Chapter 20: The Kraken's First Blood (Ironborn War: Part 1)
The biting winds of late autumn swept across the Shivering Sea, carrying the scent of brine and the iron tang of impending conflict. On Skagos, within the silent, rune-lit heart of Mount Skatus, Lyra Volmark, her grey Stark eyes clouded with the visions of her greensight, relayed the Kraken's movements to her father. Her voice, usually a soft murmur, was taut with the urgency of the unfolding future.
"They sail, Father. Over two hundred longships, a dark tide under Dagon Greyjoy's kraken banner. Their course is set for Bear Island first, then they intend to split their forces, one to ravage the Stony Shore, the other to strike at the villages of Sea Dragon Point. They expect little resistance, only plunder and salt wives. They do not know the Wolf of the Sea awaits them."
Aelyx Velaryon, Lord Volmark, listened with grim satisfaction. Lyra's precognitive intelligence, refined over years of tutelage, was an unparalleled strategic asset. He stood before a vast, magically illuminated map of the North's western coastline in the central command chamber of the sanctuary, his violet eyes tracing the projected paths of the Ironborn armada. Torrhen was still in Winterfell, ensuring King Torrhen Stark's forces were mobilized based on the initial warning, but the true defense of the Northern waters now rested upon House Volmark's formidable, hidden strength, presented to the world as mere Skagosi diligence.
"Excellent, Lyra," Aelyx's voice was calm, a stark contrast to the violent future she described. "Maintain your watch. Relay any deviation instantly. Visenya! Maegor!"
His call, amplified by the sanctuary's subtle enchantments, reached his elder daughter and second son in the bustling, torch-lit caverns that served as the primary naval depot beneath Shadowport. They appeared before him moments later, clad in dark, practical sea leathers, their Valyrian steel swords at their hips, their eyes bright with anticipation. Visenya, her silver-gold hair braided tightly, radiated a fierce, contained energy. Maegor, broad-shouldered and grinning, practically vibrated with eagerness for battle.
"The Ironborn make for Bear Island as their first objective," Aelyx informed them, his gaze sweeping over their youthful, yet already formidable, faces. "Visenya, your Stormbringers squadron will deploy to intercept any reavers attempting to leave Bear Island's vicinity or those making for the northern Stony Shore. Your objective is to cripple their vanguard, sow confusion, and deny them their plunder. Maegor, your Ironclads will take a wider patrol arc to the south, guarding the approaches to Sea Dragon Point. Engage any significant Ironborn force you encounter. Remember your training: discipline, firepower, and controlled aggression. Let the North see the strength of Skagosi steel, but let our deeper arts remain our own counsel."
He equipped them with small, enchanted obsidian tokens, cool to the touch. "These will allow for instant communication with me, and with each other. Report all engagements. Lyra's sight will guide your intercepts. Go. Bring glory to House Volmark, and send the Krakens back to their watery hells."
Aboard his own flagship, the Leviathan, a massive dromond whose dark hull seemed to drink the light, Aelyx felt the familiar thrum of power. The ship was a marvel of Skagosi engineering (secretly enhanced by Valyrian principles and house-elf craftsmanship), its timbers treated with alchemical solutions for resilience, its sails subtly enchanted for speed. While he would direct the wider naval campaign from here, or even from the more secure command center in Shadowport if needed, he wanted to be close enough to the action to adapt his strategies in real-time. His personal guard of fifty elite Shadow Legion veterans, their faces grim and resolute, stood ready.
The Volmark fleet, twenty warships strong, slipped out of Shadowport under the cover of a pre-dawn mist, their movements silent and purposeful. Each vessel was a microcosm of Skagosi might: disciplined crews, well-maintained weaponry – ballistae, scorpions, pots of alchemically enhanced wildfire (a Skagosi "secret," Aelyx claimed) – and marines drawn from the best of his land forces, armed with superior steel and unshakeable loyalty. Subtle enchantments, woven by Aenar under Aelyx's direction, shimmered almost invisibly on their hulls, designed to repel minor curses and grant a fractional edge in speed and maneuverability. Lookouts wielded spyglasses with lenses ground from Skagosi crystals, their clarity far surpassing any mundane equivalent.
As predicted by Lyra's unfailing sight, the Ironborn armada, under the bloodthirsty Dagon Greyjoy, descended upon Bear Island like a swarm of locusts. Their longships, agile and shallow-drafted, easily navigated the coastal inlets, disgorging hundreds of reavers who fell upon the Mormont fishing villages with savage ferocity. Homes were torched, livestock slaughtered, ancient resentments fueling their brutality. Lady Lyra Mormont and her small garrison of fierce warriors fought with the tenacity of cornered bears, their axes and swords taking a bloody toll, but they were desperately outnumbered. The screams of the dying and the roar of flames carried on the wind, a grim prelude to the North's ordeal.
The Ironborn, confident in their initial success, glutted themselves on plunder, their discipline fraying. It was as they began to withdraw from a burning village on Bear Island's southern coast, their longships heavy with loot and terrified captives, that Visenya Volmark's Stormbringers squadron fell upon them.
Ten Volmark galleasses and dromonds, appearing like vengeful ghosts from the sea mist, bore down on the scattered Ironborn vessels. Visenya, standing on the high forecastle of the Sea Drake, her silver-gold hair escaping its braids to whip around her like a battle banner, pointed her Valyrian steel estoc towards the largest group of longships. "Archers, nock! Ballistae, target their lead ships! Stormbringers, show these squids the fury of Skagos!"
The first volley from the Volmark ships was devastating. Heavy ballista bolts smashed through the lighter hulls of the longships, sending splinters and men flying. A hail of precisely aimed arrows, many tipped with burning pitch, swept their decks. The Ironborn, caught between the wrathful Mormonts on land and this unexpected, powerful naval force at sea, were thrown into chaos.
