Blood And Iron (ASOIAF/GoT)

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-third person Pov eleventh moon 288 AC

The Prussian siege unfurled with relentless precision, pressing forward over Pyke and its defenders like an unstoppable tide. The Prussian vanguard, disciplined and informed of every strategic weakness thanks to the Finns, encountered no obstacle that could withstand them. The Ironborn skirmishers, who had once held back invaders with skillful ambushes, now found themselves systematically hunted and eliminated. The absence of the Finns' guidance and tactics was the final blow to Ironborn resistance, leaving the defenders increasingly exposed and vulnerable.

The Finns' shift in allegiance had shattered the last hopes of the Ironborn. These same warriors, who had taught the islanders how to leverage the terrain and set ambushes, now fought on the side of the Prussians. They knew every hiding spot, every trap, every narrow path the Ironborn had relied upon. Armed with this knowledge, the Prussians dismantled Pyke's defenses with the precision of a well-oiled machine, obliterating any trace of resistance with devastating efficiency.

Meanwhile, the Prussian siege engines thundered to life, hurling massive projectiles against Pyke's ancient walls. The catapults and trebuchets launched stones and rubble with a brutal, unrelenting rhythm, shattering the fortifications that had withstood storms and sieges for generations. The walls cracked and crumbled under the onslaught, with entire sections collapsing in a cacophony of splintering stone and the anguished cries of defenders. The atmosphere inside the fortress grew thick with despair.

For the Ironborn, hope was slipping through their fingers. Their once-steadfast defense had turned into a desperate struggle to stave off an unstoppable enemy. Each impact of the Prussian siege weapons brought them closer to the end.

The bold attack by the Finns left the defenders of Pyke reeling. In a calculated maneuver, the Finnish warriors, now serving the Prussians, had seized control of one of Pyke's key islands, which housed a large portion of the Ironborn's food reserves. Stored in towers linked to the rest of Pyke by a single suspension bridge, the loss of this position struck a devastating strategic blow, shattering the defenders' morale. No longer could they feel secure behind their walls, confident in their stores for a prolonged siege.

With control over the food stores shifted, the course of the siege changed dramatically. The Ironborn, accustomed to stockpiling plundered provisions from their raids on Westerosi coasts, now faced severely limited supplies. The meager stores left within Pyke's walls were insufficient to sustain the horde of soldiers and civilians who had taken refuge in the fortress.

The grim reality of dwindling food supplies wore heavily on the defenders. Each passing day meant less food for the Ironborn warriors, and with every ration consumed, their hopes of resisting the Prussian assault grew fainter. Outside, the Prussian army prepared meticulously for the final assault, secure in the knowledge that their foes were weakened by hunger and the lack of provisions. Calculating and merciless, the Prussians maintained the siege with cold patience, confident that time was now on their side.

Inside Pyke, the situation became increasingly dire. Exhausted and starving, the defenders watched with growing dread as the massive allied forces of Westeros and Prussia encircled the fortress from every angle, waiting for the walls to finally give way. Each impact of a siege weapon against Pyke's walls was a countdown to the inevitable, heightening the defenders' desperation.

Balon Greyjoy, the leader of the Ironborn, knew the situation was collapsing. Trapped and aware that his forces could not hold much longer, he decided to take one last chance at negotiation to avoid the impending massacre. He drafted a formal letter, pleading for mercy for his people in exchange for surrender, and sent a messenger with hopes that their enemies would show compassion.

But the response came with chilling brutality. The messenger did not return on foot; instead, his lifeless body was catapulted back over Pyke's walls. The corpse landed in the fortress courtyard, shocking the defenders who watched in horror. Pinned to the messenger's chest was a note stabbed in place with a dagger, bearing a simple yet devastating message: "The time for surrender has passed."

Two days later, snow covered the landscape as the outer walls of Pyke finally collapsed under the relentless Prussian bombardment. The thunderous sound of stone crashing down signaled the allied forces outside the walls. With a resounding war cry, the armies assembled, readying themselves for the final assault against the last remnants of Ironborn resistance.

Among the snow and bitter cold, the Prussian ranks stood unwavering, their resolve steeled by a promise of glory. Every soldier knew they were on the cusp of another monumental victory, one they believed blessed by their gods. Determination shone in the eyes of each Prussian warrior, fueled not only by the call of battle but also by the promise of citizenship — a prestigious honor that granted rights and privileges, the ultimate reward for every Prussian soldier who risked his life on the battlefield.

