The next day, Loren, Duke of the Westerlands, arrived at Fair Isle by ship.
After reviewing the battle plan once more with Aegon, the vast fleet of The Reach set sail under Aegon's command, making way at the port of Fair Isle to allow the Westerlands fleet to resupply.
This war to conquer the Iron Islands was unprecedented in scale—one of the largest naval campaigns in the history of Westeros. The Targaryen dynasty had dispatched over five hundred warships across three fleets to deal with the Iron Islands' three war-torn factions. Victory now seemed all but certain.
When news of King Aegon's advance reached the islands, the Ironborn lords fell into disarray, and a wave of despair swept across them.
The priests of the Drowned God had held nearly a hundred kingsmoots in their search for a ruler worthy of the driftwood crown they claimed to have retrieved from the sea. The contenders had turned on each other in bloody contests. Of the original five factions vying for kingship, only three remained. Even then, their fleets and warriors had been reduced to a shadow of their former strength.
Pyke, one of the larger islands in the Iron Islands, lay to the east of Saltcliffe, southeast of Great Wyk, and southwest of Harlaw.
When Aegon's great fleet arrived in the waters off Pyke, a massive crowd of Ironborn gathered along the shore.
Seated on Balerion's back, Aegon gazed at the dark mass of people. He had expected them to resist the landing with their lives, but to his surprise, they erupted in cheers at the sight of the dragon.
Perhaps over a year of savage infighting had worn down even the Ironborn, known for their bloodlust. In the end, they were still human—and longed for a life beyond endless slaughter.
With the three factions still locked in a stalemate, unable to determine a victor, it seemed that only Aegon the Conqueror could offer the Ironborn a chance at peace.
Looking down at the Ironborn kneeling near the port, Aegon thought to himself: the outcome of this war was already clear. This campaign had progressed far more smoothly than he had anticipated.
The fleet of The Reach slowly approached the harbor at Pyke, but the expected battle never came.
Instead, the Ironborn brought forth boarding planks of their own accord. One regiment after another of Reach soldiers disembarked in disciplined order, swiftly taking control of the port.
This deepwater harbor, known as Lordsport, was also the largest town on the island of Pyke.
Rather than immediately marching on Pyke Castle, seat of House Greyjoy, Aegon landed Balerion directly in Lordsport.
There, the Lord of Lordsport—Head of House Botley—who had been escorted by Reach lords, knelt trembling before Aegon, pleading for mercy.
Aegon rested the cold edge of Blackfyre lightly against Botley's neck, his voice frigid as ice. "Because you surrendered willingly, I'll spare your life—for now. Go to Pyke and tell Vickon Greyjoy this: if he does not wish to end up like Harren the Iron King, burned to a crisp by dragonfire, then he must come out and kneel before me at once.
I have no desire to reduce a future vassal's castle to ashes."
"Yes, yes, my lord!!" Botley cried, bowing repeatedly, barely able to speak through his fear.
Aegon signaled to Head of House Redwyne to release him, then sheathed Blackfyre. Turning to Redwyne, he issued an order: "Restrain the warriors of The Reach. No burning, no looting, no killing in Lordsport.
Pyke has been designated a Crownlands island, and I have no intention of inheriting a pile of rubble."
Redwyne accepted the order and departed, while Head of House Hightower took the lead and accompanied Aegon on a tour through Lordsport.
Aegon walked through the streets, scanning his surroundings. The townspeople looked upon him with reverent awe, but not outright panic.
Head of House Hightower quietly explained, "This port has remarkably deep waters, almost on par with the harbors of Volantis.
Before the Century of Blood, it thrived through iron trade with the Valyrian Freehold and was once immensely prosperous.
But after the Freehold's fall, Lordsport followed it into decline. Its former glory vanished.
From here, the closest point on the Essos continent is the Free City of Volantis—but even so, the journey is too long. The profits from selling a bit of iron ore are nowhere near enough to cover the cost of the voyage. And long-distance trade by sea is fraught with danger. If a shipwreck occurs, the merchant guild that owns the cargo vessel would be utterly ruined."
Aegon listened in silence as Hightower recounted Lordsport's past. The once-glorious harbor before him now lay in decline and ruin.
The Iron Islands had suffered through more than a year of brutal civil war. The common folk were pushed to the brink.
As Aegon walked the streets, the Ironborn he passed were gaunt, skeletal—living proof of how deeply the war had devastated this land.
The Head of House Serry, commander of the Shield Islands, reported to Aegon, "Your Grace, I've carefully inspected the harbor. There are just over twenty longships, most of them belonging to House Greyjoy."
"Do not touch those ships or their cargo. The Master of Ships, Corlys, will come to take possession of them later," Aegon said calmly.
Lord Serry nodded. "Understood."
Aegon gave a slight flick of his boot, shaking off the black mud, and frowned.
The port was clearly neglected—muddy and filthy, with a strong stench of fish hanging in the air.
