Song of A Northern Sorcerer

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Standing near the bedside that housed his eldest son, Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands and Lord of the Seas, watched on as the Maester of the Pyke wiped the dried blood off his son's back with a wet cloth. His son's skin had grown pale, deathly pale. His eyes would not open. And the only indication that he even still lived was the very slow, very erratic rise and fall of his chest as he gasped for his last breathes. "You will save him." Balon stated emotionlessly. He'd already lost one son in this war, and he would be damned if he would lose another.

The Maester paused mid-wipe and gave him a fearful look. "My lor – Your Grace. I…I don't know if I can. Whatever he was hit with cut through his clothes and plate armor like they were nothing. His wound is deep and already cauterized. I've never seen a weapon that could do…this. At this point, I believe all that we can do is make him comfortable."

Balon crossed the room and grasped the Maester by the throat, squeezing tight and lifting the trembling old fool up to his feet. "You will save him," Balon commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I have no need for a Maester that cannot even perform the most basic of instructions. Heal him. Or share his fate."

Letting go of the old fool, Balon turned his back on the Maester and his son and left the room. 'How did it come to this?' Balon cursed as he marched down the hall towards the main hall within the Sea Tower towards the small gathering hall while his two 'Kingsgaurd' fell into step behind him. 'Euron has lost his eye and is out of the fight. The Maester shoved enough milk of the poppy down his throat to ensure that much. Victarion can still fight, but the man is now lame and next to useless. How…How could this come to pass?'

Sure, Balon knew that his succession from the Iron Throne and subsequent raids on the Westerlands and the rest of Westeros would provoke a retaliation, but he had not expected this. Dorne had not joined, as he'd expected. But the fact that the Tyrells and the rest of the Reach had joined the fight so readily had not been what he'd planned for. That and the North arriving so fast. Even after he'd sent a fleet to cripple their few pathetic ships! All the northern raids had been delaying tactics, to be sure. But they were strategically planned to draw everyone's attention away from Balon's true goal. The one thing that would truly allow him to win this war and have Robert all but begging for him to keep his crown. 'How did it all go wrong?!'

He knew the answer to that question though, even if he did not want to accept it. The Northern Sorcerer. A variable he had not accounted for, and rightfully so. The man had not even existed in Westeros until just before Balon launched his war. If not for that magical fuck, then the Northern armies would still be stranded in the North and Balon would not be reduced to hiding like a fucking coward in the Sea Tower, using his last option to try and buy as much time as necessary for the men he'd dispatched to complete their task. And his son would not be on the plank, fighting to stay out of the Storm God's embrace.

Walking into the hall, he took stock what few men he had left between himself and Robert's armies. 'A crippled kraken and three dozen men. Not much of a fucking army,' he thought bitterly as he made his way towards his makeshift throne. He would've preferred the Seastone Chair, but as his brothers lost the Great Hall to that sorcerous fucker. So, this was now his throne. "Captain Hugo," Balon barked, ignoring his brother, who'd wrapped his stump of an arm in a cloth bandage. "Take two dozen men and secure the hall. Knock down the rope bridge. Make sure that sorcerer fuck can't reach us."

His captain of the guard nodded and saluted him by slamming his fist against his chest. "It will be done, your grace." The man said before turning and barking out orders as he and two-thirds of Balon's remaining forces went with him.

Once they were out of the hall, Balon turned to his brother. "Seal the door."

His brother's brow twitched, but he nodded and rose to his feet to see the orders done. His brother knew the plan. Knew that at this point, they were only trying to buy time. Should the fallen rope bridge prove enough to keep the sorcerer and Robert at bay, then he would unseal the door. But should it not, then the two dozen men looked outside the hall would make sure the sorcerer did not leave the hall alive.

Leaning back in his throne, he watched as his remaining dozen men shut the heavy doors to the hall before using tables, chairs and whatever else they could find to barricade the door from this side. Just as the last piece of furniture was being upended and brought to the doors, the Maester of the Pyke hobbled his way into the room. His pace and constant fidgeting told Balon everything he needed to know. His son had entered the embrace of the Drowned God.

"Your grace…" The Maester stuttered, clearly trying to find the words. "I – Your son, he-"

"He is healed, is he not?" Balon asked, knowing full well the answer. 'This war may have turned on me, but I will find my satisfaction one way or another. Even if it is just by fucking with this cunt.'

The Maester was visibly sweating. "Your grace…Your son, Prince Maron, has… He has passed, your grace."

