A Kaleidoscope of Crystals and Lasers

by Prince Toyosatomimi

The red streak tears across the night sky, bringing into the world of Ice and Fire things that should not exist. The religious are getting more fanatic, cults are birthed from thin air, and demons are brought forth into existence. A sea of red, a night full of rainbows, and a castle filled to the brim with darkness.

17. The Iron Way

Kingsmoot

Man was born in the watery halls of the Drowned God in the shape of their creator, and into the brine they shall return where they will feast with mermaids and krakens alike. Only the Ironborn are beholden to this faith, this truth that they all have come to know. The sea is their realm, it was once told. The ships their castles and the captains Kings.

And so it is up to Aeron Damphair to bring about the Old Way again to the Iron Islands, to bring the Ironborn back to their former glory.

His faith is strong, and his influence is even stronger. He knows himself to be the holiest man on the Iron Islands, having been drowned twice before and drinking seawater. Even Tarle the Thrice-Drowned heeds to his call for action. His heart lies in the sea and the sea is in him.

And with all that faith, the Storm God saw it fit to test him.

The first one came with the arrival of a raven more than a month ago, one from King's Landing. Heretics from the green lands have apparently found their 'holy' champion to lead them, a descendant from the demon whose names are numbers. Aeron snuffed out the bird's life then to the protests of Maester Qalen. Those damned ravens only ever carry dark words to their homes, and so he felt no guilt when they escaped and killed the ageing maester with them.

So the Storm God have managed to sway even those heretics, is what Aeron thought at the time. He knows for a fact that the Storm God and those green lands' men are adamant for the Ironborn's destruction, and so he came up with grandiose plans to prevent that.

But when he was about to enact upon them, the second test came. His brother Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands and Twice-Drowned, have been snatched away by the dark winds of the Storm Gods. Those who saw him fall say a black mist pulled him out of a window, while others say it was a six-legged fly and even stranger are those who claim that it was a giant raven's claw.

But whatever it was, his brother is dead.

He prayed hard that day, never eating and never sleeping, sustaining himself on raw sea life and salt water. And in his eventual salt-driven delirium, he heard a voice beneath the storming waves. "Victarion shall be my champion," it commanded, Aeron's eyes watching the fish and shrimps school all around him. "Make it so!"

The call, so clear and enveloping like sea foam… A miracle, he thought then. A guidance to lead us out of this chaotic storm. There is only one way to make sure of this succession, of course. To show the Ironborn that Victarion shall be the one who lead them to their untold glories and riches.

A Kingsmoot.

And now Aeron stands among them all, captains and warriors born from the salty sea and clamouring for their chance at the Seastone Chair. Most shout their claims early and are shot down by Asha Greyjoy's sharp tongue. Aeron hoped that she'll speak her piece before Victarion, but that turns out to not be the case.

To make sure Victarion has the best possible chance to be chosen, Aeron blesses him before the captain makes his speech. His booming voice brings to attention all captains and crew present, offering them simple words and plentiful bounties. The weapons and gold by his feet are soon taken by eager men shouting his name, taking even one of his niece's champions.

A smile manages to escape from Aeron's lips, but he soon hides it beneath whiskers of hair and sea weed. Victarion… I know you may be a dullard at times, but you're my better in many things. And to be the Drowned God's champion, one does not need be a maester. A captain like you will ravage the green lands like no other, displaying the true might of the Iron fleet, he reckons.

But then the third test appears.

Interrupting Victarion's speech is the sound of metal scraping against stone, so numerous that one might think they're inside an active mine. All fall silent as they see the dark shape rising up from behind Nagga's cradle. Looming above them all is the great sail of a longship, its black sail heralding a white horned demon with horns and chains of red and blue. Though he does not recognise it, Aeron's stomach sinks the moment he looks upon its eye.

Blood red.

Euron is here.

The ship climbs into the view of the terrified captains and warriors, all cowering before its shadow. The wailing maiden at its prow looks more lifelike than the last time Aeron saw it, with its eyes of onyx and rubies. Crawling on its oars high above the ground, it reminds him of a sand roach from the way it undulates and pierces the ground with each step. Black smoke leak from its ports, and golden coins fall from each lurching it makes. And below them…

Euron steps forth from the shadows, a soft smile on his lips and a maddening gaze in his smiling eye. A necklace of bird skull hang low from his neck, bleached white from the sun. In his right hand he holds a black trident that whirls with every step, but to everyone's surprise the Crow's Eye do not have a left hand anymore. Instead, his stump is held together with two bracelets of green and white serpents.

The damned crew of the Silence appear from the shadows as well, a collection of rabbles and wild men from all over the known world. Like their captain, they all bear the same vicious grin as they bring forth a palanquin of gold and ebony. Whoever sits there is obscured by silks and wood, but Aeron can see their shadow well enough.

