[b] The Dragon and the Kraken [/b] 

(With [@Ezekiel]) 

Iron Isles Collab

For the first time in generations, a Targaryen would set foot on the Iron Islands. And the Ironborn were ready. Longships were gathered around the shores of Pyke, the most ever seen in one place since the days of the Iron Kings. Hundreds of ships, flying practically every sigil and device of the Grey King's numerous descendants. Harlaw, Stonehouse, Merlyn, Sunderly, Botley, Goodbrother, Wynch, Tawney. Even the Farwynds and Codds. And of course, the Greyjoys. The thousands of men gathered could be seen on the decks of their longships and on the stony beaches, hundreds of campfires trailing smoke into the cloudy, grey sky. 

They were a loud, buzzing mass of cutthroats and reavers. They drank, they ate, they played cards, and dice, performed the finger dance or wrestled and scrapped to the roars of their comrades. They were undisciplined, aggressive, brutal, rapacious, crude, and often cruel and sadistic. But they were good at killing and burning. Something which Queen Rhaenyra would like as not, find useful in the near future. 

And so Dalton Greyjoy, the Red Kraken, Lord of the Iron Islands, Lord Reaper of Pyke, waited for the royals. The longhall of Pyke was crowded with his bannermen, drinking and laughing as he sat on the Seastone Chair of his ancestors, the sword Nightfall resting in it's sheath against his seat. A tankard of mead was in one hand, a knife that he idly flicked in another. He drank and smirked at the sight of his men having their fun. Their blood was up, reaching a boiling point. Sooner or later, they'd need to unleash it. Black or Green, there would be blood. It was just a question of whose they would spill and for what. 

He pondered burning the Lannister's Gold Fleet, sacking Lannisport, the Arbor, and Oldtown. Putting market villages to the torch and bringing back gold and thralls to Pyke as maids shouted his name. A fine vision. 

Suddenly, the doors to the longhall opened and a reaver came in, shouting, "Lord Greyjoy! Dragons! Two of them! Coming in from the East!" 

Dalton smiled widely, "Ah. The royal family. Better make them welcome. Make sure the archers and scorpions are at the ready. Just to let them know we mean business." 

The Red Kraken stood, shoving away the thrall girl who had been sucking him off and pulling his breeches closed, she stood to leave and he said, "Stay right there, I might need you again soon. The boys definitely will. Have at her boys." Some of the feasting men laughed and took her immediately, carrying her off to the tables. 

Dalton stood and belted Nightfall, walking outside whistling an old Ironborn shanty as he spread his arms and another thrall draped him in his leather coat. His personal guard fell in line, the best killers in the Iron Islands, men with bloody krakens on their armor. Dalton pushed open the doors and walked out, inhaling the salty air with a sigh and stepping up to the battlements. Archers and scorpions stood at the ready, scores of men. They stared at the dragons in awe and fright, while Dalton held his hands on his hips and waited for the dragons to come. 

Arrax and Moondancer raced towards the Iron isles with all the grace of apex predators, diving between thermals and clouds in the practiced dance of flight. Arrax was larger, each beat of its wings carrying it further, but Moondancer had an elegant speed of flight that was not matched by any living dragon, despite her small size.

The very sight of the two dragons might have suggested something of dire importance was driving them forwards, in the grand scheme of things that was indeed the case, but this sudden burst of speed was something far more innocent.

"Last one there stinks worse than a Wildling" Baela had shouted, over the storm, bringing Moondancer 'just' close enough to Arrax for Lucerys to hear, before darting away. The sudden challenge had snaped Luke out of his pensive thoughts, worrying about the realm, his mother, and more pressingly, his own role in securing the Iron Islands, he had laughed, before spurring Arrax to race after the smaller dragon.

