The morning sun rose over the narrow sea, casting a golden hue upon the craggy cliffs of Dragonstone. The island fortress, perched atop a volcanic peak, loomed dark and defiant against the horizon. Its high walls and towers had withstood centuries of storms, and the castle had never fallen to a siege by an enemy.
Viserys Targaryen stood on the prow of his flagship, his silver hair glinting in the sunlight like a crown of molten silver. His violet eyes burned with glee as he surveyed the formidable fortress. Behind him stretched an armada of warships, bristling with black sails emblazoned with the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. On the decks, ranks of Unsullied stood motionless, their spears glinting in the morning light. Further back, the hired sellswords of the Brave Companions sharpened their blades as the shores came closer.
The harbour of Dragonstone lay in ruins, smoke curling from the wreckage of fishing boats and trading vessels that had been set ablaze the night before. Captured sailors and islanders knelt in chains on the shore, their faces pale with fear. Viserys's victory in the harbour had been swift and brutal, and now he intended to press his advantage. He turned to the Northern knight standing by his side.
"Today, I reclaim what is mine by right," he declared. "Dragonstone is the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, and I will not suffer its defiance. Let the world remember this day as the dawn of the dragon's return."
Ser Jorah squirmed uneasily, standing by his side.
"Perhaps, your grace, we should be more cautious. Your illustrious ancestors built the castle to withstand sieges by designing narrow passes leading to the castle's doors." Ser Jorah cautioned.
The crew's unease was palpable, and Jorah was no different. However, the Northern knight was careful to keep such emotions under his skin.
"The Lord of Light has blessed the King's most noblest task."
Jorah's eyes twitched in irritation as the Red Priestess made herself present at Viserys' side with a smug look as she eyed the shores of Dragonstone.
"Look at the shores, Ser Jorah. The Lord's approval can be seen in the utter destruction of his grace's enemies."
"Indeed." Viserys grinned savagely, "I shall reward Greyjoy for this most beautiful gift. I can see my enemies are decimated and the servants of the stags fleeing like sheep afraid of the coming slaughter."
Jorah stared uneasily at the cruel glint shining in Viserys' amethyst eyes.
"I shall bring sixteen years of justice upon the stags and their dogs. When I'm done, they will know the cost of waking the Dragon." Viserys hissed with his lips curled back in a sneer.
"As is your right, your grace." Ser Jorah dipped his head, knowing where the winds were blowing. "Shall I prepare the men to make a landing party? It'd be wise to sweep the harbour for any dangers ahead of your arrival, my king."
"Go on then, Ser." Viserys waved dismissively, his eyes never leaving the burnt remains of the harbour and the village ahead.
Viserys watched from the safety of his ship as Ser Jorah Mormont led a contingent of Unsullied to sweep the harbour and the village for any danger. When he received word the knight had taken command of both, Viserys decided it was time to set foot on the island.
Viserys descended to the beach where the prisoners awaited judgment. But before he made his judgement, he breathed in deeply at the salty air of the island. He imagined his father, mother and brother were looking down from the heavens at this moment.
'I'll avenge you all.' Viserys made a silent promise.
The prisoners knelt in rows, their heads bowed, their hands bound with rough rope. Men, women, and even children. Some wept silently, fearing for their lives. Others stared blankly at the ground, hoping their deference would spare them. Viserys's lips curled into a cold smile as he approached them with his left hand gripping the sheathed Brightroar's handle. His eyes swept over the bloodied forms of the smallfolk before him with triumph. He could already see Euron's men, and the sellswords had already left scars on the women. Their torn clothes, busted lips, and bruised bodies were proof enough. The men were few, and the few that remained were either injured or too old to be a threat.
"These wretches dared to defy their true king," he said, addressing the assembled Unsullied, who had gathered to witness his next move. "Let their fate be a lesson to those who dare to stand against House Targaryen."
"Brother."
Viserys' eyes twitched at the interruption from his sister-wife. He stared at Daenerys as she slowly walked to his side dressed in a red and black dress in the likeness of his family's banner.
