Blood And Iron (ASOIAF/GoT)

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-Pov of Friedrich von Roon first moon 289 AC

"A great victory… an immense one. Not only have we completely wiped a lifelong enemy off the map, but we have also shown these filthy barbarians who is superior. Not just morally—being the followers of the one and only true God—but also socially, by demonstrating the strength of our state and its army. We have taught all these feudal lords and their peasant levies what real warfare looks like."

I spoke with a smile, my gaze fixed on the map of the Seven Kingdoms, which displayed all our movements.

"Dorne humiliated, its most important city completely sacked, and a considerable portion of its food reserves burned to ashes," said Admiral Karl, brimming with confidence after his attack on the Dornish capital.

"Our officers are already compiling reports on the naval battles against Stannis Baratheon's royal fleet and the Ironborn's ships. Every possible improvement in our shipbuilding techniques and the necessary training for our sailors is being assessed. Should we encounter another large-scale naval engagement in the future, the experience gained from this campaign will be invaluable. Though our fleet did not escape unscathed, this sacrifice was necessary to avoid greater losses in battles to come. The deaths of our men will not be in vain—thousands will be saved in the future because of what we have learned."

Grossadmiral Johann's words carried the weight of pragmatism, his tone unwavering.

"Indeed, complacency within our forces must never be allowed. We must constantly seek and analyze every method of warfare available to us and evaluate them as swiftly as possible. We take what works and discard the rest," I added, grinning.

"There is little to say about the lords of the Riverlands. Due to their internal autonomy, their reaction was slow and disorganized. They were never a true threat. We have captured dozens of minor lords, their villages lie in ruins, and their harvests are lost. With winter's snow falling upon their lands, famine is inevitable. The situation was different with the Lannister lords—their defense was more structured than one would expect from a formidable enemy. However, our commitment to completing our orders, coupled with our innate skills—proven time and time again—has borne fruit. We caused enough devastation in Lannister lands to significantly weaken them. While there may be localized famines, they are manageable, especially considering that most of their coastline has already been raided by pirates," the governor of Tumblestone stated in a measured, serious voice.

I leaned over the map, carefully observing each region devastated by our campaigns. The weak never understand the true meaning of war until hunger gnaws at their insides.

"As for the rest of the Westerosi forces, it is worth noting that the knights of The Vale proved to be tough opponents during our incursions. They fought harder than one would expect from men not graced by the hand of God. They defended themselves well, executing disciplined cavalry charges—though ultimately ineffective. The Baratheon infantry, supplied from the Stormlands, deserves closer analysis. They displayed high standards of discipline, maintaining formation against our constant raids with remarkable ease. They are an anomaly within the feudal chaos of Westeros."

One of the great masters of Prussian knightly orders delivered this assessment, his voice measured but laced with curiosity.

I nodded calmly, my eyes drifting to the areas on the map yet to be ravaged.

"I will await those reports with great interest… It is truly unfortunate that Karl's meticulously planned assault on Plankytown prevented us from engaging the Dornish forces in a direct battle. It would have been interesting to test our strength against them. Last time, only the Teutonic forces faced them, relying heavily on Finnish infiltration tactics. But who knows? Another war may soon be on the horizon."

I let my words hang in the air. War was natural to us; these battles were merely chapters in a larger story.

Settling into my chair with absolute composure, I continued:

"Anything else to add, or shall we conclude this meeting so that the post-battle reports can begin being compiled?"

The officers exchanged glances, but seeing that there was nothing more to discuss, Karl von Rugen stood up and delivered a final remark:

"Nothing more for now, but I doubt this is the end. The weak always believe they have another chance, and when they dare to challenge the inevitable, we will be there to remind them of their place."

I smirked slightly and rose to stand with him.

"Then let the information-gathering begin. Next time we march, we will be even better prepared. Victory is not enough—perfection is our duty."

The men nodded in agreement, and with that, the meeting came to an end.

This foolish war against the Westerosi barbarians had ended in the only way possible—a total victory for our side. Their lack of coordination and absence of a centralized command, while granting them flexibility, ultimately made them weak—especially given their inability to set aside their infighting. But now, Prussia stood as an independent power. If that fool King Robert dared set foot in The Reach, he would have to think twice if he wanted to keep it.

I immediately began calculating our losses—every casualty sustained over the months of combat. Our numbers were low compared to the sheer massacre we had inflicted wherever we deployed.

Approximately 4,719 dead in the northern Reach, during city rebellions and skirmishes.

3,127 Finns lost in battles against the Riverlords.

1,984 Finns against the Lannisters.

2,137 sailors in naval combat against the royal fleet.