Thus, when the two dragons came within sight of the massed Iron Born, they did so at the peak of their primal ability, not for any show of force, some display of majesty, but a game, devised by two adolsecents born into the world's most powerful dynsasty. They swooped in the air, well above even the greatest range of the Scorpions below, circling the Ironborn, both dragons bellowing roars, Moondancer's higher and quieter, but no less draconic. Then, they swooped low, twin dragons, over the ships and beach, low enough to ruffle sails and banners, mildly displacing some of the smaller boats as they turned about, eventually deftly landing high on the beach, a spot with enough space to land without crushing any of the hard-bitten warriors they hoped to win over.

Both Baela and Luke were laughing as they dismounted. Much as Daemon rode the Red Wyrm boldy, Baela was barely strapped on more so than a horse's saddle, swinging off Moondance swiftly. Luke was only a moment behind, his more traditonal harness coming with a few more buckles to hold him in place.

"Fear not, good-sister, Moondancer will soon be the faster, a close one." Luke chuckled, even as the Ironborn surrounded them.

"Second is only the first loser, my Prince, the victory is yours." Baela bowed, somewhat mockingly, towards the young Prince, before straightening up to face the oncoming raiders. "So, which of you is Dalton Greyjoy?" Her tone was whimsical, she looked at them, this murdering horde of rapers and warriors, as if they were nothing more than a King's Landing crowd. In Baela the world saw the beginnings of a female Daemon, something that only made Luke smile as he strode to stand beside her.

Most of the Ironborn, hardened warriors and reavers as they were, still shrank away for the most part as the dragons landed on the shores of Pyke. They didn't shiver in fright, but neither did they move forward or let their hands stray far from their weapons. Perhaps one in a thousand of them had ever glimpsed a dragon before, and even that one man had a firm grip on his sword hilt. Every boy in the Iron Islands grew up hearing the tale of the fall of Harren the Black and his whole house, at the hands of dragonfire. None were eager to see such a fate befall them. And so all kept their distance as they surrounded the two royals. 

All save the Red Kraken. Instead he came forward with a wide grin, sauntering toward the pair of dragonriders with confidence. Dalton was only a few years older than the two royal youths, but was tall, with a lean, hardened build. His black hair was cut short, showing them both a scar that traced vertically over one of his dark blue eyes. Dalton was handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, but his eyes gave a hint of the wildness that was within him. Even still, with his valyrian steel sword, dark leather coat, and retinue of killers, he cut a striking figure. 

He stood before the two and said, "That would be I, princess. I hadn't any idea that one of Rhaenyra's envoys would be so beautiful. You must be the Rogue Prince's daughter, Princess Baela." He bowed his head to her and took her hand in one of his black leather gloved hands, giving her a chivalrous kiss on the hand before withdrawing. 

Dalton gave Prince Lucerys a once over and cracked a smile, looking over his shoulder to his brother Veron and the other Ironborn, "This one doesn't look very Strong does he?" There was a wave of chuckles and sneers. 

Lord Greyjoy kept smiling, "Look at this men, Rhaenyra sends us two dragon riders! Two envoys for a Greyjoy, when most only get one! They must think we're important!" The Ironborn roared their approval in a rowdy cheer, their courage rising back with their lord's bravado. 

Dalton turned back to them, as the cheer died down, sweeping his hand over the sea, "Well, you sent two riders to this meeting. I gathered every longship I could get my hands on. You must have seen the masts from miles away. They could be an island unto themselves. The Iron Fleet. The largest, deadliest Ironborn armada in generations. Under my command." 

His smile turned whimsical, "I assume it's what you came for yes? Unless you brought the fair Princess here to propose a marriage. In which case, I have a few salt wives already. But maybe it's time, I had a rock wife, and someone made an honest man out of me." The Ironborn laughed again, Dalton's lust being almost as legendary as his skill at killing. 

There was the barest noise of steel being drawn as Dalton Greyjoy turned around, the young Lord of the Iron isles met, almost to his face, the point of Baela Targaryen's blade. It was an elegant weapon, but with a savage curve. It would look pretty on a wall, but would leave a horrible mess of anyone who had the misfortune of it being buried within them.