Visenya, her violet eyes blazing, felt the intoxicating rush of battle. She felt a storm gathering within her, a fierce elemental power mirroring the tempestuous sea. As an Ironborn longship, its warriors screaming defiance, tried to ram the Sea Drake, Visenya subtly channeled her will. The wind suddenly howled with greater ferocity around the longship, its sails ripping, its oars flailing erratically. A rogue wave, impossibly large, crashed over its side, swamping it. To any observer, it was a freak of the treacherous northern seas. Only Visenya, and Aelyx miles away on the Leviathan who felt the faint surge of her power through their mental link, knew the truth.
"Boarders away!" she cried, as another longship came too close. Skagosi marines, their faces grim, swung across, their Valyrian-steel-edged axes and short swords cleaving through Ironborn armor. The fighting on deck was brutal, a whirlwind of steel and blood, but the disciplined Skagosi, better armed and armored, began to push the reavers back. Visenya herself, estoc flashing, was a dervish of deadly grace, her movements preternaturally swift, her strikes precise. She felt no fear, only a cold, exhilarating rage.
Miles to the south, Maegor Volmark's Ironclads squadron encountered another sizable contingent of Dagon Greyjoy's fleet making for Sea Dragon Point. Maegor, never one for subtlety, roared his battle cry from the deck of the Skullram. "Ironborn dogs! You've come to the wrong shores to thieve! Today, you dine in the Drowned God's watery halls! Ironclads, with me! Crush them!"
His heavy dromonds, built for impact, plowed into the Ironborn lines. The Skullram lived up to its name, its reinforced prow shattering the side of a longship with a sickening crunch. Maegor, laughing like a berserker, was among the first to leap aboard a grappled Ironborn vessel, his Valyrian steel greatsword, 'Ragesnarl,' a blur of silver. He fought with the joyous abandon of a true warrior, his strength and speed subtly enhanced by the battle-trance magic Aelyx had taught him, making him seem like a demigod of war to his awestruck men and a terrifying demon to his foes. He reveled in the clang of steel, the spray of blood, the visceral thrill of combat. His squadron followed his example, their engagements brutal, close-quarter affairs.
Aboard the Leviathan, Aelyx monitored the unfolding battles through the reports of his children and the constant, invaluable stream of intelligence from Lyra. His command chamber was a nexus of information, maps magically updating with enemy and friendly positions. He issued orders with cold precision, redirecting squadrons, anticipating Ironborn attempts to flee or regroup. He was a grandmaster playing a deadly game of cyvasse upon the vast board of the Sunset Sea.
When a squadron of Ironborn longships, having successfully raided a smaller undefended village on the Stony Shore, attempted to make a quick escape eastward with their loot, Aelyx sprung one of his traps. A seemingly undefended stretch of coastline, known for treacherous currents, was their chosen route. But Aelyx, using Lyra's real-time tracking, had positioned a squadron of his swiftest galleasses, commanded by the veteran Skagosi admiral Kael, just out of sight behind a series of rocky skerries. As the Ironborn entered the narrow channel, Kael's ships emerged, cutting off their retreat. Simultaneously, Aelyx, focusing his immense will, subtly manipulated the air currents within the channel, creating a localized, disorienting fog that swirled around the Ironborn ships, confusing their navigators and sowing panic. The trapped reavers, blinded and outmaneuvered, were systematically destroyed or captured by Kael's squadron.
The initial engagements were a brutal shock to Dagon Greyjoy and his Ironborn. They had expected terrified villagers and at most, a few stout Northern lords in small coastal keeps. They had not anticipated a powerful, modern Northern fleet, appearing as if from nowhere, armed with superior weaponry and fighting with disciplined ferocity. Tales of 'demon ships from Skagos' with 'witch-eyed commanders' and 'warriors who fought like winter wolves' began to spread among the surviving Ironborn crews.
The cost, however, was not one-sided. Ironborn were fierce and desperate fighters. Several Volmark ships sustained damage. Skagosi sailors and marines fell, their blood staining the decks alongside that of their foes. On Bear Island, despite the eventual relief brought by Visenya's squadron, Lady Mormont's forces had suffered heavily in the initial onslaught. Villages lay in smoking ruins, their people slaughtered or carried off before help could arrive. Aelyx, while noting these losses with clinical detachment, ensured that any rescued captives were treated with care (they were, after all, potential future Skagosi citizens) and that his own wounded received the best possible treatment from Healer Elyn's acolytes stationed on the larger warships.
News of the Volmark fleet's decisive actions, and the unexpected strength of the Northern naval response, reached King Torrhen Stark in Winterfell via swift courier ships dispatched by Torrhen Volmark from White Harbor, where he was coordinating with Lord Manderly. A wave of relief and renewed determination swept through the Northern capital. The wolves of Skagos were proving to be more than just wealthy cousins; they were the North's iron fist at sea.
As the first day of fighting drew to a close, the Ironborn were bloodied, their initial raids blunted, several of their squadrons scattered or destroyed. But Dagon Greyjoy was no fool. He was a seasoned reaver, his ambition fueled by a fanatic's devotion to the Drowned God. Aelyx knew, from Lyra's continued observations, that Greyjoy was already attempting to rally his remaining forces, his rage at this unexpected resistance undoubtedly immense. He would not give up easily.
Aelyx stood on the quarterdeck of the Leviathan, the cold sea wind whipping his cloak around him. The first blows had been struck, and struck hard. His children had performed admirably, their Valyrian fire and Stark resilience a potent combination. His Skagosi forces had proven their mettle. But this was merely the opening act of a brutal drama. The Kraken, though wounded, was still dangerous, its tentacles still seeking to drag the North into the abyss. The war for the western waves had just begun.