Blood And Iron (ASOIAF/GoT)

----------------------

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

----------------------

-Pov of Mervyn eleventh moon 288 AC

"So, is it all over?" one of my subordinates asked as he meticulously cleaned his sword, his movements mechanical, almost ritualistic after the long battle.

"At least the honorable and glorious part," I replied, adjusting the straps of my armor. "Now comes the truly difficult part. With this damned weather, it's going to be hell. Dealing with snow is one thing, but snow mixed with bone-chilling dampness is another matter entirely. Many of us will have to stay here, keeping watch over these lands and ensuring that these… raiders stay quiet. The rest should head home as planned."

"What a load of shit… I just hope we're not the unlucky ones stuck here," another muttered as he settled near the makeshift fire.

"Don't you enjoy serving our king?" I asked, letting a faintly mocking smile cross my face as I adjusted the new medals on my armor, still shiny—a reflection of our hard-won victory.

"Don't misunderstand me, Hauptmann," the first one replied, glancing up at me. "But returning home as victors and parading through The Reach sounds far more appealing than freezing here, keeping an eye on a bunch of resentful islanders."

I allowed myself a brief laugh before responding. "I understand your point. But remember, any victory loses its shine without someone to secure the ground we've won. That's us—the ones who ensure that what's been conquered doesn't slip away in the night." My tone grew more serious, letting my words sink in. "That too is glory, even if it's less flashy."

The second soldier, who had been silent until then, scoffed as he stirred the embers of the fire with a branch. "Maybe so, but that doesn't change the fact that this place is a frozen hellhole. I wonder how long that 'glory' will last when we're all sick or frozen to death."

"Perhaps it won't be so bad," I replied, leaning closer to the fire for some warmth. "Soon there will be opportunities for colonization. The state will reward those willing to settle here: a house, land, and gold. And not just anywhere—on Harlaw, the future capital of these islands. Doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

"A house? Gold? All that just to stay in this cursed place…" said the first one with a mix of skepticism and resignation. "To be honest, Hauptmann, I'd rather stick to my fields in The Reach. These islanders can keep their rocks and miserable weather."

Raising an eyebrow, I leaned toward him, dropping the mocking tone. "Are you sure? You don't have to be a genius to see it: we're at the heart of what will soon become one of the busiest trade routes in the Seven Kingdoms. Enduring this shitty weather for a few years might seem like a sacrifice, but living in one of the wealthiest cities in Westeros… now that's worth it."

The man looked at me skeptically, though I could see the flicker of interest in his eyes. I continued, letting my voice take on a more persuasive tone.

"Think about it: trade from Essos passes through the Neck and heads directly to Wilhelmshaven. Until now, most merchants have taken longer routes to avoid the Ironborn or relied on naval escorts. But now that we've eliminated that threat, they'll take the most direct path, crossing the Iron Islands. And when they do, they'll have to stop here, in our ports, to resupply before continuing their journey."

"And what does that matter to us?" another soldier interjected, his tone laced with distrust.

"It matters because those stops will bring gold, resources, and commerce. Not only will we survive here, we'll thrive. Harlaw won't just be a cold rock—it'll be the heart of this new trade route. If you think about the future, you'll see this isn't a punishment. It's an opportunity."

For a moment, the group fell silent, digesting my words. I knew convincing them wouldn't be easy; the exhaustion of the campaign and the harsh climate weighed heavier than any promise of prosperity. But I also knew men like them understood the value of tangible rewards: gold, land, and a better life.

"And who's going to stay and oversee all this? Because I don't see myself guarding these ports for the rest of my life," the first soldier finally said, his tone now more neutral, as if he was considering my words instead of dismissing them outright.

"That's not up to you or me," I replied with a faint smile. "But if you're chosen to stay, at least you'll know you're not freezing here for nothing. This isn't just a punishment; it's an investment in something greater. And if you decide to take it, you might thank yourself one day."

Before long, victory was officially declared. Small celebrations broke out in the siege camps and among the Westerosi forces. Frankly, I couldn't understand what they were celebrating. They barely contributed to the conflict and were more of a nuisance than anything else—poorly equipped, freezing without a clear purpose. We were the ones who had borne the true weight of this campaign.

The Prussian officers, myself included, attended a ceremony at the center of the camp. The new Lord of the Iron Islands was to be named: Konrad von Falkenhorst, a Prussian noble with an impeccable reputation in the navy. He had led the battle against the Ironborn fleet, sinking ship after ship. Although I didn't know him personally, anyone who fought the enemy with such efficiency deserved respect. Governing these islands would be his responsibility.

During the ceremony, something unexpected happened. Konrad publicly renounced his direct oath to the "blessed" King Wilhelm and swore allegiance to King Robert Baratheon. At first, I thought it was a mistake, but it wasn't. It was a calculated move, an agreement between kings. While King Wilhelm would remain our sovereign, in Westeros these lands would nominally fall under Robert's rule.