Leaning forward, Balon rested his elbows on his knees and fixed the Maester with a glare. "Tell me, Maester. You were trained in the art of healing, were you not? And the purpose of a Maester is to treat and keep the ruling family members alive, is it not?"

The Maester visibly swallowed. "Yes, your grace…it is."

"So," Balon continued. "You're either a failure or a fraud. And I have no use for either."

Snapping his fingers, his two Kingsguard marched forward. One of the men slammed his gauntleted fist into the old man's gut, doubling him over before each grabbed an arm and hoisted the man up. "Had we been at sea, I would order you keelhauled for your failure. But as we are not, I have to get creative." Rising to his feet, he grabbed the Maester's chin and forced the man to look up at him. "Put him in a fish barrel, pound a few nails in to drive the 'point' of his failure home. And then throw him out the tallest window to the sea."

Returning to his chair, Balon watched on with no slight amount of amusement as the Maester screamed and pleaded for his life as his two Kingsguard shoved the withered old man into a nearby barrel and sealed the top. The man's muffled screams only intensified as they began pounding over a dozen hand length iron nails into the sidewalls of the barrels. And as they tipped the barrel over and began to roll it out of the hall, the Maester's cries reached a fevered pitch as he beg for mercy and beat his fists against his cramped wooden prison.

"Brother."

His amusement cut short, Balon fixed his lame brother with a glare. "That is 'your grace', lame Victarion."

His brother sneered, "As you wish…your grace."

"Better," Balon nodded before waving with his hand for his brother to continue. "Now, tell me everything you saw when battling this, sorcerer. Before he turned you into a lame failure, that is."

Victarion's sneer only intensified. "As you wish, your grace."

Walking with his men, the Captain of the Guard for Greyjoy House, Hugo Pyke, kept a weather eye on his surroundings at all times, even as they simply walked from the gathering hall to the rope bridge that served as the final connection point from the Sea Tower to the rest of the islands that made up the great Pyke Keep. Based on what Victarion Greyjoy had managed to tell them about this 'sorcerer's abilities, Hugo wouldn't have been surprised if the man suddenly materialized out of the shadows. And judging by the way his men were near jumping at every little sound and the way their eyes kept moving towards each new shadow they passed, their thoughts were similar to his own.

Once they reached the balcony that led to the robe bridge, Hugo scanned the bridge and the other two stone bridges that led up to the robe bridge carefully, trying to find any clue as to the whereabouts of the sorcerer. But there was no sign of the man at all. "You four," he called out, pointing to four of the two dozen with him before motioning towards his two best archers. "Start cutting the bridge supports. You two, keep an eye on the other bridges. If that fucker shows his head, I want each of you to put two arrows in his fucking skull and then one in his balls."

"Aye, Cap'n," the six men he signaled out responded before setting about their respective tasks.

"The rest of you sorry cunts, with me," he ground out, turning his back on the rope bridge. "We're gonna set a few surprises for this fuckin sorcerer should he manage to reach us."

"But, Cap'n," one of the men called out, clearly confused. "If we be cuttin the only bridge to the tower, then how is the fucker gonna reach us?"

Stopping in his tracks, Hugo fixed the idiot with a glare that'd make battle-hardened men nearly piss in their pants. "If what Lord Greyjoy said be true, then that fucker destroyed the walls of the gate keep and managed to get to the Great Keep without anyone fuckin noticing. Do you really think a simple thing like not having a bridge will stop that fucker from reaching us?"

His men didn't have anything to say to that as he led them back down the corridor towards the gathering hall and King Balon's solar. Thankfully, they had the advantage in terms of terrain within the tower. The circular corridor that wound around the tower leading up to the gathering hall was a one-way passage, with several guest rooms situated within the tower. "Keep these doors open. He commanded, motioned towards the rooms they passed. "Two men will be in each room, hidden from view. Once that fucker passes you by, fuck him up the ass an-"

Screams of death and the unmistakable fading scream of a man falling to his death echoed throughout the corridor, making all his men turn quickly and draw their weapons. "I-Impossible." The youngest of those in his guard stammered. "He – He wasn't on the bridge just a moment ago! He wasn't on any of the fuckin bridges! He couldn't – fuck – fucking hells -fuck! We're dead! We're fuc—"

"Shut your hole before I shove my axe in it!" Hugo growled, slapping the boy across the face with enough force to send him to the ground. "No time to set fuckin traps now…Fall back to the gathering hall."

