Chapter 36
MATARYS TARGARYEN
Dagon Greyjoy had declared himself King and Lord Reaver, expecting little to no opposition from the Crown. The Spring Sickness still shackled the Crown, and with most lords fearful of raising levies to push back against the damned Ironborn, he had laid ravage across the Sun Set Sea.
The Ironborn had killed thousands in their campaign and taken even more to keep as thralls and salt wives. Matarys had long detested this practice, but few Kings had ever dared to outlaw it in fear of angering the Ironborn and inviting further conflict.
The initial inaction had emboldened the Lord Reaver, and the lords suffering from his wrath wrote to all the Great Houses and the Crown for support, yet none dared to answer the call.
The Spring Sickness had caused great havoc all across the realm, and most of the lords feared that a gathering of levies would be made meaningless if the Sickness were to spread. Even the Crown remained fearful of raising levies, but Matarys found it hard to refuse the pleas of help.
Not from the lords. Most of them were spared, as they hid in their castles and let the Ironborn lay waste across their lands. No. It was the small folk he pitied, and though their love was fickle, Matarys had made a vow to protect the innocent, and he was not one to turn back on his vows.
It was strange, though for these very people had blamed him for the Spring Sickness some time ago, claiming that the sickness was a punishment from the Gods above for his kinslaying.
Yet now once more they called on him to remind him of his vows. The very vows which had led him to raise his blade against his own Uncle. He had every reason to deny them.
He had just wed his wife when the attacks had begun, and he did not owe these lords or the small folk anything to leave his wife and go fight a war he had nothing to do with.
But he was Matarys. He was the Matchless, and so he had answered the call. He had raised his levies when the rest of the realm was too scared to gather for a sermon. The closure of the ports had left most granaries empty, and so he had taken out the grain from his own stores.
The grain was the first to leave his lands, as he tried to hasten the speed of his armies' march. The strategy proved itself rather effective, as he managed to surprise the Ironborn in Lannisport and trap one of the most instrumental men of the campaign.
Erik Ironmaker was Dagon's right-hand man. He was an experienced naval commander and one of the leaders of the Ironborn campaign, and his death was a great blow to both Dagon Greyjoy and his campaign.
The smallfolk took courage from their arrival, and began to push back, and just as the Ironborn tried to retreat back into their seas, the Velaryons came down on them hard as Matarys refused to let them regroup.
So, within half a year, he had managed to land his armies on the Iron Islands themselves, and once the battlefield had shifted to land, his armies had a clear advantage.
The Raven's Teeth rained down arrows on their castles, while his own levies were far better trained than the Ironborn, and so it took him three months to force Dagon to retreat back into Pyke with his armies.
Pyke may be the seat of a Great House, but the castle was not as impregnable as the other seats of power, like Storm's End or the Eyrie. With the Velaryons controlling the Sunset Sea, he had the castle surrounded, and though victory was never certain in a war, the men were as assured of it as they could be.
Still, he expected Dagon Greyjoy to put up a fight. The man was a formidable warrior, so he was rather surprised at the sight in front of him as he walked into the Great Hall of Pyke.
The smell of blood and death filled the air. There was redness in the very air, and the stench was so bad that it made one's stomach turn. Hundreds, if not thousands, lay dead in the room, with their bodies beginning to show signs of rot.
Amidst all that, Dagon Greyjoy sat on the Black Seastone chair, drenched in the blood of his own people as he smiled down at him.
"Dagon Greyjoy," he whispered as he looked into those blue orbs, and the man smiled with his yellowish teeth.
"I have been waiting for you, my Prince," he whispered ominously, as his vanguard all followed after him and gasped at the sight of the room. A few of them even emptied out their guts at the sight and smell of the Great Hall.
"What have you done?" he asked, and Dagon Greyjoy frowned.
"Me! You dare accuse me of this," he retorted as his voice boomed in the Hall.
"You did this, my Prince. You, the infamous kinslayer. You carried out this massacre," and Duncan was quick to counter the man.
"You lie," he spoke as he stepped forward, and the tall knight had chosen to serve under him until the Plague had settled down. After the King's demise, his father, King Baelor, had instructed Aegon to stay with him until the worst had passed.
Aegon did not like that, but with the Spring Sickness causing havoc everywhere, there was little that he could do to change the King's mind.
"Is that so?" and the Greyjoy lord was still smiling down at him as he answered back.
