and destroyed it in detail. As I watched my men take the Iron Price from the mountains of the slain I reflected that my years of war had turned me into a master of it indeed.
We met the Wolves near Riverun, bare days ahead of Tyrion's forces. The battle that followed has since entered legend, and rightly so, for it is the largest I have ever fought in. Some sixty thousands of us faced perhaps fifty thousand Southrons, and annihilated them. Whether it was the strategies of the Young Wolf, the ferocity of my Ironborn, or the fury of the dragon is something men will argue of till the sun winks out, but it matters little. We were victorious.
The night after the battle Jaime Lannister was brought before us in chains, a wry smile crossing his face as he saw Stark and recalled another battle, long ago. We gave the Kingslayer terms and sent him back to his brother. A Lannister would continue to rule the Westerlands. Dagon Lannister, to be specific, and he would do fealty to the Seastone Chair of Pyke.
Bidding farewell to Robb Stark, who has proven firmer ally than I thought, I returned west to carve up the spoils. Many Westermen Lords were displaced, their lands taken by Ironborn conquerers, but there were more that kept position. They may be trouble one day, but as a man past seventy it is of little concern.
Ah, to have grown so old despite a history as bloody as any mans! Yet fire still burns within me, and I am pleased when my wife once again grows fat with child. Victarion, now named Lord Reaper of Crakehall, proves similarly virile, and Daenerys and Sansa are soon prattling on of how their children will be the best of friends.
Sansa bears me another daughter, much to Asha's amusement, whilst my brother's hopes of a strong son are quashed when Daenerys bears him a girl, stunted as Tyrion himself. Perhaps the Westerlands are cursed.
If so, that curse proves to be anything but done with Tyrion, and we soon hear word that he has fallen gravely ill. Sure enough, the Dwarf-King weakens and dies, his brother Jaime following him scant days later. I laugh when I hear the news. By the Drowned God I will outlast them all.
What is dead may never die.
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Sorry to be the bearer of bad news guys. Tyrion just up and died of CK2 random illness syndrome.
:sad:
:sad:
I've had Robb Stark die of depression while he was winning the war against the Lannisters. So don't feel too bad.
He was depressed he wasn't going to be slaughtered at the Red Wedding and wasn't going to be married to his wolf, probably.