Quellon II
Among the houses of the Iron Islands, the strangest were the Farwynds of Lonely Light. They were said to be skinchangers, which tales said were able to inhabit the bodies of animals such as sea lions, walruses, and spotted whales. Quellon had heard the tales as a child and wondered if the animal's spirit still dwelt in the body, and if it did, did it resist the new owner? Would it eventually submit, or did it eventually reach a balance with the human sharing its mind?
Quellon now knew the answer.
Father, for the last time, why have you ordered us back to the Iron Islands? the voice of Balon Greyjoy echoed in his head. Their head. Even now that the day was almost over, Quellon was not sure whose body this truly was.
"Son, we have won this battle, is that not enough?" he asked aloud, glad he had sequestered himself in his cabin once he heard the voice of his son surface from the depths of his mind.
"My...old body was slain, and twelve longships went to the bottom. But not enough have survived for us to continue the fight."
Quellon had watched his old body consigned to the waves, sent to the body of the Drowned God. When Quellon had wondered if Balon would have wept, Balon had responded that such a thing would only show weakness.
Balon had continued making comments in that vein as Balon ordered the surviving ships to raise sail and make for the Iron Islands.
"Besides, I must claim the Seastone Chair - in your name. I never wanted to go to war in the first place."
And why is that, I wonder? You fought on the Stepstones in your youth. Did that make you lose your stomach for fighting?
A lesser man would have been stung by the scorn in Balon's voice, but Quellon was too emboldened by the events earlier that day to let it bother him.
"'War is bad for trade. Weakness invites attack. To have peace, we must be strong,'" Those were the words of Qhorwyn the Cunning, who despite spending his entire reign avoiding war had tripled the size of his fleets. Quellon had read that early in his youth, from a book borrowed by Rodrik the Reader, and had often quoted it since.
'Longships are made to be sailed, swords are meant to be blooded', replied Balon. Harwyn Hardhand used the fleet and arms prepared by his father to conquer the Riverlands, increasing the Ironborn's holdings tenfold.
Quellon stood suddenly.
"You may protest all you like, son, but this is still my body."
A knock at the door froze Quellon suddenly. Had someone heard him? It would not do to have the Ironborn whispering that their new king was a madman.
"Enter," he said in Balon's voice. The door opened and Euron entered, his single eye smiling.
"Brother," Quellon said grimly.
"Brother. I came to speak with you,"
Quellon nodded and motioned his son to a chair. Euron sat, then leaned forwards as if sharing some secret.
"Brother, I grieve for father as you do. Yet though he is not yet a day in the Drowned God's halls, and already there are rumors among the crew. They say you shall repeal father's edicts. The ones freeing the thralls, and forbidding reaving in Westeros."
And were I in command of mine own body, I would, Balon said.
Silence, thought Quellon. Euron does not grieve for me, and I can see the greed in his eye. No doubt Euron started the rumors himself. Quellon had expected his fifth son to start such mutterings, but so soon?
"The crew presumes too much. I shall do as I will."
Euron's smile flickered. This answer was unexpected, by all appearances.
"But Balon, we have spoken of this before. Father cared nothing for the Old Ways. Have you not said before that you shall make us great when you are lord?"
"I will make us great. But not through the Old Ways."
Father, you cannot do this.
I can and will. This is my body now, gifted to me by the Drowned God's own hand. I will do with it as I will.
"What do you mean?" Euron asked, his smile now one of nervousness.
"I will continue my father's work."
