Blood And Iron (ASOIAF/GoT)

----------------------

well here is the first chapter and tell me honestly if I managed to re-capture mc's personality well, I remind you of the voting when this story is finished and the fallout story I will continue with the one that has more support since we are investigating to create a good timeline.

--------------------------------

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

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

----------------------

-Pov of Wilhelm von Hohenzollern eleventh moon 288 AC

The castle's corridors were stained with blood, a viscous mixture that soaked the ancient stones in a dark, gleaming red. The bodies of the fallen were piled everywhere—ours and theirs alike. But for every man we lost, more than ten Greyjoys met their end. This was not merely a battle; it was the inevitable conclusion of a plan laid long before the first Prussian soldier set foot on these islands.

I had secretly funded their rebellion, feeding their pride and arrogance with carefully measured resources. I let them grow, thrive, and believe in their invulnerability, all while watching from the shadows. When they made the fatal mistake of challenging both Westeros and Prussia, their downfall was already written. Every strike of my soldiers, every stone that crumbled in this castle, was the execution of a script I had meticulously crafted. It was the culmination of a perfect plan.

My boots echoed in the silence following the combat, as my men sifted through the dead for wounded or any valuables. In other parts of the castle, hundreds of captured defenders knelt, surrounded by Prussian soldiers. There was no place for mercy here, but neither for a swift execution. That would have been an unearned gift.

I stopped before a group of prisoners, their faces pale and filled with terror. Many avoided my gaze, though some looked at me with defiance. Admirable, perhaps, but useless. These people were nothing more than obstacles. Their fate was sealed.

"Load them onto the ships," I ordered firmly to the officer in charge. "They'll be sent to the mines on the mainland. Each one will work until their bodies give out. And when they fall, they'll be replaced by the next."

The officer nodded without hesitation. The mines of Prussia always needed hands, and the Greyjoys, hardened by rowing and piracy, would serve a purpose—even if only briefly before dying in the depths of Tumbleton.

"And their families, Your Majesty?" another knight asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"They'll fend for themselves," I replied without flinching. "They chose to follow Balon Greyjoy in his rebellion against the Seven Kingdoms. Let them face the consequences of their loyalty to a traitor."

The knight hesitated for a moment but then bowed his head, accepting my judgment. Doubt had no place in my presence.

I continued toward the Throne Room. The smell of blood and smoke still clung to the air, though deeper within the castle, the atmosphere was colder, heavier. I could feel the weight of centuries in these walls, in the symbols of an ancient but corrupt power. This throne, a monument to Greyjoy savagery, represented no greatness—only brutality. It was an unworthy symbol.

When I entered, I found Balon Greyjoy on the ground—or rather, what remained of him. His body was unrecognizable, reduced to a mess of flesh and bone. Only his garments, adorned with symbols of rank, indicated that this was the man who had dreamed of defying both Westeros and Prussia. Not even his mother would have recognized him.

I walked toward the throne and placed my hand on it. It was damp, cold to the touch. A throne fit for a pirate, not a king.

"Destroy this," I ordered, gesturing at the seat. "Not a splinter of it should remain. This hall will see no other king. These lands will no longer govern themselves."

My knights obeyed without hesitation, tearing the throne apart piece by piece. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the hall, a sound that filled me with quiet satisfaction. This was the end of Greyjoy rule and the beginning of a new era for these islands.

I looked around, observing the bodies of the fallen. With this victory, I had secured the maritime routes, eliminated a constant threat, and solidified Prussian power in the region. Yet I knew maintaining control would require more than brute force. These lands would have to be ruled with an iron fist, with politics and strategy harsher than any they had ever known.

The survivors would not be executed—that would be too easy. I would take everything from them: their freedom, their resources, even their will to resist. Over time, this land, populated by loyal settlers, would become unrecognizable. In one or two generations, the Greyjoys would be nothing but a faint memory, a warning to anyone who dared to rebel.

I turned my attention to the dismantled throne and spoke to the knights around me. "This campaign is over. Prussia stands victorious. But remember: our work here is not done. These islands will become a bastion of our glory. And never forget what happened here."

I paused, letting my words sink in before raising my voice. "We now stand as the true masters of Westeros. The others know it—even that fool Robert knows it. We have forged our reputation through blood and strategy, and no force can stand against us. Our armies are vast and disciplined. Our granaries are full, our forges work tirelessly, and our coffers overflow with gold."

I pointed toward the windows, beyond which the ocean stretched to the horizon. "We do not just dominate the lands but the seas as well. We are a force that cannot be challenged, neither by steel nor by hunger. Anyone who dares question our dominion will be crushed, just as the Greyjoys have been. Let this day be remembered, not just here, but in every corner of Westeros."

