Disaster. Pure disaster. A fortnight ago, Euron Crow's Eye had been King of the Iron Islands, leading thousands of ironborn into battle. Now he rotted in the dungeons beneath Pyke. Rats, not salt wives, now shared his bed. Aside from the guards, they were his only companions. All of the remaining cells, near as Euron could tell, were empty.
It all went sour when the Ferenese fleet had overwhelmed the Iron Fleet's rearguard. While some ironborn vessels were wrecked during the landing, an additional forty longships sank under the enemy fleet's guns, dragging over three thousand men to the Drowned God's hall. Then the Ferenese ships had blockaded the harbor. Try as they might, the Iron Fleet could not escape intact. A few longships were able to slip their way past the Ferenese warships, mostly by using the burning hulks as cover. But the Silence was not so fortunate. As the King tried to rally his fellow ironmen for an assault against the Ferenese blockade, the Revenge demasted his flagship, then opened fire, killing almost all of her crew. The Revenge's crew then stormed aboard, led by a warrior wearing half a set of plate armor. Euron briefly dueled with the man before stabbing him in the neck. Then a boy, no older than Euron's nephew Theon, shot him. Euron had then crumpled to his knees, bleeding and defeated. "The Captain's dead!" The boy exclaimed before striking Euron down with the pommel of his smallsword. From that moment on, Euron Greyjoy had been a prisoner of war.
Euron heard footsteps coming down the corridor, accompanied by the glow of a torch. Three burly Ferenese sailors stopped outside of his cell.
"Get against the wall," one growled. Euron grudgingly obeyed, loathe to take orders from such a dullard.
Two of the sailors entered the cell. "The Admiral wants to see you," said the man still out in the passageway.
"You shall address me as 'your Grace,' filth."
"Shut up, you worm! Lads, shackle him. Let's get this turd topside."
The two sailors slapped a pair of irons around Euron's wrists, then half-dragged the king up out of the dungeon. It was noontime outside. Euron's eyes stung as sunlight entered his pupils. Before long, Euron found himself in Pyke's main hall, standing some twelve feet in front of the Seastone Chair. His chair! The ancient Seastone Chair, made of black stone carved in the shape of a kraken, belonged to the King of the Iron Islands and him alone. But instead, Victarion Greyjoy stood beside the Chair. That damn usurper! Also on the dais... Asha! Another traitor! Opposite her was the young Ferenese boy who'd taken him captive. The boy was wearing his late captain's Valyrian steel smallsword. The man opposite Victarion was a stranger to the Crow's Eye, but his decorated black uniform marked him as someone important. Euron reasoned that this man must be in charge of the Ferenese forces. The stranger motioned the jailers to leave, which they did.
"Admiral Dagher," said the Ferenese boy. "This is the man who killed Captain Diarmad."
"And the idiot who sent thousands of his countrymen to their deaths," Victarion added.
"Me, brother? An idiot? Father always said that I was the smart one, and that you were the dumb brute."
"Quiet," the Ferenese commander demanded. He stepped off the dais, stopping ten feet away from Crow's Eye.
"Euron Greyjoy," said the stranger in matter-of-fact tone, "I am Admiral Willis Dagher of the Ferenese Republic. With me is Captain Richard Collins of the Revenge. Also present are your kinsmen, Victarion and Asha Greyjoy. Last night, your Iron Fleet was defeated in battle. Fifty of your longships were destroyed, along with thousands of your fellow ironmen. The Iron Fleet is now at half its original strength. Furthermore, eight ships of the Ferenese Navy were destroyed. Hundreds of men died aboard those ships, burned alive at your command. You have been brought here to face the judgement of both your ironborn subjects, and the Ferenese Admiralty." Dagher returned to his place on the dais. "What say you in your defense?"
"Before I defend myself," said Euron, "I'd like to know what crime I am being charged with."
"Recklessness to begin with," Victarion spat. "Your battle plan led the fleet into a trap from which it couldn't escape."
"I see." Euron look at Dagher. "And what are your charges, Admiral?"
"In burning men alive, you violated the Denaryn, the code of conduct that governs how the Republic wages war. Breaking this code is a crime against the Republic."
"What do have against burning men?"
Captain Collins stepped forward. "When Asshai invaded our home islands centuries ago, they burned many men as offerings to their Lord of Light. We do not worship the Lord of Light. The use of fire against people is outlawed by the Denaryn."
"Then who do you worship, boy? Gods shaped like ships?"
Collins put on a look of disgust. "It's Captain, and we worship the Ancestors."
"Enough!" Asha snapped. "Uncle, if you wish to defend yourself, do so now."
"Very well." Euron eyed both of his kin. "Brother and niece, when Bralor died, the ironborn needed a strong king to lead them to glory. Our fellows chose me as their leader, and rightly so, for I survived voyages to coasts that would kill a lesser man. I knew where to find dragons. With dragons, we could have built a kingdom for ourselves, built a future for the ironborn. Then these Ferenese dogs invaded our home. We needed to stop them, no matter the cost. After all, the ironmen bow to no one."
"Your lust for glory failed you in the end," said Asha. "You are no longer capable of leading the ironborn."
"I disagree. A woman will never rule the ironborn."
"But a man will," Victarion added. "Just not you."
"Lord Victarion," said Dagher. "Have you and Lady Asha arrived at a decision?"
Victarion and Asha looked at each other, then at Dagher. "Indeed we have, Admiral," said Victarion after a moment's silence. "We sentence Euron to die."
Euron groaned with a mixture of rage, disappointment, and frustration. This outcome was tragically predictable. Since his capture, Euron had been mentally preparing himself for his inevitable execution, but to have the sentence issued by his own family was just insulting.
"What is your verdict, sir?" Richard asked the Admiral.
"King Euron Greyjoy has broken a sacred code of conduct, and caused hundreds of Ferenese men to die an excruciating death. The Ferenese Republic also sentences Euron Greyjoy to death. Captain Collins, kill him."
"Aye aye, sir."
Richard drew his Valyrian steel smallsword, and stepped off the dais, ready to carry out his Admiral's order. Neither Victarion nor Asha moved to stop him. For all Euron knew, they might've been pleased.
"Wait," a familiar voice called.
Euron looked over his shoulder and spotted Aeron Damphair. The priest had been standing quietly near the back of the hall. When had he entered? Euron hadn't heard his footsteps on the stone floor.
"This man is not a hog to be slaughtered at your whim," the Damphair continued. "Let him go the Drowned God like a proper ironborn."
Victarion, Asha, and Willis all looked at each other, and nodded in agreement.
"Euron," said the Iron Captain, "we of the ironborn sentence you to death by drowning. May the Drowned God receive you in his hall."