"The last man who mocked the Prince so, lost an eye, how will you pay my lord?" The Princess had something of a smirk on her lips, even as the throng of Ironborn reacted to her motion, several moments behind. The clatter of weapons as they were readied, shouts of alarm and much fouler things. Despite her jovial expression, Baela's eyes were fierce, and 'just' mad enough to maybe even consider it.

Every Ironborn within range had drawn steel or strung their bows, Dalton's honor guard tensed to spring into action. The snarls of the dragons stopped all the other reavers from advancing beyond a few steps. Except for the Red Kraken. He stepped forward, letting the point of Baela's blade poke his cheek as he smiled widely, showing his surprisingly white teeth. Dalton spread his arms, holding his hands open. 

"Beautiful steel. Elegant. Exotic. Swift. And deadly. Just like its owner." Dalton stared right into Baela's eyes and didn't even try to obscure the lust and desire that danced in them. As well as other, darker drives and visions. Dalton's hands curled into fists. His voice was low, both subtly menacing and even vaguely wistful, "I see the fire that burned Harren black and brought our people to their knees in you, Princess. If you had been born Ironborn, during the age of the Reaver, you would have been a Queen." 

He pressed even closer, letting the blade prick his skin and blood began to trickle down the side of his face as his smile turned mischevious "I give any piece of me you desire, Princess. Voluntarily and with all vigor. Though I have a particular piece in mind, and would prefer to do so in a more private setting. Otherwise, I'm afraid we might all die here. And wouldn't that put a damper on negotiations?"

"Enough, Baela, let the man keep his appendages." When Luke spoke it was with the voice of one well beyond his brief years. All three of Rhaenyra's Velaryon sons were well built and mature for their age, but a life as princes in chaotic times had only pushed them further. Baela watched Dalton for a moment longer, before the blade withdrew, flipped in her hand, before returning to her belt, hopping a step back. It was not quite enough to calm the surrounding Ironborn, but it prevented them from immediately rushing her. That, and two dragons.

Dalton laughed and waved to his men, motioning them to lower their weapons, "Keep the offer in mind Princess. Our children would conquer the world."

"My children will, have no doubt." Baela retorted with a grin as she strode away from the Greyjoy. It was playful enough to not be a rebuke, but hardly confirmation of the dark things she had seen in his eyes.

"Yes, we want your fleet and your warriors. We want them turned on the traitors, and on those who sit and do nothing." Lucerys spoke plainly, the Ironborn were not akin to the lords that the rest of his family, on both sides of the conflict, were treating with. Spinning praise and such would only hinder them. "There are titles we can offer, but I am sure they mean little and less. Instead, Queen Rhaenyra would simply restore your old rights, to plunder and ravage. The Iron Fleet can take what it wishes from those who would deny their rightful Queen. How that is achieved, would be left to yourself, your captains, whoever, so long as it is done." While it pained Luke to sign away the lives and freedoms of those who simply had the misfortune to have lived under the rule of traitors, the Iron Fleet was too great an advantage to not press. He did not allow his misgivings to rise to the surface, instead presenting the image of a young prince, cold as iron.

"Assuming you are up to that challenge."

The Red Kraken smirked, "Perhaps there is some fire in you as well Prince. You are your Mother's son, at least." 

He crossed his arms, the mirth leaving, and said, "Up to the challenge? I am a Greyjoy of Pyke. My ancestors have been reaving, burning, and raping for thousands of years. Iron, salt, and the blood of the Grey King runs in my veins. I killed my first man while you were playing with wooden swords and eating lemoncakes with tea. I've fought in twice as many battles as years you've been alive. Claimed twice as many women." 

Dalton pulled Nightfall from its' sheath, leveling the sword at the Prince's chest, ignoring Baela and the dragons, "This is Nightfall. Valyrian steel. I claimed her when I was your age. But not the way you greenlanders do, with your birth rites and blood claims. I didn't get this sword because I had any right to it. I paid the Iron Price for her, Prince. Because for me the Old Way was never the old way, it's the only way. Everything I have, I won by blood and death. Like your ancestors. Except, I don't need a dragon to do it." 