Some Prussian officers murmured among themselves. I noticed discomfort on several faces. Even I felt a pang of discontent, though it was not my place to question such decisions. My orders were clear, and as a Prussian, I understood that duty came before emotions. If this was how control over these lands was to be consolidated, so be it.

Konrad accepted his new role with the firmness expected of someone of his rank. He would be the lord of these islands, but the responsibility was immense. These wretched rocks hadn't seen order or justice in centuries. If anyone could bring it, it was a man like him, guided by the Prussian virtues of honor and diligence.

When the ceremony ended, I returned to my post with a strange feeling. We had achieved victory, but something about this agreement unsettled me. Even so, it was not my place to question it. My job was to obey, and that I would do, with the same devotion I had sworn the day I took up arms for Prussia.

Of our great army that had landed on the islands to fight the Ironborn, thousands began their journey home to prepare for the harsh winter ahead. But not us. Fifteen thousand men were selected from all the companies to serve under the new lord of the Iron Islands, Konrad von Falkenhorst. There was discontent, of course. We no longer served directly under the King of Prussia or the Prussian state but nominally under the lord of the Iron Islands.

Yet we all knew this was only a formality. While it couldn't be openly said, the administration of these lands would remain Prussian in every practical sense. The title was symbolic, but our orders came through the same Prussian chain of command. We boarded ships bound for Harlaw along with the rest of the men assigned to this task, and once there, there was no time for complaints. The snow was already falling heavily, and every day lost brought us closer to disaster.

We quickly began working with what we had: picks, shovels, and basic tools. The islands were inhospitable, and the lack of trees made things more difficult. Without timber to build proper shelters, we erected an improvised camp to shield ourselves from the snow while organizing our tasks. Our main objective was clear: to build a deep-water port capable of accommodating the Prussian navy's galleons. The materials would soon arrive from the mainland, but without a functional port, all that effort would be wasted.

The work was grueling. We dug, hauled rocks, and used whatever resources we could find to stabilize the coastline. Harlaw lacked even the most basic infrastructure, and every step we took was a reminder that everything had to be built from scratch. We had conquered these lands, but now we had to civilize them—a task many considered as difficult as the battle itself.

Now it was our turn to civilize these barbarians, just as the Prussians had done to us years ago when they conquered our lands. There was something almost ironic about the comparison. Once, we were the subjugated; now, as loyal servants of Prussia, we repeated the cycle with the Ironborn.

But it was no easy task. These islanders showed no intention of cooperating. Open resistance had been crushed, but hostility lingered in every glare, every defiant silence. Part of their attitude was undoubtedly due to how they had been treated after their surrender. Our first order had been to disarm the entire population. Confiscating their weapons and tools was an effective measure to prevent organization, but it also left them completely defenseless.

The Westerosi took full advantage of that vulnerability. Stories spread about what was happening in the "pacified" villages. Westerosi forces arrived, pillaged, killed, and raped indiscriminately. We knew it. The high command knew it. And though they didn't openly acknowledge it, it was clear they didn't lift a finger to stop it. It was hard to ignore the obvious: they wanted it to happen. If the Ironborn hated us now, how could they ever rise against us when they had been crushed from every side? Terror was a weapon, and while the Prussians didn't directly stain their hands with these atrocities, they understood how to wield it.

Day by day, the population of the Iron Islands was relocated to Harlaw. Ships arrived constantly, laden with women, children, and the elderly. There were few men left. Most had died in the battles or in the massacres that followed. Those who remained were as broken as their homes. Now the entire population was to be concentrated on a single island. The reason was simple: it made them easier to govern and control. A single location was far simpler to monitor than a scattered archipelago.

The newcomers had no time to mourn. As soon as they disembarked, they were assigned tasks. Most dug through dirt, snow, and rocks to lay the foundations and sewer systems for the new city we were building. Others carried materials, prepared the land, or erected temporary structures.

As we worked alongside them, their stares were impossible to ignore. There was no open hatred in their expressions—it was something darker, deeper. Resentment mixed with fear. The Ironborn didn't understand the concept of surrender, but reality had imposed itself on them in the most brutal way. No weapons, no lands, no future. Now, they were little more than tools serving our vision.

The contrast was stark. We, following the Prussian virtues of order and diligence, worked with the conviction that we were building something lasting, something better. They, on the other hand, worked because they had no other choice.

The rumors spread quickly, and it wasn't long before the Wolfheads arrived. As soon as we saw them approaching, we all straightened up. There was something about them that made it impossible not to feel intimidated.

"Poor fools," I murmured as I watched them organize. "Now they'll truly know fear."

------------------------

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

----------------------

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

----------------------