"Perhaps you could spare these people. After all, they've been led astray by the Usurper and his family for more than a decade. The people of Dragonstone served our family faithfully for centuries. Surely, this merits them a chance to serve their rightful king given the chance." Daenerys said, smiling hopefully at him.
Viserys snorted, turning away from his sister to glare at the prisoners.
"These traitors had their chance to lay down their arms. Their men took arms despite seeing the Targaryen banners arrayed against them. They'd have turned on the thieving stags if they were loyal instead of fighting under their banner." Viserys growled.
"I'd rather die a free man than bow to a mad dragon hatchling," a sailor with a long grey growled.
Viserys's smile faded, replaced by a flash of fury as he stared at the sailor.
"So be it," he hissed.
Viserys unsheathed Brightroar from its scabbard, and with a swift swing, he cut through the neck of the defiant sailor. Blood splattered the sand, and the sailor desperately tried to claw at his neck to stymie the blood, but to no avail.
The other prisoners recoiled, their cries and pleas rising in a cacophony of despair. Viserys silenced them with a raised hand.
"For every hour that Dragonstone's gates remain closed, another prisoner will meet the same fate," he announced, his heart racing as he watched the sand soak in blood. "Their blood is on the hands of those who cower behind those walls."
The executions continued, each death a grisly punctuation mark in Viserys's ruthless proclamation of power. As the morning stretched into the afternoon, the tide turned red with the blood of the slain. Some of the sellswords watched with grim indifference while the stoic Unsullied seemed to stand a little stiffer, their discipline unyielding but their eyes unreadable.
By evening, the beach was littered with bodies, and the stench of death hung heavy in the air. Viserys stood amidst the carnage; his armour streaked with blood and his expression one of cold satisfaction. He turned his gaze to Dragonstone, its dark silhouette stark against the crimson sunset. Tents sprung up all along the shores, hosting his Unsullied and sellsword armies. Companies of men were sent out to forage from the villages and the woods surrounding the castle. The men also started constructing siege engines once trees were cut down.
"Your grace, the emissary we sent to the castle returned. Ser Aemon Estermont has rejected your grace's most generous offer of mercy." Ser Jorah reported.
"They've decided their fate. Tomorrow, we breach the walls," Viserys declared with a scowl directed at his ancestral castle. "Let them know that the Dragon's wrath is upon them. No mercy, no quarter. Dragonstone will be ours."
Viserys retired to his cabin, where he studied the map of Dragonstone's defences by candlelight. He envisioned the glory of reclaiming his family's seat, the cheers of loyal subjects, and the terror of his enemies. Then, finally, he dreamed of sitting on the Iron Throne with the heads of all his enemies lining the walls of the Red Keep on spikes. It was a wonderful dream that had looked so far away in the last few years, but now, it was within his grasp. He could feel it in his bones.
'All that I dream will come to pass. But first, I'll have to take Dragonstone.' Viserys stared at the position of the castle on the map and stabbed a dagger on it.
******
The feast at the newly restored Moat Cailin was a grand affair. It shined with a tapestry of firelight, laughter, and the heady scent of roasted meats. Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, sat at the head of the table, made entirely out of the finest ironwood from the lands of House Forrester. Once a ruin, Moat Cailin now stood proudly as the bulwark of the North once more, its walls strengthened and its halls filled with the banners of the North's great houses.
Harry sat next to his mother – the Lady of Winterfell. To his father's left sat Robb and Arya, while Sansa and Jon sat next to him. Little Rickon sat on his mother's lap while Bran was chatting away excitedly with Jojen and Meera Reed on a table in the hall with Lord Howland Reed by their side. All the lords of the western shores were gathered on one long table, the most prominent of them being the Glovers, Mormonts and Fishers. The Mountain Clans, as usual, kept to their own lot, though they made it a point to be as boisterous as the Umbers.
The room swelled with lords and their retainers, every corner brimming with the voices of the North, united in purpose after their crushing victory over the Sistermen. Plates of different pies filled the tables, and the main delicacy of the evening was fermented crab and bear meat steak. Northern ale and wine filled the cups of the feast hall. The King's tower became a place of revelry filled with bards and jesters.