But as they made their way back to the gathering hall, Hugo felt his already low heart sink into the pit of his stomach at finding the doors to the gathering hall shut. No doubt sealed from the inside on orders of King Balon. "No," the same youngster from earlier whispered, his lip coated with blood from the slap. "His grace…He's left us to die! We're going to fucking die! He's leaving us to fuck—" Drawing his dirk, Hugo stepped up behind the lad, clasped a hand over his mouth and shoved his dirk through the boy's back and into his heart. Letting go, he let the dying body fall face first to the ground.

"His grace hasn't abandoned us," he growled, cursing his King for leaving him in this situation. But it was true, after a fashion. He knew his King well enough to know that Balon hadn't abandoned them. He'd given them two options. Kill the intruder. Or die trying. "His grace has given us the chance to prove that we truly are the toughest fuckers in the land! Once we kill this sorcerer cunt, our legend will be such that whenever we enter a room, every cunt will be dripping just waiting to get our cocks in them! And every man will only be able to wish they could have the honor we have! But that reward comes with a price! The iron price! Let us pay the iron price upon this fucking cunt sorcerer to ensure our reputation as the best fighters in the fucking realm!"

He could see some of his men's eyes harden as their backs straightened. The thought of killing the one who maimed the Greyjoys and potentially killed their prince by itself was very enticing. But their Captain was right. Once they took him down, they would be fucking legends. And anything they could imagine would be theirs. Salt wives, rock wives, ships, gold…anything.

"Form up!" Hugo shouted, sheathing his dirk and raising his axe. "Shields in front, archers behind. Swords and axes at the ready! Let's kill this fucker!"

His men quickly formed ranks, six men with heavy shields took a knee in front of him while three archers notched arrows behind them and waited for their enemy to show himself. 'Come on, you fucking coward!' Hugo cursed, casting glances at his men and noting their slight shifting in place as their nerves began to return with the longer they were forced to wait. 'It took you no fucking time at all to cross the bridges…So why the fuck are you taking a leisurely stroll now!?'

He received his answer in the form of the sound of something slamming shut. Then another. Then another. It took him a minute to place, but as he noticed the slowly darkening hall before him, he realized what was happening. "Light the torches! Now!" he shouted, drawing surprised looks from his men, not surprising seeing as how it was midday and the sun was high in the sky. "The fucker is shutting the shutters! Light the fucking torches now!"

His men, finally noticing the hall darkening as another shutter slammed shut, began frantically searching themselves for a piece of flint. Mercifully, one of his men had a piece on him and the only just managed to light a single torch as the shutter just down from the window they were standing next to slammed shut. "Don't let that fucking thing close!" He shouted, motioning towards the shutter that, with the now lit torch, was their only source of light in the hall.

"I got it," one of his men shouted, laying down his axe as he stuck his body half out the window and used his arms to brace the shutters open. "Get some fuckin wood! We need to—"

Whatever his man was about to say was lost in his screams and a splattering of blood as the shutters he'd been holding open forcibly shut, breaking several bones in the man's arm and removing his head from his shoulders. For a long moment, the body remained standing before it toppled limply to the side and went still completely.

"By the fucking deep," Hugo cursed, staring down at the headless corpse of one of his best. "Throw his fuckin body down the hall. Can't have it tripping our feet."

His men looked at one another, fear evident on their faces even as they bent over to roll the headless body a few feet down the hall away from their formation. Once the body was clear, Hugo stared down the darkened corridor. 'This isn't right.' He thought, noting just how dark the corridor had become. 'It's midday. Atbest, those shutters should've only been able to cut out some of the sunlight. But instead…it might as well be the dead of night in here instead of midday! We need more light!'

"You," he ordered, motioning towards the man with the torch. "Get your ass down there and light the other torches."

The man looked from him, to the torch in his hand and then to down the hall. "No way in the deep fuckin hells am I goin down the fuck there!"

"Cowardly cunt," another man with a shield cursed, ripping the torch from the man's hand. "Guess we know who fucks and who gets fucked between you and your rock wife."

Pausing to light a second outstretched torch, the man readied his shield in front of him, held the lit torch above his head and out of his eyesight, and slowly walked down the hall. After a dozen or so paces, he came to the first wall sconce. Raising the torch, he quickly touched the flame to the top of the sconce, setting it alight and giving light to more of the hall. "See?" the man shouted over his shoulder, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the darkness in front of him. "There's nothing to be sca – ah!"