7,012 Prussian soldiers against the Ironborn—the majority being sailors and ground assault troops.

Though our fleet had suffered significant losses, the devastation we had wrought made it a price well worth paying.

In total, our losses amounted to 18,979 men, divided into 11,025 Prussian soldiers, 5,111 sailors, and 2,843 Finns—a considerable number, but insignificant compared to the casualties suffered by our enemies.

The Ironborn lost nearly twenty times as many men as we did, slaughtered in every futile attempt at resistance, while the Westerosi forces as a whole suffered three to four times more losses than our combined armies.

An acceptable price for an absolute victory.

And that's without even accounting for the toll of starvation—the Riverlands burned just before the harvest, winter's arrival sealing their fate. They must already be starving, with many of their grain reserves torched by our forces. We left the civilians alive so they would become a burden on their lords. Some lands in the Crownlands were burned, Dorne suffered little damage, though Karl struck hard at Plankytown, and the Lannisters were hit by both Ironborn raids and our incursions.

Famine will be our greatest weapon now, one that will keep them under our heel for the next year—or perhaps for years to come, depending on how long this winter lasts. With luck, it will be the longest in centuries.

Our granaries are full, and with our mild climate, we can still harvest or rely on greenhouses should temperatures drop further. Hunger will not reach us.

But they will starve.

And it will be amusing to watch them crawl to us, begging on their knees for food or loans to buy it.

The time to mock and humiliate these pathetic barbarians will come soon enough, but for now, it is time to celebrate and honor the fallen. By law, fifty percent of the wages a fallen soldier would have earned in life must be granted to his heirs—or to his widow, if the eldest son is not capable of managing his estate.

For many, this compensation will be the only thing left of those who gave their lives in war.

A fair price to ensure that future generations understand that service is a sacred duty, and that war is not merely the privilege of the living—it is a legacy the dead leave behind.

The Finns, however, expect more than just payment—their culture of war and sacrifice demands special honors from the king himself, symbols of valor and recognition that their people value far more than gold. Some of their leaders have already made it clear that they expect land as a reward.

Not fertile fields or peaceful plains—they desire harsh, unforgiving terrain where their clans can thrive without interference from other cultures.

The Iron Islands could be a suitable choice—barren, storm-ridden, and with poor soil for farming, they are unfit for most Westerosi settlers. But the Finns are comfortable in hostile lands. They are sailors and warriors, and a harsh climate will only harden their children for future wars.

Their presence on the islands would also ensure that any surviving Ironborn remain under control, stamping out their pirate spirit once and for all.

This, however, must be discussed personally with the Governor of Tumbleton, who will oversee the distribution of rewards. It must be handled with care—the king's generosity must not feel like a punishment. If the islands are handed over without careful planning, they might see it as exile rather than a reward. Trade routes, resource access, and opportunities for expansion must be secured so they can flourish in a way that strengthens them—and us.

But enough of political calculations that only lead to unnecessary headaches.

The festivities must begin, and the king will spare no expense.

Public banquets and grand military parades will be held in every city of our glorious state, and these celebrations must be… perfect.

I know perfection is an eternal pursuit, something we may never truly attain—but this time, everything must be flawless.

Every city, from Wilhelmshaven to Tumbleton, must be impeccably decorated, with flags waving high and banners displaying our victory.

In the plazas, great banquet tables will be set up where the people will eat and drink in honor of our fallen soldiers. An enormous amount of livestock will be sacrificed to ensure no one goes hungry during the celebrations, and entire barrels of beer and wine will be distributed to keep spirits high.

But the military parades will be the centerpiece, and they must be flawless.

Every soldier in pristine uniform, weapons polished, steps perfectly synchronized.

We must show the people—and any foreign observers—that Prussia is not just a victorious kingdom, but an imposing, disciplined force.

Officers and generals will lead the march, followed by our most decorated troops—those who distinguished themselves most in battle.

The Finnish regiments will receive their due recognition, and in certain cities, they will be awarded honorary titles, so the people see that service in war is not just a duty, but a path to greatness.

The plazas will host spectacles and tournaments, where our warriors will compete to entertain the crowd and prove that Prussia's strength has never wavered—not even for a single day since this war began.

No ridiculous jousts or pointless duels of chivalry—these will be real battles, fought with real weapons and real sweat, to showcase the true power of our army.

And at the end of every celebration, the king will deliver a speech, reminding every citizen that this victory does not belong to the generals alone—it belongs to all of us.

That every sacrifice made for the state has been repaid and that this is only the beginning of Prussia's glorious reign in Westeros.

This war is over…

But the construction of our empire has only just begun.

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Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

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

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