With those words, I turned and left the Throne Room, leaving behind the remnants of a kingdom that no longer existed. The future belonged to Prussia, and nothing and no one could stop us.

I finished my speech, letting the echo of my words fade among the cold walls of the hall. My eyes scanned the bodies scattered across the floor, searching for something I couldn't immediately identify. Something didn't add up. Some were missing.

A firm hand on my shoulder interrupted my thoughts. Aleksanteri, leaned in to speak softly.

"Balon's wife and youngest son, Theon, have been eliminated as you commanded, Your Majesty," Aleksanteri reported with his characteristic cold precision. "They resisted. She sought refuge in her chambers, but we could not afford to leave them alive. You know what a child like Theon could represent in the hands of rebels. Their bodies… well, let's just say they fell onto the rocks. There will be no trace left."

Though his words were precise, I knew him too well not to sense what he was leaving unsaid. Aleksanteri never did anything cleanly. I didn't expect him to, but his disdain for even a shred of honor added an unnecessary weight to my decisions.

Aleksanteri continued, as if trying to divert my attention from the implications of his actions.

"We didn't find Euron Greyjoy," he added in his usual practical, detached tone. "He likely escaped before the assault began. We've started interrogating the servants and searched the tunnels, but so far, there's no sign of him."

I frowned at the mention of that name. Euron. A dangerous man, unpredictable, the kind who could turn even a crushing defeat into an opportunity. His absence was a problem I could not ignore.

"Balon's daughter, Asha, is in our custody," Aleksanteri went on, a faint smile creeping onto his lips. "She's our best leverage. If you need legitimacy to install a new lord under our rule, she can serve that purpose. Her capture sends a clear message: even the Greyjoys are powerless against Prussia."

Before I could respond, Aleksanteri added, with barely concealed mockery:

"Charles attempted to grant the wife and child the honor of surrender. He thought we might use them as prisoners, perhaps as a gesture of clemency. He even lowered his sword, offering them a dignified way out. But I couldn't allow it. Balon's wife would have become a symbol, and the child a beacon for the insurgents. So, I did what was necessary. I pushed them from the window before Charles could stop me."

The air in the room grew heavier. Aleksanteri spoke with an indifference that only intensified the tension. His cruelty, while effective, eroded the morale of my men. I knew Charles would be furious, and rightfully so.

"Have Charles come to me," I ordered in a cold tone. Aleksanteri inclined his head and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

A few minutes later, Charles entered the room, carrying a Greyjoy warrior's helmet in one hand, gripping it by one of its horns. His face was somber, his posture stiff. He stopped in front of me, his gaze meeting mine, laden with reproach.

"Your Majesty, was this necessary?" he asked in a low voice, almost a whisper, yet filled with a barely contained emotion he couldn't hide. "The woman had surrendered. The boy… he posed no immediate threat. There could have been another way."

The reproach in his tone was clear, but his words didn't alter my expression. I remained motionless, letting him finish before responding, my voice dry and neutral.

"Charles, haven't we had this conversation before? Or am I mistaken?" My words were sharp, a reminder as pointed as a blade. "Do you recall what happened when you insisted on giving Ser Arthur Dayne an honorable duel? The Stark girl died in your arms. She could have lived. But your decision… drastically changed my plans."

The color drained from Charles' face, and his lips tightened. He knew my words were true, but that didn't make them easier to bear. Still, he didn't back down. His voice, though trembling, was clear—almost pleading.

"My king… I know you are not bound by the laws of God, that you will be judged differently when the time comes, when you stand before the Almighty. But… there are limits."

His words fell like a desperate plea, laden with emotion. But I could not afford to waver. My face remained impassive as I replied, my tone firm and cold.

"Charles, I do not care if my soul burns eternally in hell. My only duty is to my people, to my citizens, to those who have placed their trust in me." I took a step closer to him, letting the weight of my words envelop him. "I will not allow morality or honor to stand in my way. I will rule for them, so they can have a utopia in life—a place where they can thrive socially, psychologically, and physically. Where each of them can reach their full potential, like raw gems polished to brilliance. And no one, Charles… no one will stop me until I achieve it."

The echo of my words filled the room. A heavy silence fell between us as Charles lowered his gaze. Finally, he nodded, though his eyes reflected a mix of resignation and sorrow.

I turned my attention back to the remains of the dismantled throne and the ruins of the Greyjoy legacy. Doubt was a luxury I could not afford, not even for a moment. Prussia needed more than a leader—it needed an architect willing to shape a bright future, no matter the cost. And if that meant bearing eternal damnation, I would do so with my head held high.

------------------------

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

----------------------

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

----------------------