He stabbed Nightfall down into the sand, walked up to Lucerys and glared down at him, "Don't question me again about reaving and I won't question your parentage, Prince. Because I won't need Nightfall to put you in the ground, warrior princess and dragons be damned." 

The beach had fallen into total silence, the Ironborn reaching their hands to their weapons. Seeing the Prince's lack of reaction, Dalton laughed long and loud, until his men began to join in. This continued for a few moments until Dalton smiled and said, "I think you and I will get along just fine, Prince." 

He stepped back, smiling at Baela and pulled Nightfall from the ground, sheathing the sword, "Your offer is certainly interesting. I've always wanted to sit on Lord Jason's seat, drink his wine, and piss on his wife. But I'm sure you know that I've gotten an offer from your uncle as well." 

Dalton produced the letter the council had sent, "He'd give me a seat on the Small Council. Make a Greyjoy, master of ships. And he'd give me leave to plunder and pillage Driftmark. I could take your grandfather's gold. His ships. His treasures. His women." He smirked at Baela once more. 

"He's even richer than the Lannisters and the Hightowers, uppity cunts." He spat on the ground at the mention of them. 

"With the Sea Snake's fleet and riches, I can grow the Iron Fleet even bigger. As a councillor, I can do great things for the Ironborn. We can write our names in blood and iron across the fourteen seas. And all with royal warrant. I could sack the Throne's enemies. Like the Stepstones. Be the first Ironborn to raid the Sunspear and the Three Whores." It was a glorious thought, to immortalize himself by taking riches and spoils from the Martell Palace or the cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. The Red Kraken, was evidentally, unaware of Aegon's entreaties to both of those nations. 

Dalton cocked his head curiously, spreading his arms open in a questioning gesture, "I like you Prince, Princess. But give me one good reason why I should choose black over green, and fight Rhaenyra's enemies for her. Raiding is raiding after all. And one dragon seems much like the other to my mind. Either way, I get what I want. Why should I declare for your mother?" 

In truth, Dalton was loathe to put in with the Lannisters and their Reachman compatriots. Any ambivalence he had for the Targaryens was more than outweighed by his scorn for the Lords of Casterly Rock and Oldtown. He was even more distasteful of managing Aegon's ships for him. And he had a certain respect for the Sea Snake. There was a sailor. There was a man who earned his power and riches. But damned if he'd roll over immediately for some princeling, even if he wanted to bed said princeling's cousin. Might as well see how much he could get out of the Prince. And it'd be useful to get the measure of him further. 

The Prince had remained stoic throughout the Greyjoy's intial outburst, while Baela paced back and forth, some distance from the two young men. It was true that Dalton had fought more battles, certainly had more women, then the Prince, but Luke was not shy of him in size, the difference small enough to make keeping his cool easy enough. If he could land in the middle of the Iron Host, he could take any amount of raving from its lord.

"You can accept my uncle's offer, if that is your wish." Luke's eyes remained fixed on Dalton's as he spoke, his tone as unwavering as the Prince himself. "Take his titles, sit on his council, sip from his cup, write his letters and try your hand at besting the Sea Snake." He paused after speaking, his hand resting on his sword belt, but not straying near to the blade itself. "Would you have paid the Iron prince for those?"

Dalton met Lucerys' gaze and he smirked at the Prince, faint approval in his eyes, "No, and that's one of the reasons I won't take your uncle's offer. The others being the fact that I will be damned if Aegon expects me to build and maintain his fleets, while I lick his boot. And that I have wanted to knock the Lannisters and Hightowers down a peg all my life, and now I have a chance to do so. So no, I will not be declaring for the Greens. Not with their current offer." 

