Chapter 17: The Silence of the Lords (139-140 AC)
The smoke from the Iron Islands had yet to fully dissipate from the western skies when the news reached the mainland. Carried by fast ravens, whispers from terrified merchant sailors, and grim reports from royal agents, the tale of the Culling of the Squids spread like wildfire across Westeros. It was a story told in hushed tones, of black dragons turning ships to cinders, of ancient strongholds melting under torrents of flame, and of a once proud people reduced to scattered, terrified remnants. King Viserys I had not merely defeated the Ironborn; he had tried to erase their very way of life, condemning their gods and their traditions with fire and the sword.
The reaction across the Seven Kingdoms was not one of outrage or immediate rebellion, but of profound, chilling silence. It was the silence of men who had seen the true face of absolute power, stripped bare of all pretense and tradition. The lesson of Casterly Rock had been a harsh warning; the devastation of the Iron Islands was an unignorable, terrifying truth.
The North: Winterfell's Grim Hearth
In the stark, ancient halls of Winterfell, Lord Rickon Stark, a grim and honorable man, sat by the roaring hearth, listening to the reports. His maester, a cautious man named Walys, read from a royal decree outlining the outlawing of the Drowned God.
> "To forbid a people their gods?" Lord Rickon rumbled, his voice low, his brow furrowed. "That is a step no king has taken in a thousand years. Not even the Conqueror."
>
> Maester Walys nodded slowly. "Indeed, my lord. The decree also mandates the Faith of the Seven and the establishment of Crown garrisons across the islands. It seems His Grace intends to not just break the Ironborn, but reshape them entirely."
>
> "And the fleet?" Rickon asked, his eyes distant. "Was it truly… annihilated?"
>
> "Eyewitness accounts from passing ships confirm it, my lord," Walys replied, his voice barely a whisper. "Hundreds of ships, burnt in their harbors. The seas around the Iron Islands are said to be choked with ash and wreckage. Balerion, Argentia, and Meleys… they left nothing."
>
Lord Rickon clenched his jaw, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. He had always been wary of southern kings, but this Viserys was different. He wasn't subtle or compromising. He was an unstoppable force. The North had its own traditions, its own gods. The thought of such a wrath visited upon his own people sent a cold shiver down his spine. He knew, with an absolute certainty, that defiance was no longer an option. His long, silent contemplation ended with a single, grim nod. The North would obey.
The Westerlands: Casterly Rock's Bitter Acceptance
At Casterly Rock, the air was thick with resentment, yet tinged with a profound, bitter acceptance. Lord Gerold Lannister, still pale and haunted by the memory of Balerion's flames licking at his own walls, received the news with a grim, knowing silence. His advisors, younger, bolder men, spoke in hushed, angry tones.
> "They dared him!" one shouted, slamming a fist on the table. "They dared the Dragon! This is unprecedented! What rights remain to us if a king can simply burn a realm for reaving?"
>
> Lord Gerold's voice was hoarse, raspy from lingering fear. "Rights? You speak of rights, Ser Addam? What rights did Casterly Rock have when Balerion's fire threatened to melt our very stone? What rights did the Ironborn have against three dragons?" He looked at them, his eyes hollow. "He did not just burn their ships; he burned their gods. Their way of life. This is a message, plain for all to see. He does not negotiate. He does not compromise. He takes."
>
A silence descended upon the Lannister council, heavier than any gold. They understood. The game had changed. The rules were rewritten by dragonfire. Their wealth, once their greatest strength, now felt like a target. Compliance, even if it choked them, was their only path.
The Reach: Highgarden's Calculating Submission
In the sun-drenched, opulent courts of Highgarden, the news was received with a mixture of shock and calculating opportunism. Lord Martyn Tyrell, a shrewd and cautious man, listened intently as his Master of Spies, a soft-spoken man named Ser Arryk, recounted the horrors.
> "The entire fleet, my lord? Truly?" Martyn asked, stroking his well-trimmed beard. "And the Drowned God… outlawed?"
>
> "Indeed, my lord. The reports are consistent. It seems His Grace intends to thoroughly extirpate the Ironborn culture. Royal garrisons are already established, and septons are being dispatched."
>
Martyn leaned back, a thoughtful, almost chilling smile playing on his lips. "A harsh hand, to be sure. But... effective. The Ironborn have been a plague on our shipping for centuries. Now, they are no more than ash and whispers." He paused, then looked at Ser Arryk, his eyes gleaming with a predatory intelligence. "The King has shown he rewards loyalty and efficiency. Our fleets, our granaries, our Royal Army contributions… they must be beyond reproach. And any lord who still harbors outdated notions of defiance… their weakness will now be starkly evident."
The Tyrells, unlike the Lannisters, chose not merely grudging acceptance, but active, demonstrative loyalty. They sent effusive messages of praise to the Crown for "cleansing the seas" and redoubled their efforts to meet royal quotas, seeking to position themselves as the most compliant and indispensable House.
The Stormlands: Storm's End's Resignation
At Storm's End, the formidable castle felt less like a bastion and more like a cage. Lord Borros Baratheon, a blunt and proud warrior, paced his battlements, his temper simmering. He had always chafed under the Crown's centralizing policies, particularly the increased presence of royal circuit judges in his lands.
> "He burns them to ash!" Borros bellowed to his advisors. "Not even the Conqueror did that to the Dornish! What next? Will he burn our gods? Our forests? Our very names?"
>
> Maester Gormon, a weary old man, spoke with a heavy sigh. "My lord, the Ironborn were pirates. They raided the King's own fleet. They directly challenged his power. His Grace merely demonstrated the consequences of such defiance. A terrible consequence, to be sure, but one that has silenced all dissent."
>
Borros slammed his fist on a stone parapet, a crack echoing through the air. "Silence borne of terror is not loyalty, Maester!"
"Perhaps not, my lord," Gormon conceded. "But it is obedience. And in the face of Balerion, Argentia, and Meleys, with a king who wields them as casually as a knight wields his sword, obedience is all that truly matters now."
Lord Borros's shoulders slumped. He hated it, the stifling control, the loss of his ancient prerogatives. But he also understood. The cost of resistance was annihilation. The Stormlands would remain loyal, though a grim, silent resignation settled over its lords.
Across the realm, the message was universally received. Viserys I was not merely a powerful king; he was a revolutionary. He was systematically dismantling the old feudal order, replacing it with an absolute monarchy backed by dragonfire, unprecedented wealth, and an unparalleled intelligence network. The Iron Islands became the chilling, smoldering monument to this new reality. The Great Lords, for all their wealth, armies, and ancient names, were no longer independent powers. They were instruments of the Crown's will, bound by a golden web of economic dependency and held in check by the terrifying might of the dragons. The Iron Throne now truly ruled. The silence that followed was not peace, but the chilling absence of defiance.