While the Karlon's army turned the Iron Islands into a slaughterhouse of efficiency, Lord Willam Dustin found himself fighting a very different kind of war along the Stony Shore.
Following Karlon's orders, Willam didn't sit idle. The Ironborn, broken at Blacktyde, had attempted to bypass Karlon's fleet to strike at the "soft" underbelly of the North. They expected peasant levies; they found the Barrowton heavy horse.
Under the grey skies of the Rills, Willam Dustin led a thunderous charge that drove a vanguard of Ironborn raiders back into the sea before they could even light a single watchfire. For the first time in his life, Willam felt he wasn't just a vassal following a Stark, but a protector in his own right. By holding the coast, he secured Karlon's rear, allowing the boy-commander to focus entirely on the archipelago.
With his back secured by Dustin and Ryswell, Karlon's professional legion moved with terrifying speed Orkmont soon fell. The island was taken in forty-eight hours. Karlon's pikes formed an unbreakable wall in the narrow mountain passes, trapping the House Tawney forces. Karlon didn't offer a traditional parley, he offered "submission or extinction." Most chose the former when they saw the discipline of his ranks.
Old Wyk soon followed suit, this was the psychological blow. Karlon landed his men at the foot of Nagga's Hill. Under the ribs of the Great Dragon, he defeated the local defenders not with blind rage, but with a synchronized "turtle" formation that made the Ironborn's wild swinging useless. By the time he reached the shores of Harlaw, the three northernmost islands were under Northern administration.
At Lannisport
Six hundred miles to the south, the city of Lannisport was a hive of golden armor and crimson banners. King Robert Baratheon sat in the Great Hall of Casterly Rock, pacing like a caged beast while the Royal Fleet struggled to coordinate with the Lannister survivors.
Lord Eddard Stark stood by the window as a traveling bard was brought before the King to recount the news coming down the coast.
"Speak, singer!" Robert bellowed. "What news from the north? Is my friend Ned's nephew still playing at soldier in the snow?"
The bard bowed low, his voice trembling. "Your Grace... they say the Wolf of Starfall has already crossed the sea. They say Blacktyde has fallen, and the bones of Nagga are guarded by Northern pikes. The bards in Seaguard are already singing a new song, Sire."
"What song?" Tywin Lannister asked.
The bard swallowed hard. "They call it 'The Iron Price Paid in Steel.' They say Karlon Stark has taken three islands before your Grace has even boarded a ship. They say the Sunset Sea is turning Northman-purple."
Robert froze, his eyes wide. He looked at Ned, who remained silent. The King then let out a laugh.
"Three islands?!" Robert roared, slamming his goblet onto the table. "The lad is ten years old and he's already halfway to Pyke! Ned, you silent bastard, you didn't tell me your nephew was a conqueror!"
"He is a Dayne by blood, Your Grace," Ned said calmly. "And a Stark by duty. He did not want to wait for the burning to reach Winterfell."
Tywin Lannister's eyes narrowed, already calculating the shift in power. "It seems," Tywin remarked dryly, "the North has decided the King's peace doesn't require the King's presence."
The tension in the solar of Casterly Rock was thick enough to blunt a sword. Tywin Lannister stood by the hearth, his golden lion-head pommel catching the light, his eyes fixed on Eddard Stark with a cold, predatory focus.
"A boy of ten leads a private war across the Sunset Sea," Tywin remarked, his voice a silk-wrapped blade. "He seizes three islands without the King's leave or the Warden's oversight. One might wonder, Lord Stark, if your nephew is securing the realm—or if the North is carving out a kingdom of its own while the rest of us follow the law."
Ned didn't flinch. "The law of the North is simple, Lord Tywin: we defend our own. While Lannisport watched its fleet burn from the safety of these walls, Karlon was already on the water. He didn't ask for permission to save Northern lives; he simply did it."
"He has overstepped," Tywin countered. "Conquest is the right of the Crown. By taking those islands, he has bypassed the King's authority. It is... undisciplined."
Jon Arryn stepped between them, his hands raised in a gesture of peace, ever the Hand of the King. "Peace, my lords. This is a matter of protocol, not treason. There is no honor in a victory that undermines the hierarchy of the Seven Kingdoms. Karlon's bravery is noted, but his lack of coordination..."
"Honor?"
The voice boomed from the doorway. Rickard Karstark strode into the room, his beard frosted with salt and his heavy fur cloak sweeping the floor. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Ned, a mountain of Northern steel.
"You speak of honor, Lord Arryn?" Karstark spat the word like a curse. "Where was the honor when the Ironborn raped their way across the Stony Shore? Where was the protocol when they took our daughters as salt-wives? My sons are with Karlon. They didn't sail for 'hierarchy.' They sailed for justice. If the South wants to wait for the perfect moment to board a boat, let them. The North has already begun the reckoning."
Tywin's jaw tightened. "There is a process to war, Karstark."
"The process is killing the men who burn your homes!" Rickard bellowed. "Karlon Stark has done more with five hundred pikes than the golden lions have done with all their gold!"
"ENOUGH!"
Robert Baratheon slammed his fist into the table, the wood groaning under the blow. He looked at Tywin, then at Ned, and finally at the map of the islands. A slow, wild grin began to spread across his face.
"Gods, you're a bunch of old women!" Robert laughed, the sound echoing off the stone. "Tywin, you're sour because a lad half your height beat you to the punch. And Jon, stop worrying about the paperwork. The boy has balls of Valyrian steel!"
The King grabbed a flagon of ale and toasted the Northmen. "He's a Stark and a Dayne, what did you expect? He's blooded the squids before I even got my boots on. It's a good thing someone in this realm knows how to start a fight."
Robert turned to Ned, his eyes gleaming with the old fire of the Rebellion. "Let him keep his islands for now. We sail for Pyke at dawn. If Karlon has already done the heavy lifting, I'll be sure to thank him personally before I crack Balon's skull."
While the lords in Casterly Rock debated protocol, the "New Model" army was busy writing history in blood and iron.As Lord Eddard stood his ground against Tywin's glares, Karlon's fleet was making landfall on the rocky shores of Harlaw. This was not the disorganized raid the Ironborn expected; this was a surgical strike. House Harlaw was the richest and most powerful of the islands, and Karlon knew that if Harlaw fell, the back of the rebellion would be broken before King Robert even weighed anchor.