He straightened, "But that still doesn't mean I should declare for the Blacks. I could just as well take this chance to raid every shore I see fit while you royals squabble over your iron chair. If you want me to pass up the chance to win the Sea Snake's loot, and that of all of your various present and future allies, we'll need to discuss terms." 

The Red Kraken jerked his head to his squire and the lad scampered off to return with bread and salt. Dalton eyed both of the royals, taking the coarse bread and dabbing it in the saltwater that was the traditional substitute for plain salt that adherents of the Drowned God used. Not overly common anymore, but today was a day to proudly display their culture. Dalton took the sodden bread and popped it in his mouth, not reacting at all to the taste as the squire held the plate to the two Targaryens. Dalton cocked a brow, "Shall we?" 

Both Prince and Princess partook in the somewhat odd tradition, quickly swallowing bites of the stodgy mix of salt water and bread. Luke was expresionless, while Baela raised something of a curious eyebrow at the tradition.

"You can see why this isn't a tradition elsewhere." The Princess mused, although offered no other complaint, verbal or physical, to the damp bread. She waved a hand at the vast crowd of Ironborn, before offering a somewhat chirpy; "Does this make us all friends now?"

The Red Kraken smirked, "Because you greenlanders aren't of the sea. We are," then he chuckled, "I wouldn't say no to your friendship, Princess Baela." 

Despite the distraction of his cousin, Luke continued only in response to Dalton; "You can refrain from declaring to either side, if you wish, and enjoy several weeks, months, maybe even years of raiding across the lands and seas of Westeros, maybe further. I am sure you will be a very rich, succesful man, iron price or not. One side will win, however, whoever that is, will still have dragons, and your ships are still made of wood, and none of your keeps are so grand as Harranhall." As before, the Prince was calm as he spoke, allowing no taint of emotion to his words, despite the matters he described.

"Side with us, not because we offer you baubels, or because we will allow you to raid. Side with us because afterwards, we will allow you to live."

Dalton kept smirking at Lucerys, turning to his men, "Allowing us to live? Hear that boys? The Prince is very generous." There were chuckles, catcalls, jeers, and sneers aplenty. He faced the prince again, with a friendly smile, "You may not have the look but you are a true Targaryen. Fire in your blood for sure. I wonder what would happen if we chained you down and waited for the waves to take you." More laughs. 

He leaned in and whispered, still smiling, "You're lucky you're a guest. Because you'll be the first to survive threatening me. But don't push your luck, Prince." On some level he approved of the Prince's attitude, it was the most fun he had speaking with a greenlander in some time. 

Dalton straightened, "I am surprised by this attitude. By all counts, the Sea Snake is an honorable man." He chuckled at that, "I wonder what he thinks of you wanting me to attack neutral houses. Or does he not know? Or maybe you want the threat of Ironborn attack to get some families to make a decison, is that it?" Not that Dalton truly cared. These southorn political games bored him. He was curious how the young Prince truly felt however. Was he as ruthless as he played at? Or was there a gentler soul within? 

He crossed his arms, "Say I fight for the Rhaenyra. I take our fleets and attack the Greens for you. I keep the spoils. I also don't want to have to deal with any greenlander coastal lords that are on your side, tripping over me. No, if I do this, I want to be given command of all the western fleets that fight for the Blacks. From the North to the Reach. There's not a man more experienced in naval combat on this side of the continent. If you want those ships to be put to good use, there can be no question who's in charge." He may have hated the idea of building and overseeing fleets for some rich mainlander, but it amused him greatly to think that those same nobles would have to listen to him. Especially those damned Mallisters. 

And there was another, even more amusing boon, "As such, this befits a title. The Lannisters are traitors in the eyes of your Queen. And with the Iron Fleet, I am the greatest other military power on the west coast. For the duration of the war, until you get those golden lions to bend the knee again, I want to be recognized as such." 

