Blood And Iron (ASOIAF/GoT)

this would be the last chapter,I had three more of janna but they were bad,I didn't like them so I'm going to rewrite them and throw them to you as gifts while you wait for my exam.

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I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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-third person Pov eleventh moon 288 AC

"What have you done, you damned animal?" Charles shouted, his eyes blazing with rage and frustration as he confronted the Finn, who returned his gaze with a look of cold indifference.

"I've done what was ordered, Charles…" murmured the Finn, watching as horror spread across the Prussian knight's face.

Charles stepped back, almost pale, unable to accept what he had just heard. "No… no… this can't be."

"Yes, Charles," replied the Finn, his words calm yet merciless. "The king has ordered the death of every Greyjoy male. Every single one, without exception. Even the women… unless I deem them necessary." The frigid tone in his voice contrasted with the horror etched on Charles' face.

"Your beloved king, Charles, is no longer a child. He's chosen to eliminate any potential threat, ignoring any hint of innocence in youth." The Finn looked at him with a mixture of mockery and severity. "At last, your dear foster son has become a true king, capable of ordering the death of the completely innocent."

Charles felt a chilling cold seep into his core, a tightness clenching his chest. His king, the one he had served and loved as a son, had ordered an act of unimaginable cruelty, something that went against the very values he had sworn to uphold and had taught himself.

"You're lying, vile snake. He would never order this…" Charles shouted, his eyes filled with a blend of fury and pain. "That child could have become a Prussian, could have been raised the right way, to abandon their barbaric ways," he added, his whole body trembling with indignation.

Unable to contain his rage, Charles lunged at the Finn, who, with a chilling calm, dodged his every move. The colossal Prussian knight stormed around the room like a whirlwind, smashing furniture and tearing down curtains as he tried to catch the Finn, who slipped away with an almost feline agility, evading each attempt with precise movements.

"Is that what you believe, Charles?" murmured the Finn, his expression impassive as he dodged the attacks. "You still dream of redeeming those you consider savages, molding them to your cause. But this world has no place for the weak or for sentimentality."

"Shut up!" Charles roared, his voice reverberating in the room. With each failed attempt, his frustration and pain grew, fueling his attacks. Every swing of his sword and every step shook the floor and walls, but the Finn remained an elusive target, taunting him with every calculated evasion.

"Oh, come now, Charles," the Finn taunted with an icy smile. "The king has purged dozens of noble families, and you didn't say a word. But now, because he eliminates a barbarian, you go mad… Have you forgotten he also killed entire families?"

Charles gritted his teeth, his eyes blazing with anger. "That was different. Those nobles betrayed the king, and treachery is a crime that runs in the blood. But here we had a defeated enemy, beaten, showing no resistance… and you killed them in cold blood."

The Finn merely shrugged, his expression unmoved. However, his luck ran out when Charles, driven by fury and sheer determination, finally managed to corner him in the room. With a swift, powerful move, the Prussian knight seized him by the throat, pinning him against the wall.

"Come now, Charles… cough…" The Finn tried to conceal his discomfort, but Charles's grip was choking him. "I don't want to have to kill you… But I will if you continue with this insubordination. The king would be very disappointed if I had to poison you simply because you refused to follow orders."

Charles glared at him, his face hardening as the Finn struggled to break free. "You're a coward," Charles said with disdain. "Always hiding behind poisons and betrayals. And now you're using the king as an excuse to justify your crimes."

"Oh, is that what you think?" replied the Finn, straining to breathe as his fingers tried to loosen Charles's grip. "What would you prefer, Charles? To die for an ideal that no longer exists, or to accept reality? We are Prussians… we are ruthless."

Charles stared at the Finn with a mix of restrained fury and contempt, but after a tense moment, he released him. The Finn coughed slightly, rubbing his neck as he adjusted his clothes with a smug expression.

"That's why I wanted to get here before you, Charles… my poor throat… I use it to deceive people, you know? And you almost broke it," the Finn mocked, not losing the cynical tone in his voice. "But the important thing is that you have your orders now. It doesn't matter if the Greyjoys surrender; they all must die… every one of them, Charles. The king doesn't want any Westerosi meddling after the war, trying to defy our agreements."

Charles clenched his fists, struggling to contain his fury as he listened to every word. He knew the Finn was right, at least about the orders. But that didn't make it any easier to accept the brutal manner in which this campaign was being waged.

"The king has secured the Iron Islands for a Prussian noble," the Finn continued, a triumphant smile on his face. "A man who will answer directly to the king of the Seven Kingdoms, yes, but who will serve our interests. This is our opportunity, Charles. We'll finally control trade in these waters and, with it, the flow of goods into the Seven Kingdoms. We can't waste this chance."

"And for that, we need to kill every man, woman, and child on these islands?" Charles spat, his voice thick with disgust. "To become something worse than the very pirates we came here to eradicate?"

"It's the king's vision," the Finn replied, unflinching. "Total victory, without loose ends. These islands must be purged, not half-conquered. If we leave a single Greyjoy alive, we're planting the seed of a future rebellion. You know this as well as I do."

