AN :
Next goal for another extra chapter is 500 power stones.
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait. The more Power Stones you offer, the faster the chapters come.
...
( Gorman Bloodtooth POV )
A thick pillar of smoke curled up from what had once been a Westerlands village. Dark and fat, it curled up into the sky like one of the Targaryen's old dragons, and like them, it brought fiery ruin to the Greenlanders.
The sight of it made Gorman smile. Reaving like this reminded him of better days.
Through the thick of the near-freezing rain on the Bay Gorman had come to the town of Lower Bannock in the early morning twilight. Three ships and nearly two-hundred and fifty Ironborn had fallen upon the sleepy fishing with axes, spears, and swords, and slaughtered any greenlander stupid enough to fight back. This was no casual raid by boys pretending to be men. No, this was a proper Reaving fleet of the type that normally set off for the Stepstones or Essos. The men were veterans of many battles, their gear was polished and painted, and their hearts hardened by the weight of years.
'Well…' Gorman chuckled, glancing to his right. 'That's not to say that there's no young men with us.'
The truth of the matter was that Gorman never would have been able to muster a raiding fleet this great without outside backing. Oh, he had a reputation as an excellent reaver, many friends, and a good two ships to his name already. (It had been three before Rorrick had lost Skolda to the Lannisters.) But when he had gone out to gather allies, he had only been able to secure the help of his good friend Harren and one ship from his Wife's father, and Rorrick's grandfather, Lord Sunderly. A fleet of four ships with only two proper warships would only have been half the force he had now.
No, it had been while he was still acting as a trader, gathering information on the lands under this Lord Tygett Lannister, that he had been approached by the younger man. Dark of eye and dark of hair, he had introduced himself as Longshanks, but Gorman had sussed out who he was before the conversation was over.
Lore Quellon's heir, Balon Greyjoy, was not a subtle man. He had come to make an offer, for he had heard about Gorman's Vendetta, and 'Longshanks' approved of it. Everyone knew that Balon openly disagreed with his father's prohibitions on raiding in Westeros, and the young man saw the opportunity to make a show of this raid and further weaken his father Quellon's position against raiding.
So 'Longshanks' had accompanied Gorman, and doubled his fleet in the process, and the plan to draw out Lord Tygget's Greenlander horsemen had transformed into a plot to pillage and burn the settlements of the North Coast, and remind both Ironmen and Greenlanders just why the Ironborn were to be feared. They painted their hulls black and raised grey sails with no sigil, removed what identifying marks they could, and set out from the harbor at Old Wyk with the blessing of the Drowned God, to go forth and reave and take what they will from lesser men.
Only the arrival of winter had slowed them down a bit, but even that didn't hold them back. If the Ironborn didn't know how to fish in the bay during Winter then they would starve like the Skagosi. It wasn't like going out onto the Sunset Sea with its winter waves that could swallow a Leviathan whole.
The bay was sheltered from the worst of the Storm God's wrath, and while the cold could be blistering and the rain could cut you to the bone, it was both traversable and fishable in all the winters Gorman had ever seen. With men that knew the bay like the back of their hand, it had taken only fifteen days for most of the fleet to arrive at Mallon's Stone, near the edge of Mallister lands, and burn it to the ground.
"What's caught your eyes Bloodtooth?" Longshanks asked from beside him. "You've been staring into the woods for a minute, did you spot a deer?" the slightly mocking tone from the Greyjoy heir was hardly unexpected, but it also wasn't anything Gorman could do anything about. At the end of it, he needed the other man much more than Longshanks needed him.
"No, I'm only thinking on our next move." Gorman lied easily. "The Running River is largely undefended, so the traders say. There are villages enough along its banks, to plunder and burn, and draw out our foes…" Gorman tapped his chin, despite all the benefits, he didn't think it would be the right choice. "I think it would be the wrong move though, on the shores of the bay, the advantage is all on our side, but if we were trapped on a river…" supposedly that was how Lord Tygett had caught Rorrick, they'd trapped Skolda and her crew on a river ford and then cut all the Ironborn down like dogs in the shallows. Gorman could see this was an enemy who had put thought into how to counter their raiding tactics,
"Hmm? Well, you're too late for that then." Longshanks replied, biting down on a piece of Mutton that they'd cooked on the fire. "Hralfi and Lonnard are already heading inland by that route. They told me when we left Mallon's Stone."
"What?" Gorman whirled and snapped. "Do you… Why in the Drowned God's Halls didn't you tell me?" he stared at the younger man in disbelief, but the Greyjoy only shrugged. "It wouldn't have made a difference, in the end, they're captains, and their ships are their own. You can hardly blame them and their men for wanting a few more salt wives."
"This isn't the time to go off on independent raids," Gorman growled. "We need to have enough men to crush Tygett Lannister when he comes out to fight."
"He's got what, five hundred at most hasn't he?" Longshanks chuckled. "Five hundred Greenlanders at that, and without horses? They're no threat, not in this weather. As long as our three proper warships stay together we could face his whole horde directly and win. Then you can take your iron price." Longshank's grin was cruel. "There's no need to rush things, let the captains have their fun."
