The waves crashed against the sharp black rocks of the island with dull roars, foam spraying into the air. Aeron Greyjoy blinked as a light spray of seawater splashed across his face. As per usual, it was a dark, overcast day, the harsh winds tearing across the island of Old Wyk, causing banners and cloaks to flap and crack. It was not yet raining, but a low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.
'By the will of the Drowned God, and all those that stand before him this day, I name you, Balon of the House Greyjoy, captain of the Great Kraken and lord paramount of the Iron Islands and Pyke, King of the Iron Islands,' droned the priest, his dull blue, green and grey robes flapping in the wind, as too was his long coarse black grey hair. 'Kneel.'
Balon Greyjoy did as he was bid, dropping to both his knees on the grass and rocks. His thin, gaunt face showed no hint as to what was in his mind, his eyes ever focussed in front of him.
'As King of the Iron Islands, I present you with this driftwood crown.' Tarle the Thrice Drowned, quite aptly named, raised the crown, made from rough, pointed pieces of driftwood forged together, and placed it on Balon's head. The pries took a step back and said, 'what is dead may never die.'
King Balon Greyjoy raised his head and echoed, 'what is dead may never die.'
'But rises again, harder and stronger,' finished Tarle. 'Rise.'
And so Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Island and Aeron's eldest brother, stood, his long hair blowing wildly in the wind with his faded grey robes. Aeron knew his brother, and he knew that he was, like all Iron Islanders, not one for style. Despite his crowning, his robes would remain the same. As would his hard, unmoving face, nor his fierce determination. From this day forwards, my own brother will raise the Iron Islands back to its former glory. The Old Way; the way it should be.
Balon now walked past the priest and crossed the grassy and rocky outcropping, passing many lords and their banners. From where Aeron was standing at the edge of the outcropping, mere feet away from where his brother kneeled, he could make out the vairy green and black of House Blacktyde, their lord Baelor standing below it; House Drumm of Old Wyk, the white bone hand printed on red; the House Harlaw, a silver scythe on black, and all their other minor branching houses.
Standing next to Aeron was the rest of his family. Victarian was standing immediately next to Aeron, the trace of a smile on his lips, and victory in his eyes. He knows he will lead the Iron Fleet. Next to him was Euron; hard and imposing as always, but with a calm, passive expression to his face. Screeching hinges. Standing tall and proud next to him were Balon's two eldest sons, Rodrik and Maron, with their much younger brother Theon beside them, a grin on his face as usual. And beside him, though not looking like she wanted to be, was Asha, a few years older than her young brother Theon. Her hair was unkempt and short, and her chest as flat as a boy's. Had he not known her Aeron would have indeed mistaken her for one. And last of the Greyjoys, though not by birth, was Alannys, hard-jawed and suspicious-eyed. The once Harlaw had been to be growing apart from her husband for some time now, though nobody dare say it openly.
When Balon had reached the end of the lines of lords and bannermen, he turned and gave a short nod. Though nothing was said, Aeron knew what he meant. The affair was done. Everybody was not to leave. As the small crowd dispersed from the outcropping, Balon stood patiently, waiting for everybody to go. The Greyjoys were the only ones remaining, and they all made their way over to their new king.
'I'll be holding a council once we arrive back in Pyke. Brothers, you will be there. And you two as well, Rodrik and Maron. Alannys, you will take Theon and Asha with you now. I wish to speak with my brothers and other sons as we head back to the ships.'
Alannys nodded curtly, 'very well,' and she gestured for Theon and Asha to go with her.
Balon waited until they were far ahead before he started walking. 'There will be much to plan.'
Of course, Victarian was the first to speak. 'Brother, give me command of the Iron Fleet and I shall see that our enemies are crushed without mercy.'
'I intend for you to have command of the Iron Fleet. Aeron, you will also be in the Fleet.'
'What of me, Balon?' asked Euron, never one for titles.
'I want you to devise a plan that we may use to press our advantage over the royal fleet, which will no doubt be dispatched from Lannisport the moment Robert Baratheon hears of what we are doing.'
Beside them stood the Grey King's Hall, old and cracked bones making up the pillars and beams that formed around the hall. It was an ancient spot, and one that was not frequently visited.
'This is where it would seem we have one advantage over the Iron Throne,' said Euron. 'We have the element of surprise, and we would be wise to use this to our advantage. The Iron Throne will have no idea what hit them, so to speak.'
Balon turned his head to his brother, 'what are you suggesting?'
'I'm thinking that our first move should be bold, and hit hard. Victarian will lead the Iron Fleet to Lannisport, where he shall set fire to the royal fleet, destroying it in one swift move. The bastards will have very little support from the sea that way.'
Whatever Euron may be, Aeron thought, cunning was definitely one of them.
Balon seemed to approve of this suggestion. 'Yes, this might work,' he nodded. 'Victarian, Aeron, you will do as Euron has suggested. Burn the royal fleet to ashes in the sea, and then move on to the coast of Fair Isle, where Rodrik shall be rejoin the Fleet after having lain waste to the villages along the coast.'
'And what of me, father?' asked Maron, eager to be set something to do.
'You'll stay at Pyke, in case it should come under assault from the Iron Throne. I shall be there as well. Pyke has been my seat ever since my father died, and I will not see it taken on a whim.'
'As you command.'
'The Iron Islands will once again reave and pillage as it was by the Old Way,' Balon said.
As the six men crossed the field of Nagga's Hill, the rain began to fall and the storm rose.
