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The Stark by Dscot

I do not own this story.

CH11

I call the banners of the North to gather at Westford Castle, Uncle Benjen's stronghold. As I watched Lord Bolton ride into the encampment situated on the fields outside of Westford, an air of anticipation filled me. Little did he know that his fate had already been sealed. Swiftly I orchestrated his arrest, ensuring his men were also apprehended. After all the lords of the North had gathered, I presented irrefutable evidence of Bolton's treachery. Using the mind arts, I had several of his own men step forward, to testify against him. The room grew heavy with the weight of betrayal as I unveiled letters he had received and sent to the Greyjoy's, exposing his clandestine alliance. My accusations of him aiding the Ironborn in the theft of northern wood to build their ships reverberated through the hall, followed by the damning revelation of his involvement in the trade of selling Northerners into slavery. After presenting the evidence, I decided to hold a trial for Lord Bolton in front of the northern forces, my voice resonating with resolve, ensuring justice would be served.

Lord Bolton, a man notorious for his cruelty and his keen mind, knew that the evidence I presented about him was false, but his reputation and lack of allies made him acutely aware that his protest would fall on deaf ears. Perhaps, in this moment, Bolton was innocent of the actions I attributed to him. Nevertheless, my motivations for wanting him dead were numerous. Firstly, his vast lands held a coastline that I coveted for my own ambitions. Secondly I knew that in Bolton lands there were a lot of volcanic vents and activities. On top of that, the threat he posed could not be ignored, for even if he had not yet plotted against me, it did not guarantee his future loyalty. Additionally, I needed to demonstrate to all, that I was as cunning and ruthless as my ancestors. This war was about securing my legacy. After this war, those in the north, and those in Westeros and the world, will know that provoking me will have dire consequences.

Knowing that he would not get a fair trial, Lord Bolton demanded a trial by combat, which made me satisfied. I had not even needed to manipulate his decision, for he willingly chose this path himself. Both my uncle Ned and uncle Rodrik valiantly stepped forward, offering to be my champions. Grateful for their support, I respectfully declined their offer. This was something I needed to face alone; the people of the North needed to witness my triumph over Lord Bolton in this duel. I had a makeshift arena constructed, nestled at the bottom of a dip in the land. From the surrounding hillside, the soldiers of the North would bear witness to this spectacle, their eyes fixed upon the impending clash, as I prepared to bring justice to the traitorous Lord Bolton.

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I armored myself in the finest steel armor. It was one of my masterpieces I was most proud of forging. I had engraved meticulously on it, both the inside and outside of the armor boasted intricate tribalistic patterns that added an air of mystique. But it was the enchantments, the runes of protection that blended into the tribal patterns, that truly set it apart. With these enchantments, my armor became more than just a mere shield against blows. It became a conduit, a vessel that could absorb kinetic energy, storing it within its core. And when the time was right, I could unleash that stored power in my swings, striking my foes with a force they could never anticipate. But that wasn't all the armor held. It also possessed the ability that made it lighter, allowing me to move with agility and speed. It resembled the renowned steel armor from Skyrim but instead of fur and leather underneath the steel armor. My version had enchanted chainmail-lined leather, providing an extra layer of defense. Even valyrian steel would have a hard time penetrating my chainmail and steel armor.

My weapon was a one-handed ax, a formidable tool of destruction. On one side of the ax, gleamed a razor-sharp ax head, ready to cleave through any obstacle in its path. On the other side, a sturdy hammer, capable of delivering bone-crushing blows. But what truly set this ax apart were the enchantments carefully woven into its very essence. These enchantments granted the weapon the power to eliminate the jarring shock of vibration that would typically reverberate through one's arm upon impact. With this mighty ax in my grip, I became an unstoppable force, striking with boldness and precision, untethered by the limitations of my stamina.

I also had two sharpen Blades each in sheaths that kris cross on the back of my belt. One was extremely sharp and thin, a relic passed down from my ancestors who seized it from House Bolton during their last rebellion. This blade was a reminder of their defiance and treachery. The other, a newly crafted Valyrian dagger, its ripples gleamed with an otherworldly aura.

As we stood face to face at the beginning of the duel, a tense silence filled the air, neither of us making a move. Suddenly, Bolton swiftly threw a blade towards me that he had hidden in his sword hand, followed by a ferocious charge. With my shield raised, I ignored his dagger since I knew it was a diversion, focusing on his swing, I deflected his attack and countered. I swiftly maneuvered behind him, delivering a powerful blow to his knee. Bellowing in pain he collapsed to the ground, he desperately tried to use his shield for support, but the damage to his knee was debilitating. When I moved to close in on him, he swung his sword in a desperate attempt to strike me, but I effortlessly evaded the attack and struck his plated arm. Methodically, I proceeded to disable his other arm and leg, rendering him defenseless. As the crowd looked on, I unsheathe then held up my Bolton knife brandishing it to the crowd, then using it to remove his armor and clothing.