Along the way, Aegon noticed that the soldiers of The Reach were visibly excited, beaming with joy. They had won their first engagement without a fight, and against the Ironborn no less—foes who had long oppressed The Reach. Now, at last, they could hold their heads high.
But after a short walk, Aegon quickly lost interest.
He and the accompanying nobles of The Reach made their way to House Botley's castle to plan their next steps and await House Greyjoy's reply.
Judging by House Greyjoy's abandonment of Lordsport, it seemed they too lacked the will to resist the Targaryen dynasty. Yet for some reason, they still hadn't stepped forward to bend the knee.
During the war council, none of the Reach lords raised the issue of Pyke's ownership.
Aegon had already made his intentions clear—he meant to claim the richest of the Iron Islands for himself. Naturally, none dared to challenge him for it.
Lord Redwyne spoke first. "Your Grace, in my view, we should immediately dispatch my House's fleet to attack Saltcliffe.
I suspect the Westerlands fleet has only just arrived off the coast of Great Wyk. Saltcliffe lies right beside it. If Saltcliffe sends reinforcements to flank Great Wyk, the Westerlands fleet could fall into a dangerous position."
Seeing how weakened the Iron Islands were, the Reach lords eagerly volunteered for action. Some even proposed dividing their forces to strike on multiple fronts.
This was because under Aegon's Decree of Conquest, any Targaryen noble who held a conquest writ was entitled to keep whatever enemy territory they conquered—a sacred and inviolable right.
Clearly, the Reach lords were hoping to seize a few more islands while the Ironborn were vulnerable.
Aegon did not deny their requests. He understood well: if he wished to enjoy the spoils of victory, his vassals must also share in the gains.
The key was to distribute benefits wisely—he could not allow any one Reach lord to grow too powerful during the conquest of the Iron Islands.
An overly mighty lord would inevitably pose a threat to royal authority.
Aegon raised his hand slightly, signaling for silence. His sharp gaze swept slowly across the assembled nobles as he spoke in a measured tone:
"Once House Greyjoy submits, you may divide your forces and strike.
I will remain at Pyke to hold command. If you encounter danger, send a raven to me immediately."
Aegon's generous promise left the Reach lords overjoyed. This was a golden opportunity—to claim new lands with barely a fight.
They responded with a flood of praise and flattery.
Just then, a soldier entered to report that Lord Botley had succeeded in persuading Vickon Greyjoy, leader of the raiders, to surrender. Vickon was now waiting at the causeway leading to Pyke Castle to welcome the king.
Aegon exchanged a confident smile with the Reach lords. They all rose together and set off for Pyke Castle to accept Vickon's submission.
...
Pyke Castle stood atop a cliff that jutted out into the sea, perched precariously among crumbling reefs. To reach it, one had to pass along a narrow causeway. The geography was not unlike the Eyrie in the Vale—isolated, easy to defend but difficult to attack, though equally vulnerable to siege.
The group led their forces carefully along the narrow strip of land. The sea wind howled, whipping Aegon's cloak so that it snapped in the breeze.
At last, Aegon and his entourage reached the headland. There, dozens of members of House Greyjoy stood waiting on a stone bridge—the only passage between the mainland and Pyke Castle. The cliffs below were jagged with sharp rocks, making the location perilous in the extreme.
Above them, Balerion's vast, terrifying form circled low in the sky, letting out thunderous roars that echoed like rolling storms.
The Greyjoys looked up, stunned, their eyes fixed on the dragon above. Like all who saw Balerion for the first time, they were shaken to the core by the sight of such a perfect, terrifying creature.
Seeing Aegon's army approaching, Vickon stepped forward with his kin, dropped to one knee, and offered surrender in the manner of the Greenlands—raising his weapon high with both hands in a gesture of respect.
Escorted by several Reach nobles, Aegon approached slowly. He took Vickon's long-handled battleaxe, gave it a slight heft, and noted its considerable weight.
"Your Grace Aegon, House Greyjoy offers its loyalty to you and your Targaryen dynasty," Vickon said in a deep, gravelly voice, his head bowed low. "We humbly beg your mercy."
But Aegon raised the axe and placed its blade against Vickon's neck.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp as a blade, and calmly said to Vickon, "Loyalty to me comes at a price."
The members of House Greyjoy grew visibly restless at those words. They clenched their fists, their glares fixed on Aegon with fury, and tension crackled in the air.
The Reach nobles instinctively tightened their grips on their weapons, scanning their surroundings with vigilance. Even the sea breeze seemed to pick up, as if mirroring the sudden shift in mood.
Vickon slowly raised his head to meet Aegon's gaze. He seemed unfazed by the axe blade grazing the skin of his neck. His voice was solemn. "House Greyjoy is willing to pay the price, and to remain forever loyal to you."
Aegon laughed twice, though the axe in his hand remained firmly pressed to Vickon's throat.
"Very well. But tell me—are you willing to abandon the old way of the Ironborn?
If you swear allegiance and still turn to piracy, stirring the Ironborn to return to their raiding, then I see no reason to accept you as a vassal."