Gorman could only glare at this little half-weaned rookie. That same sort of mindset was probably what had gotten Rorrick killed. Longshanks-Balon that is, had probably never faced death in the eye before. It was the only explanation of why he could be so flippant about something so heavy. Gorman snatched a leg of mutton from the fire and stood up. "Right, tell your crew we'll be moving tomorrow, the rest day is canceled."
"Eh?" Longshanks frowned. "Why? There's no rush."
"There is now." Gorman threw him a glare. "If Lord Lannister catches wind that there's a few smaller ships operating unhindered in the Running Country, I'd bet he'll call up his garrison and go out to trap them on the river, just like he did to Rorrick." Gorman grinned a bit.
"I don't particularly care if he does or doesn't, if those two gave it any thought they wouldn't have run off on their own. Of course, he could also let them run rampant and come chasing us instead. Either way, it benefits us, as his attention will be split regardless. We need to ride that wind while it lasts." Gorman bit down hard into the mutton he'd picked up and tore off a section of the meat, swallowing it down with an aggressive bite, hardly chewing. He reached out his arm and pointed it toward the ocean.
"Down the coast a ways there is Troutpoint, which we can probably raid tomorrow at sunset if we start sailing at dawn, then on down the coast. The Greenlanders won't know what to do."
"I don't know about your old war dogs Bloodtooth, but my men need time to rest." Longshanks cautioned, glancing over at his warship. Or rather, the warship that Longshanks had borrowed from his friends in House Drumm. He couldn't exactly go out sailing around in a House Greyjoy vessel in full defiance of his father. "I've had successful raids before, but many of the men just took their first salt-wives, give them some time to enjoy it."
Gorman scoffed. He'd been young once too, but it was the job of the old men to tell the young to stop thinking with their cocks. "Tell them they can have all the time they want once I've plucked Tygett Lannister's eyes from their sockets and sent him scampering back to Casterly Rock."
Longshanks frowned, the Greyjoy heir not happy to be ordered about, but after a moment he nodded. Good, he still hadn't let whatever past success he'd had to get ahead of the fact that Gorman had been captaining raids longer than he'd been alive. "I'll get them moving, but there'll be grumbling about this." Longshanks started moving. "You'd better keep winning Gorman."
"That's how it always is." Gorman chuckled. In a raiding fleet like this, every captain was really out for himself. There was no loyalty except to the man who could lead them to better loot and plunder. If it started looking like Gorman was going to lose in this little blood feud against Lord Lannister, then his fleet would melt away like winter snow under summer sunlight.
Gorman turned to his own ships and started walking, their black hulls little more than silhouettes painted against the shore. His crew were mostly gathered out on the beach, counting out the thralls and women and loot, or sitting about and gambling around small campfires. Gorman pounded his breastplate, making a loud ruckus as he stepped up on top of a tree stump, his armored form cast in the firelight as he got the attention of his crew.
"Men!" Gorman shouted, his voice tearing over the din of quiet night-time conversations.
"We've had victory and plunder today, but we are not done." Gorman looked back and forth over the assembled listeners, the armored Ironborn raiders, the quivering thralls, and sobbing new salt wives. "No, the lord of these Greenlanders, Tygett Lannister, who took the lives of my son Rorrick and his crew will no doubt hear of our successes soon. He will march up the coast with his Greenlander pussies in their shining armor, and seek to trap and butcher us… But it'll be him who suffers.
His men will die, and I'll send him back cowering to his brother in Lannisport without any eyes left in his head for what he did to my boy." Gorman spat. "But to make that happen, we have to strike hard and fast. I'm sure you all know that, you've all seen me do it before." He grinned, "And that means we won't be having that day of rest we planned on, not yet anyway."
There were a few grumbles from the crowd at that. But Gorman wasn't worried at all. These were his men, and while there was no loyalty between captains, there was plenty of it from his crew. Men with greying beards and long years of raiding would be annoyed, but not truly dismayed at the prospect of moving quickly.
"We sail at dawn." Gorman finished, looking out over the crowd once again. "So get all our takings stored below deck, and get some shuteye if you're smart. We've got blood and plunder ahead of us once again."
...
Chronicle of the Targaryen Dynasty in the Seven Kingdoms
Maester Willem
279 AC - Eighteenth Day of Ninth Moon
The realm mourns the death of Queen Rhaella Targaryen, who passed away last night as confirmed by Grand Maester Pycelle after suffering from a strange illness for over a year. Even Archmaester Ebrose, widely acclaimed as the greatest healer of the citadel and called up half a year ago, was unable to determine the cause of the sickness and was only able to ease the symptoms and pain somewhat in the Queen's dying days.
King Aerys has barred all men from visiting his quarters, where he mourns in private, while Prince Rhaegar and his family rush to return from Dragonstone. A funeral has been arranged at the Great Sept of Baelor.
May the Stranger guide our queen's soul to the Mother's Heaven safely.
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