He smirked and spread his arms, "Until your mother wins, I wish to be named the Warden of the West. That should anger the Lannisters nicely." Dalton didn't believe for a second that the Blacks would give him control of all the loyalist western armies as the title implied. The fleets were another matter. But it would send all those dead Lannisters rolling in their graves if they knew that the the very people that their coveted military title had been created to defend against would now hold it, at least nominally. It was simply too delicious to pass up. His men all cheered at the suggestion. 

Dalton continued, "Once the West is subdued, I will give up the position so your Queen can name whoever she wishes, whether it's the Lannisters or some other greenlander. But I do want a seat at your table. I do not want to run your fleets for you once this is done, but I do want the Iron Islands to have a say. As such, I desire that we be granted to right to name an advisor to your Queen on her small council, whether it be myself or someone I trust, for the duration of the war and afterwards." 

A few might frown and think this not of the Old Way, but those dumb cunts weren't ruling. Dalton would win the Iron Islands a position of power to keep their interests in mind. And they wouldn't have to run errands for the dragons to do it. 

"Lastly, I hear there are murmurings of peace." There was another round of jeering at that, and Dalton smirked, "Your greenlander politics are up to you, and I will swear to abide by the provisions of peace so long as an Ironborn voice is there to speak for us. We will not reave the mainlander coasts if there is no war and will swear our allegiance to whoever wins the crown in case of this." There were some grumbles in the crowd but Dalton smiled widely. 

"But if we will not go to war against the Greens, I will see blood in other ways. I will take the Iron Fleet to the Stepstones. I will take the fleet to Lys, to Myr, to Tyrosh and all the lands under their control. And I will be the first Ironborn commander in history to sack their cities and carry away their gold and women. Your stepfather and all the other greenlanders are welcome to join us. As long as you don't stop us. And I will lay a mutual enemy of ours low. If there is war, I will raid the Three Whores after we win." There was another round of cheering, the loudest and rowdiest rumble of approval yet. The Sea Snake may have been richer than the Lannisters and Hightowers. But the Three Whores were even richer. And no matter what, those riches would be his. 

Dalton smiled at Lucerys and extended his hand, "Do we have an accord?" 

The jeers and cursing of the Ironborn washed over the Prince wise ease, while Baela paced behind him. It seemed to affect her in some way, but more as a lion with prey dangling just out of reached, her hand straying to the hilt of her blade. Once more, Luke did not merit the Greyjoy's quieter words with a response, although his silence was not a protest in of itself, he understood he had pushed as far as the Ironborn would accept and had no desire to teeter on that edge.

"Warden and Marshall of the West it shall be then." The Prince nodded, he had been granted leave to provide any titles that Dalton might seek, short of King. The Prince surveyed those around him, the warriors and fleet of the Iron Isles. It was an easy trade, a little pomp and circumstance for such a tacical boon.

"My Uncle and the Sea-Snake will no doubt celebrate the destruction of the Daughters, there will be no opposition, and likely support, for such an action." He added. Unspoken was the suggestion that the Three Daughters may very well decide to aid the Greens, if that was the case, then it may come sooner than later.

"So, we have an accord?"

Dalton grinned widely and said, "Aye, it seems that we do." His gloved hand reached out to grasp the Prince's and he stood next to Lucerys, roaring at the crowd of Ironborn, his voice booming across the beach. 

"Let all men of the Islands know that the Red Kraken stands with the Dragon! Our foes will wash away before us like pebbles before the sea! There will be blood, men, that I promise you! We will write our names in fire and death, and the world will remember the fear they felt whenever they sighted our sails! With the Kraken and Dragon united, none will stand against us! Their gold, their ships, their women will be ours! If you lot are strong enough, are you?" 

Every man roared in answer, a unified war cry from thousands of throats. 

Dalton pulled out Nightfall from his sheath and held it above him, "What is dead may never die!" 

Swords, axes, and fists were raised into the air as warhorns sounded, and thousands of reavers and killers spoke with one voice, "WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!" 

The discordant mass chorus drew out into one prolonged roar of unbridled adrenaline and raw savagery, and the dragons roared with them.