The lords of the Three Sisters sat to the side on a table of their own, owing to their new station as sworn lords of the North, paying homage to Winterfell and White Harbour.
Harry caught Ser Rodrik's eyes and nodded shortly.
On Ser Rodrik's command, horns started blaring inside the hall, bringing all conversations to a halt.
The hall fell silent as horns signalled the start of the formal proceedings. Eddard rose, his face solemn yet proud as he gazed down the hall full of sturdy Northerners.
"Lords and ladies of the North, tonight we honour not only our victory but also the bonds that hold us together. It was here, at the threshold of our lands, that our ancestors stood defiant against the invaders from the South. And it is here that we reaffirm our strength."
A cheer erupted, but Eddard raised a hand, calling for quiet.
"Tonight, we also honour a man who has proven himself loyal and courageous. Jon Stark, my son, stood by us all as a true Stark in his heart. It is my wish, and the wish of many here, that Jon be recognised as the new Lord of Moat Cailin."
The hall's response was thunderous, the lords banging their fists on the tables in approval. Jon rose hesitantly, his face a mixture of disbelief and resolve. He looked to Eddard, who nodded, then to Harry, who clapped him on the shoulder with a grin.
Jon walked around the table and knelt before the Lord of Winterfell.
"Your valour in battle is recognised by the North, Jon Stark. Rise now as the Stark of Moat Cailin, Warden of the Neck."
Harry applauded along with the hall upon declaring Jon's official status as the lord of the Moat Cailin. The addition of warden status was his father's idea, something he appreciated, considering the subtle implications behind such a declaration. They had a long and fruitful conversation with the lords of the Neck about the new status of Moat Cailin. Since the Sunset Canal was now open for transit between the Narrow Sea and the Sunset Sea, the region became a vital artery of the North. It was a narrow region that contributed much of the trade between the Free Cities and the western shores of the North.
This change in status required elevated recognition and focus on the region, culminating in the current setup. Who better than a dragonrider to become the shield of the Sunset Sea?
The lords of the North took a collective gasp when Sundancer made itself known by flying close to the large window panes of the feast hall in the Children's Tower. The telltale sound of flapping wings brought all conversation to a halt. The shadow of the dragon's wings flickered in and out of the hall as it lazily circled the tower. The tower shook lightly as Sundancer landed on a landing bay built to host a dragon of much larger size.
"My lords, your eyes and ears do not deceive you. Beyond the tower stands a dragon from the legends of the Long Night, reborn with the blessings of the Old Gods, bound to Jon Stark." Eddard declared into the quiet hall, followed by a roar from Sundancer, which rattled the hall.
Harry leaned forward and closely observed the lords and knights of the North. Already, rumours had spread about dragons wreaking havoc on the Three Sisters, delivering swift victory to the North. But those were just rumours till now spread by boastful sailors of White Harbour and the Sistermen smarting from utter defeat.
However, the truth of the matter was laid bare before them.
At this time, the lords of the North were grappling with the reality of a dragon in the North when another joined the fray. This time, it was Winter circling the tower. Her sheer presence brought forth a slight chill into the hall, and snowflakes fell inside the hall, to the surprise of many.
Harry noticed a slight tension on Jon's shoulders and a ring of white surrounding his brother's eyes. He marvelled at his brother's ability to seamlessly warg into Sundancer. His brother's skill with skinchanging helped a lot in keeping the temperamental dragon docile. He was not ashamed to say Jon's skill in warging had long surpassed his at this point, though he was the one to teach Jon.
Fortunately, Harry did not need skinchanging to ensure Winter behaved well before a crowd. There was no need for such coercive methods owing to Winter's friendly nature. But despite all that, the presence of a dragon was such that it put even the bravest of men on their toes.
"My second son Harrion has claimed an ice dragon, a creature only known to us in fables, as his mount, along with a direwolf companion. His magic is beyond the knowledge of the wisest Maesters or the fearsome sorcerers of the East. His ships span all the known seas. His stewardship of the southern shores despite his young age has delivered a crippling blow to the Ironborn and expanded the North's boundaries into the Iron Islands." Ned declared with pride in his eyes.
