Chapter 42

.

.

.

"... Fine. You were right. The Ironborn were preparing for a rebellion." Ned admitted begrudgingly.

"And...?"

"And, what?! I will not allow you to destroy another noble house! Westeros is still reeling from the massacre of Lannisters!"

I looked at Ned with disgust as I said, "You're lucky you're Lyanna's brother. Don't you have any sympathy for all those common folk who were reaved by these Ironborn?! What about all the women and kids that were raped and brutalized by them?! Is one Noble house of more value than the thousands that have perished at the bloody hand of the Ironborn?!"

"Allan Curran!"

"Ned Stark!! You call yourself a Warden, and yet you let these no good bandits kill your people, loot and burn their villages, destroy their lives and families, and you dare to stand in front of me and call yourself my Leige Lord?!"

We had been going back and forth for hours as I tried to hammer some sense into Ned's thick skull.

"Boy!!" Roared the Lord of House Umber.

"That your lord you're talking to, so mind your fucking tongue!! Let me have his head for daring to question you, Lord Stark!!"

I whirled on my heel and came to face the large man. He was hulking brute with barely any wrinkles on his brain.

"The Ironborn raid our shores eighteen times per year. They've been doing so from even before the Conquest. Every year, they kill and rape over seven hundred people in the North. In the last three years, they've killed 2,100 people. That's more than the men at arms many lords here can muster. Since the Conquest, that number has reached 280,000. The Ironborn have killed more people in the last 400 years that the North has ever had in a given time. 280,000 lives, destroyed. If you feel nothing even after knowing that, if you still believe in the North's passivity, then you're no better than those Ironborn."

Looking back at Ned, I said, "Perhaps you were not aware of those numbers. And perhaps you will now change your mind. I don't care anymore. The Ironborn are a disease. Like the Greyscale, they should be purged from Westeros. And I am going to do it, because it's the right thing to do."

(ACJTF)

It had been just over a month since the rebellion and the Ironborn were already on the back foot. Except their first attack on Leffordsport, all their subsequent attacks had failed miserably.

It seemed like their rebellion wasn't as intelligently planned as they'd thought.

The Northern army was proving to be especially troublesome. They had tried to attack Moat Cailin, but all of their ships had been captured, and the men killed by the Curran men.

Initial scour reports suggested that the Currans had managed to do so without any significant losses. The Ironborn were preplexed.

Balon could only curse while standing in the window as he gazed upon the massive fleet that had entered his waters. He had lost his brothers and his bannermen to the sword.

The armies disembarked at the shores of the Pyke, and the Ironborn clashed with the Westerosi. It wasn't much of a battle as the Ironborn were outnumbered five to one.

There was something strange happening on the battlefield. There was a part of the battle where the enemy was rushing through the Ironborn as if they were cutting grass. Balon immediately knew what was the cause.

"Close all the doors! Barricade them!! I want all guards here!! Right now!!"

"B-But, prince Theon and Princess Yara...!"

"What about them?! Bring all the guards here and barricade the fucking doors, or I will behead you and have your corpse fucked by dogs!!"

The man's expression soured upon hearing the threat, but he complied and told the guards of the 'king's' orders. Then, he spat at the door to Balon's 'throne' room and walked away, never to return to the ways of the Ironborn again.

'What a coward. I'd rather be eaten by the fishes than die for a man like him.'

Most of the Ironborn didn't have the individual thought process to think for their own good and foolishly followed orders like a heard of sheep.

Outside on the battlefield, the spearhead of Currans had reached the gates of the castle. The guards rained down arrows at the men, but they were for naught as a simple testudo was enough to protect them.

Under the cover of the shields, a battering ram was brought to break the doors of the castle. Meanwhile, a few men were climbing the castle walls, led by Allan Curran himself.

Pyke was being sieged from all sides, and Balon was losing his mind.

Allan reached the lowest widow and entered the castle along with ten of his men. They searched through all the rooms of the castle and killed every Ironborn man without prejudice.

The dank and dark halls of Pyke smelled of blood as they ascended the stairs.

A pair of kids tried to attack the party with knives, but Allan was having none of it. He slapped the kids and told his men to lock them in a room before resuming the ascent.

Finally, at the very top of the Pyke, they came across the 'throne' room.

Allan's jaw clenched as he marched ahead and kicked the door relentlessly. He was determined to end Balon before Ned and Robert had the chance to spare the mad man.

His tireless assault against the door paid off as it came off its hinges and fell. The room was brimming with men armed to their teeth. At the end of it all stood Balon Greyjoy, scared out of his wits.

"Kill him!! Kill that monster!! W-Whosoever kills him, I will make you a lord!!"

That seemed to be enough motivation to make the Ironborn men rush to their deaths.

It was a feast for the Stranger as he reaped the souls of the Ironborn men in that room. Allan's sword drew blood of every single person that came at him.

He shredded, impaled, and disemboweled them. As time went by and as the Ironborn fell, Balon's dispair only grew. So much so that it was driving him mad.

Blood and bodies pooled on the floor. The painful moans and screams diminished as the men were felled by the Currans. Soon, it was only Allan and Balon, along with six Curran men.

As the battle raged outside, the castle doors were finally broken through, and the Westerosi army swarmed into the castle. Balon fell on the throne in defeat and dropped his sword.

Allan brought his sword up to Balon's throat and said, "Blacktyde, Botley,  Drumm,  Goodbrother, Greyiron, Harlaw, Hoare,  Merlyn, Stonehouse, Sunderly, Tawney, and Wynch. These are the houses that called you their leige. None of them exist any longer. Today marks the end of the Ironborn."

"Fu-"

Balon wasn't allowed to have a last word as Allan pushed the sword through his throat.

Thus marked the end of the Ironborn.

With stupidity and an unsaid word.