Rodrik Greyjoy - 271 AC

He wanted to throttle the pest squirming on the ground in front of him. Of all the things people, stupid people mostly, had ever done to evoke his wrath, this vile little shit had just topped it all.

He had desecrated his gold - shit all over it.

And the cherry on top, Urrigon had the gall to giggle to his face when he had choked on his drink the moment he had seen it.

And the day was going so well, too!

'Don't call it a drink! It's goat's milk!'

Ignoring the child in his head, he decided it better to focus on the child in front of him.

He had stopped giggling now.

What did he ever do to get saddled with such a miserable life?

He turned to look when he heard the door open again, and a sweaty-looking Victarion emerged.

"Come, Roddy, Captain Quellon called for you."

"Don't call me that!" Chrysaor snapped at his uncle. Victarion had become increasingly cheeky, and half of Urrigon's shitty shenanigans could be attributed to his encouragement.

Talk about terrible role models.

He walked alongside Victarion without another word, though, thinking about the past two years.

Victarion had been joining Grandfather Quellon in his last two voyages. They weren't any long ones - merely one to Lannisport and another to Planky Town. After all, one could always sell iron in Lannisport - with Tywin Lannister's newly formed Red Cloaks.

The Golden Lion had decided to outfit five thousand soldiers in steel plate. Mad, considering the cost of steel in these times, but if he wanted to pour gold into Quellon Greyjoy's very willing hands, then so be it.

Also, Victarion had been training like a fiend these past years. Their docking at Lannisport had been around the wedding of Stafford Lannister of Lannisport to Myranda Lefford, and Quellon had taken both Victarion and Euron to the tourney. While Euron had looked at the melee and scoffed at the blunted weapons, Victarion had witnessed the joust.

And he understood why baby Rodrik had wanted a horse. Apparently, by just riding one and unhorsing a few puffed-up knights, he could return with an absurd amount of gold.

In his words, two hundred thralls working the mines for a month, a dozen blacksmith apprentices working the ore for a week to make good iron, and a crew of fifty on a longship sailing for six days. That got us four thousand dragons. And the young knight with a lance got five thousand gold for unhorsing six other knights.

Victarion wanted that. He could see it quite clearly. It wasn't for the glory or the women; he wasn't that stupid for the former and not old enough for the latter. He wanted to make his father proud.

Nicholas had told him that Victarion hated his brothers Euron and Balon. And quite frankly, Chrysaor agreed with the assessment. One was a dimwit, while the other too cunning and quite similar in personality to Oceanus. But Oceanus knew where to draw the line. Euron, he was sure, couldn't fathom why he would ever need one.

The two were thick as thieves, though, and Rodrik knew that they would do something stupid if Grandfather Quellon weren't around for a while. Victarion probably knew that too, and his hatred for his brothers stemmed from the fact that they disrespected father all the time.

Victarion was not a stupid buy by any means. He was just not charismatic. Be that by nature or nurture, he couldn't say, but what he could say was that he loved and worshipped Quellon as a role model. And the fact that his brothers' ideals went against their father meant that Victarion would not be a part of their schemes.

Which naturally brought him closer to the only other family he had. Rodrik, Urrigon, and baby Aeron. When he had asked Nicholas why he wanted a horse over a ship, he had said that mainlanders respect that more - and that by just being great on horseback, they could get all the gold they needed while keeping the iron in the isle for themselves.

If they could keep the iron to themselves and arm their people better, then the thralls would need to mine less iron, and they could use them to plow the fields instead. They would do that without the need to be forced too - which would sit well with Quellon's edict freeing all the thralls from servitude.

And so, on his ninth nameday, Victarion had requested his father for a horse of his own. Quellon had told him that he could buy his horse with the wages he earned as a deckhand, and thus Victarion had joined him on two voyages and earned himself a good five dragons.

Three went into buying a young palfrey from Maidenpool, while the rest went into buying all the necessary leathers and gear required, along with the bushels of hay and grain they had needed to keep the horse fed while sailing back to Pyke.

And for the past two moons, he had thrown himself into learning everything that had anything to do with riding a horse. The terrain of Castle Pyke's surrounding lands wasn't the best for any horse - and they went through horseshoes like smallclothes, but that only motivated Victarion to start learning how to forge them himself - so as not to waste the one remaining dragon he had on a dozen pairs.

He was competent enough to melt down the iron in the horseshoes he had broken and reforge them back in shape in three moons. That was quite impressive to Rodrik (both Chrysaor and Nicholas). Not to say that his skill atop a horse was anything impressive, but Chrysaor could see that if he kept up the dedication, in three years or so, he would be a terror on the tilts.