As I looked at him, his eyes that were filled with arrogance at the beginning of the duel now showed nothing but fear, my heart swelled with a mix of satisfaction and anger. The crowd before me, their faces filled with anticipation, awaited my next move. With a voice that echoed through the air, I unleashed my words upon them. "Too long has House Stark endured the treachery of the Boltons!" I declared, my voice carrying the weight of generations. "I will rectify the mistakes of my ancestors and rid the North of this cancerous family once and for all!" With a resolute gaze, I turned to face Bolton, knowing that the ultimate punishment of the North awaited him.

I severed Bolton's ribs from his spine with my valyrian dagger, the blade slicing effortlessly through the bone. Using the valyrian blade to cut through bone and using the Bolton dagger to slice the flesh open. As the crimson spray painted the air, a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. With each rib I separated from his spine, I revealed the macabre artistry of it all, pulling his bones and skin outward to create a grotesque display. With a determined grip, I pulled his lungs through the gruesome opening, their twisted shape resembling a pair of macabre wings. The sight was exhilarating, a testament to the power I held over my enemy.

As I stood breathing heavily while looking down at the newly made corpse amidst the sea of onlookers, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment. The crimson stains on my face and arms were a chilling testament to my gruesome execution of Bolton. As his lifeless body lay before me, I took a deep breath and turned to face the crowd. With a voice that resonated with conviction, I declared, "House Bolton is no more." The words echoed through the air. I continued, "The land and titles, once belonging to this treacherous house, will now be seized by house Stark. And let it be known that any who dare to claim the name Bolton shall suffer the very same fate." The crowd fell silent, a mixture of awe and fear lingering in the air.

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That night I received a message from my mother. She used the communication mirrors, which allowed us to stay connected even over long distances. We didn't speak about it, but I knew she was concerned and worried about my actions in dueling Bolton. Towards the end of our conversation, she informed me that a message had arrived from King's Landing. It demanded the presence of my armies to march against the Ironborn.

I knew my invasion of the Iron born would most likely not be interrupted by Robert. Since he would not be able to find ships to make it to the isles before the war was over. I knew that the Royal fleet would be no match for the Ironborn. Because of my actions they would be vulnerable and easily destroyed. Leaving only the Redwyne fleet to defend the south. Even so, the destruction that awaited in the south was uncertain. The fact that Victarion had refused to join Euron Greyjoy in his plundering meant that the Ironborn fleet was not as large as it could have been. Even so Euron was a dangerous and cunning foe and would not be easily stopped.

With all our supplies and provisions safely obtained, our whole force would be fully prepared to set off in just two weeks. It was an exciting time as I found myself seated in the council chambers, surrounded by my trusted advisors. We were putting the finishing touches on our plans, and the atmosphere was filled with anticipation.

Jeor Mormont, our Minister of Defense, shared his strategic insights. His expertise and experience were invaluable as he discussed the best approaches for our upcoming mission. Theon Snow, the leader of us ground forces, then took the floor. He outlined his strategies for capturing and occupying the iron islands, providing a clear and detailed plan of action. Meanwhile, Wylis Manderly, who was overseeing our fleet, reassured me of their preparedness. He made sure that provisions were loaded onto the ships, ensuring that our forces would have everything they needed while at sea.

While my council members discussed what to do with the thralls on the iron islands, Lord Mormont firmly put forth his argument: "Only reason someone would find themselves on the Iron Island as a thrall was if they had been captured and brought there against their will." This statement held a profound truth, for it was evident that these unfortunate individuals had been stripped of their freedom, forced into servitude without consent. As we discussed the fate of the thralls. Wylis proposed a compelling solution: "we should help them take their freedom. If we arm them, they may be willing to fight against the Ironborn." "I say, let them take vengeance, as they were essentially slaves." Sighing he continued "I can only imagine what they have endured, let's use that and help them seek their revenge."

"However, it is essential that we acknowledge the dilemma that will arise with the older thralls" as Theon Snow wisely pointed out. "These individuals had children that are considered Ironborn, and many of their children have perished in the attacks on the North," he said. "Consequently, some of these thralls may harbor hostility towards us." Wylis advocated for a solution that involves sending them back to their place of origin. "By doing so, we ensure that they are not in close proximity to those who may sympathize with their anger, potentially exploit it for their own agendas." I found no qualms in supporting the notion of returning these captives to their home, allowing them the opportunity to reclaim their lives.