As the troops advanced toward the shattered walls, Prussian leaders raised their banners, symbols of imminent victory, and gave the command to charge. The disciplined ranks moved like an unstoppable force, hardened by weeks of siege and skirmishes. At the forefront marched the Finns, their allegiance now firmly bound to the Prussian cause, eager to witness the fall of the fortress they had besieged for so long.

Inside Pyke, Balon Greyjoy and his remaining warriors readied themselves for their final stand. They knew the end was near, but true to the Ironborn spirit, they would not yield without a fight. Against overwhelming odds, these island warriors lifted their weapons, prepared to face the final onslaught with every last ounce of strength they possessed.

The Prussian advance was unstoppable, a torrent of steel and discipline that cut through the Ironborn defenses with lethal precision. On the bridge connecting the first fortress to the main castle, the battle turned into a bloodbath. The Prussians, clad in full Gothic armor, advanced like an impenetrable wall of metal, wielding swords, axes, and maces that shattered shields and crushed the Ironborn defenses. Each step pushed the Ironborn back, cornering them against the walls and steadily reducing their numbers with merciless efficiency.

The Ironborn, clad in chain mail and wielding axes and swords, fought back with desperate ferocity. But for every blow they landed, the Prussians responded with overwhelming force, cutting them down one after another. Blood flowed in streams across the stones of the bridge, and the cries of pain and the clash of steel melded into a deafening roar. The organized Prussian tide, relentless and well-coordinated, advanced without pause, crushing any attempt at resistance and leaving a trail of bodies and debris in its wake.

From the walls, the defenders tried to slow the Prussian advance with a hail of crossbow bolts. Projectiles tore through the air, aiming to stop the invaders' inexorable march, but the Prussians, protected by their armor, hardly faltered. Their shields and Gothic armor deflected most of the bolts, allowing them to press forward unflinchingly. Meanwhile, Prussian archers and crossbowmen retaliated with deadly precision, picking off defenders who attempted to maintain control over the gate.

It wasn't long before the Prussians began raising ladders against the walls. The assault troops moved swiftly, clearing the defenses with brutal efficiency. The Ironborn resistance was fierce, but increasingly desperate; trapped between the walls and the relentless Prussian wave, they were outmatched both in numbers and equipment. The Prussians, with unyielding determination, cleared the walls step by step, paving the way for more soldiers to climb up and secure every strategic position.

The Prussian army advanced relentlessly through Pyke's castle, led by knights and Finns determined to crush any remaining resistance before Balon Greyjoy could negotiate any terms with Robert Baratheon. The halls and corridors of the castle turned into scenes of horror, with severed heads and spilled entrails bearing witness to the ferocity of the Teutonic knights, who pushed forward unceasingly on their bloody mission.

As they moved toward the great hall, the Prussian knights burst into a room where they found Balon Greyjoy's wife, holding her young son, Theon. The family's guards tried to stop the intruders but were dispatched mercilessly. Charles, the Prussian champion, removed his helmet and approached the woman with respect, attempting to calm her.

"I deeply regret the bloodshed, my lady, but we must ensure your safety," Charles said in a conciliatory tone, trying to prevent further violence.

The Greyjoy's wife Alannys Harlaw, however, clutched Theon tightly and raised a knife, determined to defend her child at any cost. "You will not lay hands on my Theon," she replied, her voice full of defiance.

Charles raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "My lady, there's no need to act this way. You will be our prisoner, a guest. I promise that your life and your son's life will be safe."

At that moment, an imposing figure entered the room. It was a Finn, clad in white wolf pelts, his expression cold and calculating. His eyes, filled with icy indifference, fixed on the woman and her child.

"It seems you got here before me, Charles," said the Finn, observing the scene.

"Yes," Charles replied, striving to keep his composure. "We've been fortunate to secure one of Balon Greyjoy's sons and his wife."

The Finn nodded slightly, his gaze unyielding as he looked at the mother and child. In a firm, merciless voice, he extended his hand toward her. "Hand me the child."

Alannys Harlaw resisted, holding Theon even tighter and raising the knife in warning. Charles intervened once more, trying to calm the situation. "You're frightening her. Don't worry, my lady…"

But in a brutal, swift movement, the Finn surged forward, seizing the mother by the wrist with unexpected strength and hurling her violently toward the room's window. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, and in one harrowing instant, mother and child plummeted into the void, their screams of terror echoing as they disappeared beyond the window.

"No… Nooooo!" Charles screamed, filled with despair and fury, watching as the promise he'd made of protection disintegrated in an act of sheer cruelty. He turned to the Finn, enraged, and tried to grab him by his clothes, but the man evaded his grip with agility, staring at the Prussian knight with a chilling calm.

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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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