His sudden scream was followed as his body jerk forward. The sudden movement jarring the torch from his outstretched hand as it fell uselessly to the floor. What came next was something straight out of any man's worst nightmare. Screams. Screams of suffering and the unmistakable sound of bones snapping over and over came from the depths of the shadows. His men made to charge and save their fellow reaver, but Hugo held out his hand, stopping them in their tracks.

"Hold the line, you dimwitted fucks!" he shouted, trying to get his voice over the sounds of the screams of agony from the dark. "He fuckin wants us to come after him! Stand your fucking ground!"

Without warning, the screaming stopped, and the hall was cast in silence as Hugo and those he had remaining stayed in formation, waiting for the sorcerer to come out of the darkness. A slight movement in the light caught his eye. Before he could issue the command, the three archers he had all released their arrows as one towards the disturbance. "Hold!" he shouted, holding up his hand.

'Strange…the arrows didn't clutter to the ground,' he thought, his eyes desperately searching the darkness. The slightest whistle was their only warning as the three arrows that'd been released by his archers were suddenly coming back at them. No one, not even Hugo, had time to react as the three arrows whistled past them and pierced each of his archers through the heart, ending their lives. And before their bodies could even hit the ground, a wet sound, like a bag of wet clothes, hit the ground half the distance between Hugo and his remaining men and the second lit torch down the hall. It was the man he'd sent down to light the torches. His body twisted into knots, literally, and his face frozen in a scream of dying agony.

"Fuckin coward!" Hugo shouted to the darkness. "Show your fucking self, sorcerer! You think this shit scars us?! We're fuckin Ironborn! We see shit like this during the breaking of our fast!"

"If that is indeed true, and I highly doubt that it is, then I truly feel sorry for your people."

Hugo, and the rest of his men, all snapped up straight as possible, their wepaons held aloft and ready for a fight as they faced off against the voice in the darkness. 'Strange…I heard him. But I can't tell where his voice was coming from! It was almost as if he's fucking everywhere at once!' "You think your little tricks scare us, sorcerer?" He shouted, putting on a brave front for his men. "You don't! You hear me, you fucking cunt! You don't scare us! These little tricks mean nothing!"

A laugh, slow and menacing, came from the dark. "Judging by the fact that the man next to you has literally pissed himself, I believe that I am doing a fine job of scaring you." Risking a glance downwards, Hugo's lips curled up in disgust as he could see in the dim light of the torch that the man next to him had, in fact, pissed himself. "But if you are not scared just yet…then perhaps I should actually start trying. Let me show you, Captain Hugo Pyke, what it truly means to fight against a Sith."

Tightening his hold on his axe, Hugo waited with bated breath for the bastard to finally show himself. Only, he didn't. "Fuck me, look at the fuckin walls!"

Eyes flickering towards the torch, Hugo's eyes widened at what he saw. 'That's…That's impossible!' The shadows were…moving around the torch. Elongating. Stretching. Almost as if they…no…they were. The shadows were forming into tenticles. And just like a kraken reaching from the depths of the sea to capture a ship, the darkness reached out from the shadows, wound up the torch and snuffed the flame out, darkening the hall again.

"Don't let that fucking torch go out!" Hugo shouted, pushing the man holding the torch back and doing his best to keep the fear from leeching into his voice. 'Is this…Is this what he meant?' he wondered as he watched the shadows slowly crawl across the wall and the up to the torch to snuff out yet another light. 'This…fear? Is this…how these strange fuckers fight? Fucking cowards!'

"Fuck!"

Whipping his head around, Hugo's eyes widened even further as he turned just in time to watch the shadows grab hold of the last remaining torch, wrenching it free from the man's hand and bringing it up to the ceiling before snuffing out the flame and leaving Hugo and his last remaining men encased in total darkness.

"Dead…We're fucking dead!"

Hugo didn't correct the man. His fear had taken hold as soon as the darkness surrounded them completely. He could hear his own heart hammering in his chest and found the sudden darkness only slightly welcoming as it meant his men couldn't see the axe shaking in his hand. Then he felt it. The cold. It stabbed at his heart and his gut, almost doubling him over as fear ran rampart through him. His body shivered against his will and his heart hammered as sweat began to run free down his face.

The silence and darkness were broken as a hiss of quenched steel, loud as if it were a hammer on an anvil. The darkness was broken as the hall illuminated in a red glow that took the shape of a sword in a man's hand. A man wearing all black with a mask over his face. Hugo was not one for religion outside of the Drowned God. But here and now, he swore that he was looking at the avatar of the Stranger himself. And all he could think was one final thought as the Stranger advanced. 'We're so fucked.'