To better conquer the Iron Island, the council came up with a strategic plan and decided to split the forces into four fleets. Wylis Manderly played a crucial role in planning this operation. His fleet was assigned the task of dropping off a force led by my uncle Rodrik, at Blacktyde and a force led by uncle Ned at Orkmont. Once Blacktyde was successfully taken, Wylis took charge of collecting the captured thralls who didn't want to fight and ensuring their temporary relocation to Blacktyde until the war came to an end. As well as transporting all books, relics and plunder from the Iron islands to Westford.

Jeor Mormont, a seasoned commander, assumed control of the majority of our fleet. Once our soldiers were safely delivered to Harlaw, his next mission was to patrol the waters surrounding the Iron Islands. In a bid to ensure the success of our invasion, Jeor was resolute in his task of neutralizing any enemy vessels that dared to challenge our objectives.

Dacey Mormont, commanded the third fleet, entrusted with the critical task of landing troops on Pyke. Once the troops had disembarked, her orders were clear: patrol the waters surrounding Pyke, leaving no room for escape or reinforcement. She would ensure Theon Snow's siege of Pyke began unimpeded. The last fleet was mine, and it may have been the smallest in size, so it was decided that I would pacify the smaller islands, of great Wyk and old Wyk. After taking over those two islands, I will join the rest of the fleet at Pyke.

To the commanders of my forces, I issue five orders that shall be followed without question in our invasion. Firstly, it is imperative that we seize and secure all religious relics and knowledge residing on the Iron Isle. Secondly, the drowned priests need to be captured. Thirdly, should the nobles of the castle refuse to surrender, they shall meet their demise once the castle is under our control. Fourthly all books, writings and maps will be seized and will be taken back to the north. Lastly, any holy areas, revered monuments, or sacred relics that cannot be conveniently transported onto our ships must be obliterated beyond any possibility of recognition.

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Throughout the years, I have worked tirelessly to build a fleet of 65 warships. These ships are not just any ordinary vessels; only the best sailors and captains have been chosen to command them. I personally handpicked each one and made sure they trained their crews to perfection. These warships are truly remarkable, resembling the Spanish galleon. They are adorned with basic runes that possess incredible enchantments. One of these enchantments ensures that no barnacles can ever cling to the underside of the ships. This allows them to effortlessly glide through the water, reducing friction and enabling them to maneuver with unmatched speed and grace.

Each ship is manned by a crew of 50 skilled sailors and accompanied by a company of 100 Marines. However, these galleons have the capacity to hold up to 400 men and all the supplies they need for a tour of duty for five months at sea. Since their creation, one of the things that I did was have them patrol the shivering sea. I had spent the last two years increasing our trading in Ibben, Lorath and Braavos. Knowing that the attack from the Ironborn was imminent, I had secretly sent 40 of the ships to patrol around the Bay of ice.

From the boats we had captured from the Ironborn, who tried to steal our lumber, we took something far greater than mere plunder. We seized their designs, and maps with their knowledge. I had their ships taken apart and used it to create blueprints to help construct an armada of 54 longboats. These vessels, born from the very essence of our foes, now stand tall as they cut through the sea on their way to the iron islands.

Together, I commanded a formidable fleet of 94 vessels, the 54 long ships, we could fit up to 115 soldiers in each. The 40 Spanish styled galleon could carry up to a whopping 350 soldiers each. Additionally, these vessels had 50 skilled sailors who fearlessly navigated the treacherous waters. With their expert piloting skills, they propelled us forward. I had around 20,200 northern soldiers by my side, ready to conquer the Iron Islands. The Ironborn had underestimated our might, and in their ill-fated invasion of the North, they suffered significant losses. More than half of their fleet was decimated leaving their waters, practically undefended.

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As I set sail, my personal ship leading the way, a sense of anticipation was flowing through my veins. The rest of the northern fleet followed closely behind, their sails billowing in the wind. As we passed Cape Kraken, the Ironborn ships that managed to flee during the invasion of Westford, were waiting for us. They had gathered and planned on laying a trap, ready to attack us when we passed. I saw this as an opportunity, a chance to showcase the true power of my magically powered cannons. With unwavering confidence, I commanded my ship Captain to charge towards the Ironborn fleet. The cannons roared to life; their destructive force unleashed upon the enemy. From a distance, I strategically positioned my vessel, unleashing devastating blows at each turn, swiftly maneuvering in different angles.

In a display of sheer dominance, it took me less than 15 minutes to decimate more than 42 Ironborn ships, their once formidable presence reduced to mere debris in the churning sea. The sound of destruction echoed in the air, a bold testament to the might of my ship and its extraordinary capabilities. The Ironborn fleet was caught off guard by our unexpected weaponry, and did not even have the ability to turn and flee.

As the smoke cleared, and the waves settled, the northern fleet sailed past the remnants of the Ironborn ships, victorious and unscathed. Our mission to break through their defenses was accomplished. My personal ship, a symbol of power and determination, had led us to victory, leaving no doubt that on these treacherous waters, I was a force to be reckoned with.