The "old way" referred to the Ironborn's tradition of plundering—replacing trade with warfare, calling it "paying the iron price."
Vickon bowed his head slightly, yet before he could answer, one of his kinsmen suddenly sprang up. With a snarl, the man pulled a dagger from his cloak and lunged at Aegon like a mad beast.
But before the well-guarded Reach nobles could react, Vickon moved first. He seized the man's arm, twisted the dagger from his grasp, and drove it cleanly into his throat. Then, without flinching, he offered the bloodied blade to Aegon with both hands.
Looking at Aegon with unwavering sincerity, Vickon made his vow. "House Greyjoy renounces the old way. From this day forward, pirates shall be our mortal enemies. Any who cause unrest in the seas of the Targaryen dynasty will face the wrath of House Greyjoy first."
Aegon stared at him, his expression unreadable, his gaze sharp with judgment and caution. He gave a slight shake of his head and asked, "What is your house's motto?"
Vickon's lips parted, but hesitation clouded his face. Finally, he forced out the words, heavy and reluctant: "We do not sow..."
Aegon pressed on, "And what should it be now?"
Vickon's body trembled. In Westeros, a house's words were its soul—passed down for generations, sacred and inviolable. To change them was no small thing.
If House Greyjoy still held to We do not sow, how could Aegon trust any oath they swore? Even if Vickon remained faithful, there would always be those in his house who clung to the old ways.
Vickon fell silent, wrestling with the weight of the choice. But Aegon's axe was unrelenting, its edge now biting into his neck. Blood trickled down in thin streams. Time was running out.
At last, his chest soaked in blood, Vickon summoned the last of his strength. He raised his head to look Aegon in the eye, his voice trembling but resolute. "From this day on... House Greyjoy's words are: The old way rewards toil."
Aegon's cold, frostbitten expression finally softened into a smile.
"Well said," he replied, satisfied. "House Greyjoy will rise to new heights within the family of House Targaryen."
From that moment on, the Iron Islands lost a raider named Vickon—and gained a builder in his place.
Aegon quickly reached out to help him up. Vickon tried to stand, but his legs gave out from blood loss, and he stumbled.
Alarmed, Aegon shouted, "Maester! Quickly—stop the bleeding!"
The healer rushed forward and carefully tended Vickon's wounds.
With the ceremony complete, the soldiers of The Reach entered Pyke Castle in orderly formation, beginning the disarmament of House Greyjoy.
If the Greyjoys wished to keep their ancestral seat, they would need to prove their worth in the coming campaign.
Aegon and his Reach vassals crossed the stone bridge into the heart of the castle.
Pyke was unlike any other stronghold—its towers connected by swaying rope bridges and constantly shifting walkways. The towers, walls, and cliffs were all carved from the same gray-black stone as the island itself. Time had weathered every surface; dark moss crept along the masonry, silent testimony to centuries of wind and sea.
Inside the largest stronghold, a new war council convened. Vickon, bandages wrapped tightly around his neck, sat beside them.
The new strategy took shape: House Greyjoy would serve as auxiliary troops in the conquest of the remaining Iron Islands—but any territory seized would not belong to them.
Aegon remained stationed at Pyke while several of the major Reach lords split their forces to begin sweeping the other islands.
From that moment on, the competition for the title of Lord Paramount of The Reach escalated into open rivalry.
The Reach lords divided into two camps: one supporting House Redwyne, the other backing House Hightower.
Aegon sat on the Seastone Chair, deep in thought, weighing which candidate would best serve the realm as the coastal duke of The Reach.
...
At that moment, Lady Raedelle approached with a steaming cup of fragrant tea.
Aegon gently waved away the attendants in the hall, finally granted a rare moment of peace to share with his lover.
Raedelle's unique black-and-green hair, striking and otherworldly, never failed to captivate him. He pulled her close, inhaling the soft scent of her hair, basking in the fleeting stillness and warmth.
"Your Grace," Raedelle murmured as she nestled in his arms, "are you troubled by the choice of Lord Paramount for The Reach?"
Since she'd brought it up, Aegon followed her lead. "Raedelle, what do you think?"
"I believe House Redwyne is the better choice," she said softly, tracing her fingers across his chest. "House Hightower is too dominant. When I managed the servants in Highgarden, many of them only knew the Hightowers—they didn't even recognize the Targaryen royal house."
"You make a fair point," Aegon said, eyes still closed, enjoying her touch. "But have you considered what kind of life our future children will face in The Reach? Should they grow up beneath the shadow of two great lords?"
Raedelle's hand paused. Her voice softened, almost wistful. "I'm just a bastard. Even if I bear your children, they'll still be bastards. What else could I possibly want?"
"If you truly had no ambition," Aegon replied evenly, "you wouldn't have brought up the matter of the duchy.
You don't need to hide it from me. There's no shame in wanting power.
What you deserve—and what your children deserve—I will give you."
"Your Grace..." Raedelle looked up at him, eyes shining with both gratitude and a quiet, unspoken longing.
...
[Upto 20 chapters ahead for now]
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