"But that is the song that the birds will sing," and now Matarys was frowning, and it was obvious to him that Dagon had killed his men, but the reason eluded him despite pondering over it for several minutes.
"No one will believe your lies," Duncan retorted, but Dagon Greyjoy simply laughed, and his laughter boomed in the Hall.
"Why not?" he asked, still laughing.
"Because you are a liar and a traitor," Duncan countered, but the man smirked as he pointed towards him.
"And he is a kinslayer," and despite pondering over it for minutes, he still refused to see the sense of it all.
"Who will the people believe? Me, or a kinslayer who befriends those who dabble with blood magic," and he was obviously speaking of Brynden and Shiera, for the two of them were the only people infamous in the entire realm for dabbling in blood magic.
"Why?" Matarys asked himself.
"Why would you do this to your own men?" and this was not just cruelty. No, this was planned, and he had to make sense of it to dismantle it.
"Did you not hear me, my Prince. I did not do this. No. It was yo...," and Matarys did not have the patience for this charade.
"ENOUGH!" and his voice thundered across the room, and the Greyjoy lord's smirk grew wider at those words.
"I will tell you the truth," he whispered.
"But only you," he said, looking at the men behind him, his implication obvious.
"Leave us," Matarys roared after thinking over it for a few seconds, and his men were surprised by his command.
"Your grace..." but he had already made up his mind.
"Close the door behind you," he ordered as he glanced back at his men, and the look in his eyes told them that his decision was already made. So, they began to file out and Duncan was the last to leave, and the man closed the doors behind him, and the large stone doors closed with a loud thud, leaving him alone with Dagon Greyjoy.
Matarys walked forward until he was standing at the base of the Seastone chair, looking up at Dagon Greyjoy, and he finally noticed the streak of blood slipping down the stairs.
He followed the source and saw it dripping down from the throne itself, and Dagon smirked as he raised his hand to show his cut-up wrists.
"I was afraid I won't get the chance to meet the famous Kinslayer, but it seems like the Gods chose to grant me this last wish," and looking at the amount of blood he had lost, the man would die soon enough on his own, which made it all even more mysterious.
"Why?" he asked again, and Dagon's face shifted into a snarl, and for the first time, he saw rage in his eyes.
"Why would you do this?" he asked, and the man answered back.
"WHY ELSE BUT TO DEFEAT YOU!" he roared back, and that made no sense.
"No one will believe your lies," Matarys countered.
"Many won't," Dagon admitted.
"But some will, and that will be enough. For now, that is," and this was obviously planned.
"I knew that the war was lost the second I was forced to retreat back into this castle. I knew it the day you killed Erik," and there was hate in those eyes as he looked down at him.
"I knew I couldn't defeat you on the battlefield. But I knew that I had to make you suffer. That I had to set the stage for your demise," and he smiled now, as he raised his slit wrist dripping blood on the Seastone chair.
"And with this, I have done just that. You have your magics, and I have mine. The Drowned God offered us this seat to show his favor, and now, as I drown this in the blood of my men, I curse you and your entire line," and Matarys's heart shook at those words.
And suddenly, he felt a large wave crash into the side of the castle, as the skies began to thunder outside.
"May the seas never favor you. May the Kraken's curse devour you and your entire line," and Matarys' heart hammered in his chest at those words, and the mention of his line made him move on instinct as he pulled back his arm and threw his sword at the man.
Darksister cut through the air, and before the man could move, plunged itself straight into the man's chest.
"GAHHH!" the man coughed up blood as Darksister cut into his chest.
"Laugh while you can, young Prince," he added, as blood dripped down his chin.
"But soon enough, he will come and avenge my men," and Matarys walked up the steps until he was face to face with Dagon Greyjoy, and he was certain that this person he spoke of was the one who had put him up to this.
"WHO?" he roared back.
"Who asked you to do this?" and the Greyjoy lord simply laughed at his question.
"HAHAAHAAAA!" and Matarys reached for his blade and twisted it in rage.
"GAHHHH!" and the man grunted in pain.
"Answer me!" he roared, and now he could see the light fading from his eyes yet he noticed his lips moving.
"...gon," and he frowned.
"Who?" he asked again, as he pushed his ear closer to his mouth and the whisper finally began to make some sense.
"...black...gon," and he stilled as he heard those words.
"Blackfyre...."
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