Rodrik had different plans, though. Lord Quellon had proven true to his word and had him working with the maester and Marwyn on all things that he deemed necessary. From numbers and reading to history and economics of trade. And now he wanted to meet him.

Victarion knocked on the door to Lord Quellon's solar.

"Enter," came the crisp voice.

"Ah, Rodrik, come. You as well, Victarion. Come, sit."

"How was the voyage to Oldtown? And how long is Marwyn to stay at the Citadel?" Rodrik asked.

Marwyn was a dear friend, and he and Victarion were what kept his days less dreary. He had expressed a desire to go to the Citadel and learn more about the world. Though he had promised Quellon to return when he was done, Nicholas thought different.

"Ah Oldtown, good ol' place. Marwyn liked it, of course. Especially the madness of the city. I'll miss the ruddy bugger, though. Not likely he will be back for a while, lad. So don't get your hopes up. I did fetch a pretty penny for the sea lion tusks and fur. Winter hit hard down south as well this time."

"And so whale oil to Barrowtown next week?"

"Aye, three ships full of it. But that isn't why I called you lads here for. Victarion, you like that horse of yours, don't ya? I arranged for you to squire for the Mallister heir. The same one that won the tourney that day in Lannisport. You'll be joining him at Seagard in ten days."

Old man Quellon then turned to Rodrik, "And you'll be joining him there as well - as a page to Damon Mallister. Cunning old man that one, and a great warrior too, I heard. His brother just became the Commander of Shadow Tower two years past, and he knows how to make coin, that's for certain. You'll both learn all you can and then return for Rodrik's tenth name-day."

Though three was a bit too young for a page, Rodrik knew why this was happening. The winter was harsh, and with the fostering, they could prepare for the next one. The Mallisters had significant holdings and more than enough grain to ship them to Pyke at the least. The fostering was just a promise of good behavior in the coming summer in exchange for their grain at cheaper costs.

"It's a bit sudden, but I believe this is a good venture Lord Quellon. I will do my best to do you proud. Though you promised that you'd take me seafaring for my first voyage, so I intend to hold you to that."

Quellon smiled at that response, and Victarion followed Rodrik's lead with a quiet, "Yes, father."

The next ten days passed quickly. Packing wasn't the most tedious task; making sure all our gold was secure was more important. The dozen dragons given to Rodrik on his first nameday were almost gone - with a scant four remaining. Enough to get him a decent horse, but nothing more. Neither Victarion nor Rodrik packed too many clothes. After all, they were growing children, and they would replace the clothes soon, so there was no reason to do that.

And just like that, the two departed to Seagard on a Greyjoy longship. The day and a half journey weren't worthy of being called a voyage, so that didn't count in Rodrik's opinion, but he sure did feel good on the sea. He couldn't wait for the day he would captain his own vessel. Their age made it impossible for him to do so until he was twelve at the least. The crew would never take orders from an unblooded child - that was for sure.

Seagard, for a town less than four hundred leagues away from Pyke, looked so different it was jarring. But it was a good difference.

The winter chill wasn't as bad, and the warm winds from the Sunset Sea brought rain here instead of snow. On the docks, a young man of about seventeen - with lush brown hair and striking blue eyes - Jason Mallister stood with another boy around the age of Victarion. If Rodrik had to hazard a guess, that was likely to be Jeffory Mallister.

The heir's heir and the distant cousin then.

There was a steward with them, who offered bread and salt the moment Rodrik and Victarion disembarked. Way to show how much they distrusted the Ironborn. Not to throw any offense at their hosts for the next five years, three-year-old Rodrik stepped up to the steward and reached up to grab and tear away a piece of bread before dipping it in the sea salt, quickly putting consuming it.

Victarion followed Rodrik's lead, and that was that.

"Good day to you, Heir Mallister!" said Victarion. Of course, it was Rodrik who had encouraged him to do so moments before their ship docked.

"Good day to you as well, Victarion Greyjoy, I presume?"

"Aye."

One of the crewmates then brought forward Victarion's grey palfrey, and the proud boy couldn't help but introduce him as well.

"And this is my steed Greywater."

Rodrik facepalmed. How was this the first time he heard the name? If he had known before, he would have made sure his uncle didn't make a fool of himself. As if a castle of the same name wasn't just neighboring the Mallisters' lands.

Jeffory snickered, but Jason held up a palm to which all chatter died down. So he already commanded the respect of his people.

"The horse will go to the stables, for now, Victarion. You will be my squire, and until I deem it so, you will not be mounting any horses. We will make our way to Castle Seagard now. Once there, both you and Heir Rodrik may rest before we proceed with the introductions. You will begin your duties tomorrow."

'So, you wanna do the housekeeping? Or do you want me to do it for you?' mocked Nicholas inside his head.

Fucking idiot.