Charles lowered his gaze, torn between his principles and his loyalty. "The price is too high," he murmured finally. "This isn't the honor I swore to defend."

"Honor is a luxury, Charles, one that Prussia can no longer afford," replied the Finn coldly. "This is the price of power and our nation's security. If you can't understand that, then you're not the Prussian I thought you were."

"Shut up!" Charles growled, sheathing his sword and glaring at the Finn with a mixture of contempt and resignation.

"Do your duty, oh mighty champion of Prussia," the Finn replied with biting sarcasm before turning his back and continuing his advance. "Keep moving. This isn't over yet."

The Prussians and Finns advanced relentlessly, leaving a trail of death in their wake. The interior of Pyke had turned into a nightmare of bodies and blood, forming a slick layer beneath the combatants' feet. With each step, the clash of steel and the cries of the dying mingled into a terrifying cacophony, while blood flowed like a river, covering the ancient stones of the fortress.

The defenses of Pyke's great castle were on the verge of collapse. The endless tide of Prussian soldiers continued to push through every unguarded corner and corridor, like an unstoppable torrent sweeping everything aside. Each attempt by the Ironborn to hold them back was brutally crushed, their efforts growing weaker and more desperate by the moment.

The Prussians, disciplined and determined, advanced with deadly precision, while the Finns, moving like shadows through the slaughter, eliminated any group of defenders attempting to regroup. The Ironborn resistance, once fierce and unbreakable, now crumbled before the relentless will of the invaders.

In the great hall, Balon Greyjoy and his last loyalists watched in despair as their final line of defense was decimated. The doors began to give way, and the echo of the Prussian soldiers' footsteps grew louder with each passing second. Balon knew there would be no mercy, yet he tightened his grip on his sword and looked at his men, bracing himself for the end.

The doors to Pyke's great hall shook with every Prussian strike, as the Ironborn desperately held them shut. On the other side, the noble families of the islands waited, preparing themselves for the end they knew was inevitable. With each blow, the hinges gave way a little more until, suddenly, the assault ceased, and a chilling silence fell over the hall.

That silence was shattered by a sudden, explosive show of strength as, with a single blow, the doors were flung wide open. A towering figure forced his way through, advancing with inhuman fury. Lothar von Ruppin, the king's monster , had broken through the doors with his own body, becoming the battering ram that destroyed the final defenses. His Valyrian steel armor—a shining, impenetrable shell—glinted as he stood up, his face a mask of pure determination and rage.

Without hesitation, Lothar surged forward like a beast unleashed, his Valyrian steel sword cleaving the defenders in two with every swing. Those who attempted to oppose him were swept aside by his monstrous strength. His armor, both light and impenetrable, allowed him to move with a speed and agility surprising for someone of his size, making every strike of his deadly.

The Ironborn, gripped by terror, barely managed to mount any resistance. Lothar crushed skulls with his bare hands and hurled men against the walls, their bodies shattering under his almost supernatural brutality. The defenders' screams echoed throughout the hall, their bodies dropping one after another as Lothar advanced without pause.

To the remaining nobles and defenders, Lothar was a vision from their worst nightmares: an unstoppable force of destruction, a giant clad in legendary Valyrian steel armor, impervious to every strike and cutting down any man in his path. With his armor and his overwhelming strength, the Prussian monster carved a path through the hall like a storm, moving relentlessly toward the center where Balon Greyjoy and his family awaited the end.

Each swing of his sword and every move of his hands left his enemies lifeless, as he marched like a shadow of death over the last bastion of the Ironborn.

Dozens of Prussian soldiers began pouring into the great hall behind Lothar, followed by knights in imposing armor who joined the lethal dance unleashed by the Prussian monster. Lothar advanced without stopping, his Valyrian steel sword cutting down anyone in his way, while the soldiers and knights spread around him, taking the corners and dispatching any remaining defenders.

The hall became a scene of massacre. The Prussians, trained for war and destruction, displayed deadly precision, combining with Lothar's sheer power and brutality as he led the assault like an unstoppable whirlwind. Every defender who tried to resist fell to Lothar's blade or the hands of the knights following him, forming a circle of death that spread through the hall.

The dance of death moved like an unstoppable current, with Lothar at its center, crushing and cutting without mercy. The screams of the Ironborn filled the room, drowned out in the chaos of battle. Those who attempted to flee were intercepted by Prussian knights, who ruthlessly cut down any escape with cold, calculated efficiency.

The few remaining nobles and defenders knew there was no escape. With every step Lothar and his men took, the hall was drenched in red, and the Ironborn's hope faded swiftly. Against the overwhelming force of the Prussians, any notion of resistance was futile.

At the center of the great hall, Lothar von Ruppin—covered in his enemies' blood—stood as the embodiment of Prussian victory, a symbol of their relentless advance and the definitive fall of the Greyjoys.

Lothar personally killed Balon Greyjoy, his sons, and his brothers with his bare hands. But when the bodies were counted, one Greyjoy was missing—Euron.