Game of thrones: the Sunblode rise

Chapter 17: The Tides of Iron

The waters of the Trident shimmered in the morning light as the first of Sunblode's ships sailed past Riverrun. The newly constructed galleys, with crimson sails bearing the golden sun of House Sunblode, were a stark reminder that Ivar's power was no longer confined to the island. From the battlements, lords and knights watched as the fleet maneuvered with disciplined precision, a show of strength meant to solidify Sunblode's place in the Riverland Accord.

Ivar stood on the docks with Timothy and Lysa, his dark cloak billowing in the wind. The arrival of his fleet was no accident—it was a calculated move to remind his allies, and his enemies, of his growing influence.

"You're making quite the impression," Timothy said, a faint smirk on his lips.

"That's the idea," Ivar replied, his gaze fixed on the lead galley as it docked. "They need to see what we're capable of. Fear and respect are two sides of the same coin."

Lysa stepped closer, her voice low. "Word is already spreading. The Freys have sent riders to Riverrun to gauge the size of your fleet, and the Blackwoods are sending scouts to Sunblode Isle. They're watching you."

"Let them watch," Ivar said. "They'll learn what happens to those who stand against us."

The council reconvened later that day in Riverrun's great hall, the tension palpable. Hoster Tully sat at the head of the table, his face a mask of calm authority. Brynden Blackfish stood behind him, arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on Ivar. Around the table sat the lords of the Riverlands, each bearing their own grievances and ambitions.

"House Sunblode's fleet is impressive," Hoster began, addressing the room. "But we cannot rely on one house alone. If the Ironborn attack in force, we'll need every ship, sword, and shield in the Riverlands to repel them."

"We have the swords," Jonos Bracken interjected, his tone defiant. "What we need is leadership. Who's to command this united force? Riverrun? Or Sunblode?"

Ivar's lips curved into a faint smile, but he said nothing, allowing the room to erupt into debate.

"The Tullys are the liege lords," Tytos Blackwood said. "Leadership should fall to them."

"Riverrun is too far inland," Walder Frey countered, his voice sly. "The Twins control the crossings. If anyone should lead, it's us."

"And yet," Timothy said, his voice cutting through the din, "neither of you has built ships, coordinated defenses, or burned an Ironborn fleet to ash. If we're talking about who's earned the right to lead, I think the answer is clear."

All eyes turned to Ivar, who met their gazes with calm confidence.

"Leadership isn't about titles or geography," Ivar said, his tone measured. "It's about action. House Sunblode has already proven its commitment to defending the Riverlands. We don't seek to command, but we will not stand idle while others bicker."

Brynden Blackfish tilted his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "You talk like a man who's already won the argument."

Ivar's eyes gleamed. "Because I've already acted. The fleet is ready, the soldiers are trained, and Sunblode Isle is fortified. If the Ironborn strike, we'll be the first to meet them—and the last thing they'll see."

After the meeting adjourned, Hoster Tully invited Ivar to a private audience in his solar. The room was warm and dimly lit, the faint smell of parchment and candle wax filling the air.

"You've stirred the pot," Hoster said as he poured wine into two goblets. "Some of the lords respect you. Others fear you. Few trust you."

"They'll trust me when they see results," Ivar replied, taking the offered goblet.

Hoster studied him for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You're an ambitious man, Lord Sunblode. That's clear to everyone in that hall. But ambition can make enemies as quickly as it makes allies."

Ivar sipped his wine, his gaze steady. "Ambition is only dangerous if it's unchecked. Everything I've done has been to strengthen the Riverlands. To unite them."

"And when they're united?" Hoster asked, his tone pointed.

Ivar's lips curved into a faint smile. "Then we'll face the next challenge together."

Hoster chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You remind me of myself, in my younger days. But beware, Lord Sunblode. The higher you climb, the more precarious the fall."

Meanwhile, in a shadowed corner of Riverrun, Lysa met with one of her agents, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek.

"The Freys are restless," the agent said in a hushed voice. "They're sending emissaries to the Lannisters, offering to 'mediate' between the Riverlands and the Westerlands."

Lysa's eyes narrowed. "Traitors. Walder Frey doesn't care about unity. He only cares about securing his own position."

"What should we do?" the agent asked.

Lysa leaned closer, her voice cold. "Let him make his move. The moment he steps out of line, we'll expose him for what he is. But keep close—if he becomes too bold, we may need to cut this snake's head off."

That evening, as Ivar stood on the battlements overlooking the river, Timothy joined him, his boots clicking softly against the stone.

"You think Tully's on our side?" Timothy asked, his tone light.

"He's pragmatic," Ivar said. "He'll support us as long as it suits him. The moment we're a threat, he'll turn."

Timothy smirked. "Good thing you're always ten steps ahead."

"Ten steps isn't enough," Ivar replied, his gaze distant. "I need to see the whole board—and control it."

Timothy chuckled. "Well, for what it's worth, I'd bet on you over any of these lords."

Ivar's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Then let's make sure we're worth betting on."

The next morning, Ivar's fleet departed Riverrun, heading for Sunblode Isle to prepare for the next phase of the campaign. Lysa remained behind with a small team of agents, tasked with monitoring the lords and ensuring that any dissent was swiftly dealt with.

As the ships sailed down the Trident, Ivar stood at the prow of the lead galley, his mind racing with possibilities. The Riverland Accord was fragile, a patchwork of grudging agreements and mutual suspicion. But it was a start.

In the distance, dark clouds gathered on the horizon. Ivar's gaze hardened as he gripped the railing.

"Let them come," he thought. "The Ironborn, the Freys, the Lannisters—anyone who thinks they can break us. I'll show them what it means to face House Sunblode."