"I declare Harrion Stark to be the Warden of the western shores and the shield of the Sunset Sea. From this day forth, the Avalon Starks shall be the sword that decimates our enemies in the Sunset Sea."
The hall erupted in cheers at the declaration and some heartful thumping on the table, mixed in between.
"My other children have bonded with direwolves, the sigil of House Stark. The blood of wargs and greenseers runs thick in our veins, and my children are blessed by the Old Gods with such gifts." Ned continued to the astonished look on the faces of the Northern lords gathered in the feast hall.
Harry could understand the surprise shown on the faces of the Northern lords. His father was many things, but he was not a man of long speeches, nor was he one to indulge in the self-adulation of his family. He also noticed his mother looked hardly bothered by the proceedings so far. He had assumed his mother would make a fuss about Jon's ascension as the lord of Moat Cailin, but to his surprise, she seemed hardly bothered. In fact, his mother had a satisfied smile as she observed the proceedings.
'I wonder what changed. Did she stop seeing Jon as a threat to Robb along the way?' Harry wondered.
If that was the case, then he was thankful for such a fortuitous turn of events. He knew Catelyn Stark loved his father deeply, which was a rare thing to happen in Westeros between husband and wife. Often, marital relationships built on political expediency were bound to be stale or outright hostile, like the Baratheon-Lannister marriage alliance. But his mother and father found true love in their time together despite the pragmatic need for a military alliance which brought them together.
Harry looked between the two and wondered whether his father had broken his promise to Aunt Lyanna and had told his mother the truth.
'I'll have to ask mother about this.' Harry made a mental note while returning his attention to the proceedings.
"Lastly, I name Lord Wyman Manderly as the warden of the eastern shores, the shield of the Bite." Eddard declared to the hearty cheers from several tables.
"The Manderlys have proven their mettle in the sea for generations, guarding the shores of the North and advancing trade with the Free Cities and the other kingdoms of Westeros. May there be more brave sons and daughters for generations with the Manderly name in White Harbour." Eddard said, raising his cup in toast.
The lords present were happy to reciprocate the toast and congratulate the sole lord amongst them without the Stark name being honoured with the title of a warden.
"Keep an eye on Lord Manderly, mother. He looks as if he is ready to kiss father and steal him away like the wildlings do." Harry whispered with an amused smile.
"Shush!" Catelyn hissed, but she was smiling nonetheless.
When the noise subsided, Robb stood, raising his goblet. The firelight glinted off his auburn hair, and his presence commanded immediate attention.
"My father speaks of strength, of honour, and of unity. These are the hallmarks of the North. But we face threats that demand more than the leadership of a weakened Baratheon dynasty. These times demand a leader who embodies all we stand for to face the cold winds that blow from beyond the Wall."
Robb's voice rose, filled with conviction as he addressed the hall.
"Eddard Stark is not just the Warden of the North. He is the heart of it. He has guided us through war, through prosperity, and through victory. He has shown us what it means to be a Northerner, what it means to stand unyielding against greater odds. Tonight, I say it is time we name him what he has always been in spirit."
Robb walked around the table and knelt before Ned, with the whole hall watching.
"King in the North!"
Harry stood from his seat and joined Robb.
"When the Walkers ride against the Wall and the Long Night comes again, a Stark needs to take the mantel of the Winter Kings. King in the North!" Harry declared his support before kneeling.
"We bowed to the dragons of Aegon. But now, the North has dragons of our own. We need not bow to the weaklings of the south. The King in the North!" Lord Glover made his pitch before kneeling.
"Winter is coming, and the dead with it. I'd have a Winter King lead us rather than the prissy little ladies in the south in their funny skirts playing knights. King in the North!" Greatjon Umber roared.
With that, the floodgates were opened as the whole of the North chanted as one.
"King in the North!"
"King in the North!"
"King in the North!"
AN:
To read ahead of the update schedule; pat(r) eon. C (O) M/Dragonspectre.
For artwork related to the fic:
https://discord.gg/Nw2JH25fJf