Quellon VII

The mood in Pyke was grim. The Drowned Men had sparked a coordinated uprising, sparking riots in Lordsport and Ironholt. In only a week the fighting had spread to every island.

The riots on Pyke had been put down, but much of Lordsport was damaged, including Smithvale. Most harmful of all, at least half the ships in the yards had been burned. By the time Euron had arrived at Iron Holt, Ser Aladale Wynch had broken up the rioters and put half a dozen Drowned Men to the sword. The two had spent the next few days hunting down the remaining rebels on Pyke.

"What news from the other islands?" asked Quellon hoarsely. He had not slept well these past few days. Balon's unexpected attempt to seize control coming right before this "Drowned Men's Uprising" had severely drained him.

Rodrik the Reader glanced at a map of the Iron Islands.

"House Myre is in rebellion. All branches of House Harlaw, House Kenning, and House Volmark have stayed loyal, though, and when I left Harlaw our forces were closing in on them. Hopefully we can stop them before they break free to join the other rebels."

"Other rebels?" asked Victarion. Euron pointed at the islands one after the other.

"All of Saltcliffe and Old Wyk have risen up against us. On Orkmont, the Orkwoods are in rebellion, but the Tawneys and Goodbrothers stayed loyal."

"And Blacktyde may as well be lost. Joron and his wife were locked inside the sept there, which was burned down. Young Baelor was spirited away by some family members to Harlaw," Ser Harras added.

"And Great Wyk?" Quellon asked.

"All houses stayed loyal, though the Drowned Men are leading roving bands of rebels all over the island," Rodrik Greyjoy answered. Quellon stood.

"We must contain this. House Greyjoys' fate stands on the edge of a knife, and with it all of the Iron Islands."

His family nodded. Rodrik Harlaw, Ser Harras, Ser Aladale Wynch, and Sawane Botley added their approval.

"Can we not ask the Iron Throne for help? Call on our new allies?" asked Asha. At four and ten, Quellon had deemed her old enough to captain a ship, and thus sit on the council of war. However, Quellon shook his head at her suggestion.

"That will inflame the rebels even further, seeing greenlanders getting involved. This must remain an internal affair for the Iron Islands."

Quellon looked at the map, then to each man at the table.

"Ser Harras, Ser Aladale, take one hundred men, all loyal captains and nobles as possible. Knights, if you can find any. Start on Pyke, then go to Harlaw, Great Wyk, Blacktyde, and Orkmont. Root out any dissenters. Even the Drowned Men. Those who preach against House Greyjoy shall be sent to their god.

Send out word that all those houses who are still loyal to House Greyjoy should muster at Old Wyk. As the most holy of the islands to the Drowned God, we must rob the rebels of their rallying point. Crush the Goodbrothers of Old Wyk, the Stonehouses, and the Drumms. Victarion and Euron, that will be your mission. Take what we have built so far of the Iron Fleet."

Quellon looked to Rodrik Harlaw, then to Lanna Piper. He had specifically asked his last wife to attend this council of war.

"Rodrik Harlaw, I will require you to go to Oldtown. Stepmother, you shall go with him. You are to request that the Citdael send us more maesters. From there, sail to King's Landing. Lanna, go to the High Septon and ask him to send septons to the Iron Islands. They and the maesters shall spread my edicts, and Ser Harras' knights shall enforce them."

"Edicts?" asked his grandson Rodrik. Quellon tapped the cover of the book in front of him. At his request, Rodrik Harlaw had brought it with him from Ten Towers.

"I intend to put down this uprising. When we do, I will take a page from Harmund the Haggler's book. Almost literally."

Rodrik Harlaw nodded, as he understood quickly, but Quellon's sons and grandson looked confused.

"Harmund said there were Eight gods: the Seven of the greenlands, and the Drowned God. The Storm God was an aspect of the Stranger. I intend to resurrect this belief. The Drowned Men who survive the war will be allowed to continue preaching as they will, but I will do the same. All who wish to follow my example will be allowed to do so without fear of repercussion."

The mood around the table darkened. Victarion and Aeron no doubt thought it blasphemy, Rodrik Greyjoy as well. The Reader, Lanna Piper, and the knights seemed somewhere between curious and apprehensive.

"This will cost us dearly in coin as well. The damage is already mounting, and the cost of rebuilding Lordsport and Iron Holt will be high. Add to this the fact that we are behind on constructing the Iron Fleet...well, I think we may have trouble repaying the Iron Bank's debt by the deadline. Perhaps if we requested an extension..."

Quellon looked to his grandson.

"Or if we obtained a deal with House Lannister for an additional loan."

Aeron spoke up suddenly.

"Brother, I know the new Master of Coin. I...did business with him when he was the Master of Customs at Gulltown. Let me go with the Reader and our stepmother to King's Landing."

Quellon raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

"Very well."

Quellon looked at the map one more time. Three islands loyal, two in open rebellion, two contested. When looked at together, this rebellion was not strong enough to win. Even if they did grow stronger with time, which seemed unlikely, they had no uniting force beyond opposition to House Greyjoy. Quellon nodded one last time and sank into his chair.

"You all have your tasks. Go now, and secure our future."

One by one, the members of the council left, casting apprehensive glances at the map of the Iron Islands. When the room was cleared, Quellon carefully undid the mental restraints he had on Balon.

"Well, son, what did you think of that?" he asked aloud.

I think this is blasphemy. The Drowned God lumped in with those demons. You are betraying even your own faith for your ambition.

"I am doing this for the good of all the Iron Islands."

You are faithless. You would use the gods as your own pawns. Blasphemer.

Quellon sank into a grim silence. Balon to said nothing. In truth, he was right. With the end of the rebellion, the final nail would be put in the coffin of the Old Ways. And the Drowned God, if he existed at all, would doubtless be furious.

"It shall be done anyway," Quellon said finally, "And it shall be what the Iron Islands need."