GOT : All Left Behind

"The unyielding, if not eternally dominant, will soon find himself alone and unable to gather men to his cause."​

The Ironborn were a curiosity. They did not behave as other Westerosi did. Their expectations were unique to their culture. If those expectations were not met, they would not obey. At least, that was the theory, and a theory I was not willing to test. Because trying to bet on the actions of a disloyal group of pirates with an independent streak was something far more idiotic than I was willing to commit.

Regardless, I needed them to obey. The public apology and 'feast' they felt they were owed were a small price to pay if it meant they would listen to me. I was loathe to be the son who could not even manage to get to the enemy's shore given both an army and a fleet to carry them.

But had it worked? Had the immense sacrifice of my pride necessary to say I was sorry been enough to earn their cooperation? There was only one way to tell: testing their obedience.

And what better way to test it than by asking them to join me for a war council? It was an important event after all. They could rationalize it all they wanted as a means of gaining prestige, but it did not change the fact that I would call, and they would obey. Besides, I did need to call a war council, if only to align everyone's priorities.

And what better way was there to invite people than in person? If the Ironborn did care about personal loyalty above liege loyalty, it would certainly be helpful. If not, well, no doubt they cared about character ahead of status. They had allowed lowborn captains to speak on even terms with noble-born captains, after all.

Those were the reasons I told myself why I was at the docks of the Arbor after sunset, at least. Here, hundreds of longships lined the quays, each a display of riotous celebration that flooded the docks with the sound of good cheer. Good cheer at my very literal expense, but I had already sent the generously rounded expense report to Father.

Which left me with only one unenviable task: asking the chief drunks how they would like to wake up early the next day.

"The prince walks among us!" The crew of the first ship I boarded was sober enough to recognize me as I strolled up the gangplank. According to the faded writing on the hull, it was the Naga's Bane. A familiar name, but I had only chosen it because it was berthed closest to keep, so I had made it my first stop. "Get him a horn!"

Before I had time to protest that it would not be necessary, I had a horn filled with what looked to be ale pushed into my hand as I made my way through the crowded deck of the longship. At a closer inspection, however, the crowding of the deck was little more than a ring of people, all centered around the far side of the ship.

As I drew closer, I saw the inhabitants of the ring. A pair of men, Ironborn, tossing a pair of axes back and forth across a table. Part of me recognized it for what it was: a traditional Ironborn pastime known as the finger dance. Accidental amputation was expected and part of the 'fun'.

Said fun was achieved within only a few seconds. One of the participants- a boy who looked to be barely past the first year of his majority – glanced at the crowd, his eyes roaming across the ranks of Ironborn until they came to a rest at me. His eyes went wide in recognition, and his right hand was freed of most of its fingers a moment later as an axe whipped past him and embedded itself in the wood of the tables.

A yelp of pain escaped the boy's lips as laughter from the observers echoed through the air. Soon, however, the yelp grew to a scream of pain, tearing through the sounds of amusement. Someone stepped forwards with a torch, but I had no desire to witness Ironborn medicine.

Unfortunately for my desire to not see a ragged stump cauterized, the captain of this particular ship was part of the ring of observers. In fact, he had been one of the loudest cheerers of this dance. Because why bother keeping up the strength of your crew when you could instead indulge in barely ritualistic maiming?

"Captain," I greeted the man once the boy had lost consciousness. Fortunately, the pain from having a burning rag used to cauterize a wound was exceptionally agonizing, and he did not linger long in the land of the awake. Had I maesters to spare, I would have sent one to the ship to see that the boy would heal well.

But this was still the first ship I had visited.

"Prince Vaegon!" The captain of Naga's Bane seemed a far more jovial sort of man than he had at the summons earlier in the day. Still large, still clad in that unique panoply of leather and mail, but a broad grin dominated his reddened face. "Here to join the fun?"

If the axe in his hand was any indication, his idea of fun had a frightening chance of amputation.

"Tragically not," I said. My voice carried a note of resignation. Truth be told, I would not have minded a night of celebration with the Ironborn, if only to learn a bit more about how they functioned, how they lived and thought. Unfortunately, they were a touch too fond of losing limbs to prove how tough they were, and I quite liked mine to stay attached. Besides, I still had more things to do. "I am here on business, I'm afraid."

"Anything serious?" While the good cheer of the ship was still going strong, I had earned a fair amount of attention. The recently made cripple, apparently, was less interesting. Then again, it was likely almost common.

Now there was a terrifying thought.

"Only to ensure that everyone is enjoying themselves." That earned me a good-natured laugh, one which was echoed by much of the rest of the crew. The captain in particular was all too eager to clap me on the shoulder. Of course, making sure my 'apology' was well-received was only part of it.

"Aye, you came through," the captain admitted freely and without hesitation. Was… was that all it took? Getting them drunk at somebody else's expense?

"More'n that!" came another shout, this time from a member of the crew. Insolent, but no doubt I would have to grow used to it if I wanted to keep them happy. "We'll be hard-pressed to finish it all before daybreak!"

"Then I had best leave you to it!" I said loudly, earning a general chorus of cheers. "Else your captain might not be able to help me plan our campaign in the morning."

"Best do your part, then," the captain said, gesturing to the horn of ale still in my hand. "Or I might not be able to join as early as I'd like."

That… would be slightly challenging. It was a rather substantial horn of ale, after all. The effect would not be immediate, but it would still impair me. Taking leave of my wits was hardly wise, but so was burning what goodwill I had earned.

I quaffed it in the span of only a few seconds. The ale was thick, as expected, but not so thick that I had to chew. Luckily, the flavor was mild enough, even if it was far from the standard I had set in King's Landing.

"I'll send a runner to remind you in the morning," I said, handing the empty horn to one of the many sailors. "Once the sun has fully risen." I turned to the rest of the crew. "The rest of you have no such task, so enjoy yourselves!"

The sounds of merriment followed me as I left the ship, returning to the docks before the full strength of the ale could hit me. At the docks, however, I was greeted by rather unexpected company.

"Your Grace." The Drowned Man from earlier in the day stood beside the gangplank. Grey robes and messy hair that flowed into his beard like waves onto the shore made him look like he had risen from the seas themselves. Which, in a way, was true. "You are a man of surprises."

"I wish to know more of the men I am to lead in war, priest," I said in return, not pausing beside him as I spoke in an implied invitation to join me. This was the one who had, potentially, orchestrated this. He had tried to give his fellow Ironborn a favor to hold over my head, which I had brought down to a massive feast. If nothing else, he held political aspirations. Keeping him close might be beneficial. "You are doing much of the same, I wager?"

"A good guess," he admitted, readily falling in with me. "Though one you would lose. I know these men already. No, it is you that interests me."

"How so?" Interest was something I was used to, but not from priests of another faith. Whether this was something good or not was up for debate.

"A prince well known for his devotion to his gods is sent to command an army of the Ironborn," the priest explained. "A prince who spent a month personally burning Dorne. Few nobles among the Ironborn forces to act as intermediaries. Everything was set up to go horribly wrong. And yet, it did not."

Few nobles. A tragic side-effect of Corlys' voyage east and subsequent royal marriage was that it had inspired many of the Ironborn nobility to try the same. Their motives varied, as did their methods, but they yielded the same result: most of the great houses of the Iron Islands were missing quite a few people.

"These past weeks have calmed me," I said simply, the next ship along the docks fast approaching. Part of me wanted to speed up, to put the memories of my atrocities behind me so I could check on the next ship. Already, however, I could see two figures tossing something between one another. Another amputation in progress, then. Lovely.

"So you say, Your Grace." That twinkle was back in his eye. I did not like it. "So you say."

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