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I decided to attack Great Wyk, leaving old Wyk for after I pacified the island. This island was under the rule of the Goodbrothers, who possessed strongholds at Hammerhorn, Crow Spike Keep, Downdelving, and Corpse Lake. The largest port on Great Wyk was Pebbleton, governed by House Merlyn. Additionally, House Farwynd held Sealskin Point and the distant Lonely Light to the west. Despite its small population, it had contributed significantly to the invasion of the north and the rest of Westeros.

One by one I went to each fortification and I demanded their surrender. Knowing that they're out match, I expected them to comply, especially knowing what would happen if they didn't. However, when they defied my orders, I decided to use three portable magical canons. One of its designs was to breach castle walls. I obliterated their formidable walls, creating a gaping hole in their defenses. I then led my men through the breach, ready to execute my plan. In a loud but commanding tone, I ordered my soldiers to eliminate any individual wielding a blade, man or woman. As well as to find and capture the Lord of the castle.

After securing the castle I order my men to capture every single priest of the Drowned God. I emphasized the importance of this mission, highlighting the disruptive nature of these self-proclaimed holy men and their dangerous teachings. Describing their unmistakable appearance, I guided my troops to identify the priests. "They wear ragged garments, a patchwork of greens, grays, and blues, mirroring the hues of their false deity." I warned them of the priests' neglect for personal hygiene, evident in their unruly hair and untrimmed beards adorned with dried seaweed.

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Two weeks later I looked at the priests we had captured, they were bound and gagged and being moved on to my ship to be transported. I remember my previous thoughts about how to destroy a people's culture. It is a sinister and calculated process, meticulously designed to erode the very essence of a people. Erase their history, distort the truth, and rewrite the narrative. By obliterating their past, you ensure that they are disconnected from their roots, lost in a sea of confusion.

But that is not enough; the next blow is even more devastating. Next step is to attack their core beliefs, their values, and their moral compass. Strip them of their faith, their traditions, and their guiding principles. Plant seeds of doubt, sow discord, and watch as the foundation crumbles.

One of the reasons I chose to personally go to this island was the fact that it held a significant importance to the Ironborn culture. At the south-western tip of the island, overlooking Nagga's Cradle, is Nagga's Hill. The hill held the Grey King's Hall, formed out of the ribs of an immense sea dragon named Nagga, killed many thousands of years ago. In ancient times, the Ironborn gathered here to select their next king in the Kings moot, an archaic practice that has not been undertaken for many centuries. Old Wyk is counted as the holiest of the Iron Islands and an important center in the religion of the Drowned God. However, my intentions upon arrival were far from holy. Instead, armed with rune-powered cannons, I set out to devastate the landscape, destroying any structure of value to the Ironborn. With a bold and vengeful tone, I aimed to erase their history and leave nothing but ruins in my wake.

I commanded my soldiers to gather every relic and artifact pertaining to Ironborn culture. They scoured the land, collecting any writings or tomes that held history or information about their way of life. Additionally, I formed a dedicated group of men who meticulously created rubbings of every stone bearing carvings, ensuring that no piece of knowledge would be left behind. Once the task was complete, taking the gathered artifacts and writings, I had them taken to our ships. I know this is where history will judge me the worst. But I still ordered my men to destroy anything that held historical significance, sentimentality, or religious connection. In every castle, town, and village we shattered and burned, erasing the remnants of their past.

While the majority of my forces were occupied with gathering knowledge and securing prisoners on greater Wyk, I decided to lead a small expedition to Old Wyk. Upon arriving, I wasted no time in demanding the fortifications of Shatterstone, Stonehouse, and Drumm Castle to surrender. To my surprise, they eagerly complied, throwing open their gates without hesitation. Though I needed to set an example for those who were willing to submit to my rule, I did not order any executions. Instead, I commanded that all drowned priests be taken prisoner. The ruling family was publicly tasked with capturing these priests and handing them over to our custody. I made etchings of all the relics around the island and stole many artifacts. I did not destroy any religious places immediately around the fortifications. The rest of the island was not spared, any religious or important area on the island was heavily bombarded.

After gathering my prisoners and before I set sail from Great Wyk to gather my men from Old Wyk. Who I left to actively eradicate any remnants of cultural relevance on Old Wyk, my Uncle Rodrik joined me. His recent conquest of Blacktyde had been a resounding success. Nestled amidst the Iron Islands, Blacktyde, one of the smaller islands, spanning a mere fifty-six kms was ruled by House Blacktyde. Uncle Rodrik's strategic prowess had swiftly brought House Blacktyde under our control, further solidifying our dominion over the Iron Islands.