"Why are you here, Euron?" Victarion bellows out, his black iron battle-axe ready for battle in his hands. "After what you've done here, you and your ship have no right to set foot on these islands. Begone with you!"

"Is that how you greet your older brother, Victarion? A family member you've not seen in the past two years?" he chuckles at the future King's anger. "I know my rights, dear Vic. Is it not correct that my banishment ends with the death of our brother Balon?"

How do you know? Aeron wants to shout, but a single glance from the man sends him cowering behind Victarion's large frame.

"Ah, my dear brother Aeron! The last two years have done wonders on your hair, have it not? Tell me, did you pick the sea weeds yourself or did you let them grow into your skull?"

Aeron have always despised his brother, this madman who wanders the night opening doors to his bedroom. But now, that insult angers him more than anything. Gathering his courage, Aeron steps out of the cowering crowd and stands before Euron. "Your banishment may have ended, but this is a godly tradition we're partaking. A godless man like you have no place here."

"Godless?" Euron scoffs. "Seems that you've become even dumber than when I last saw you, Damphair. The kingsmoot accepts all captains who were born with salt in their blood, or did the din of the waves made you forget that? Is that the state of the drowned men today, fellow Ironborns? That your head priest prefers to braid his hair with leaves like a flowering maiden rather than inflict the will of the Drowned God upon those heathens!?"

The captains around them laugh at Euron's insults, and even Asha is smiling. But a slap from Aeron's salty wineskin bring them all back to silence. Euron simply smiles back as bleed begins to seep from the cut on his cheek. "You are a fool to be here, Crow's Eye! I know my place with the Drowned God; I've been a priest longer than you've been mad!"

"Are you sure of that?"

"And this sorcery," Aeron gestures to the Silence, standing over them all. "It is mere child's play to what the Drowned God offered. HE came to me with a prophecy. HE came to me underneath the waves. And it was HIM that had chosen our champion. You have no right to disrupt His will!"

His anger only makes Euron's smile grow wider. "And who did this voice say shall be our champion?"

"It was His words for me to bear. And when it rings true, I shall voice the words again."

"You hear that!?" Euron shouts. "My brother has said that the chosen King shall be the champion who leads you all to victory! The voice in the waters have asked for this Kingsmoot, and the voice shall have it! Step aside, Aeron. It is my turn to make a claim."

Aeron is pushed away by the trident as the Silence and its crew march along with Euron to the centre of the Kingsmoot. The ground trembles with the thudding of oars on the rocky ground.

"Victarion," he brings the Iron Victory's captain to attention. "I see you've made your claims to be king, but I fear if you're truly adequate to lead the downtrodden Ironborn."

"My steel and bite is sharper than yours, Euron," Victarion spits. "I'm a better captain, a better warrior, and a much better King than you shall ever dream to be."

"Oh, I'm sure that you can hold yourself in any battle, dear Vic. So tell me, if your enemies have settled themselves in the Dothraki Sea, will you sail the Iron Victory there?"

"There's no water my ship can't sail, Crow's Eye. With my command, I…" His answer is drowned out by the raucous laughter of the surrounding captains. Even Aeron can't help but to let out a disappointed sigh. "The hells are you all laughing at!?"

"The Dothraki Sea's a grassland, you dolt," Asha shouts.

"A man who braids like a maiden and a man who thinks he can swim in grass: are these your soon-to-be leaders, Ironborn? They may be krakens but they can't tell the difference between their beaks and their arms!" More laughter. And some have begun chanting for Euron's name.

No! Aeron shouts to himself. This is a test, a test for Victarion to be worthy! The Drowned God shall see him to be worthy, he must! HE gives a nervous glance at Asha. Though the girl sticks his tongue at him, he's glad that his niece at least have a mind to step forward. Even her in place of Euron will be better!

"My Uncle may be a bull in mind but he's a bull in body as well," Asha shouts in defiance of Euron, a smirk forming on her lips. "And what of you, one-eyed and one-handed kraken? I'd say my Uncle can fight with one hand tied behind his back, but I see you have no need for that handicap."

"Oh, but this is no handicap, my dear niece." That's when Aeron realises that the bracelets on his brother's left arm are no mere ornaments but actual serpents, writing and spinning as Euron wields the trident two-handed. He flourishes the weapon, occasionally nearing Aeron's terrified face before slamming it hard into the ground, cracking the stone beneath. "My eye sees all and my hands wield weapons like no others! Nothing can ever best me on land nor at sea!"

The Silence moves again, this time pacing around the Kingsmoot like a shark ready to pounce. "No kraken can truthfully say that they challenged two demons, and no living man can say that they've bested them. For the price of my hand and my lies, the Silence can sail the lands faster than any horses. None in Westeros shall sleep soundly in their high castles when our ships raid their battlements!"

The Silence shudders as it goes above the captains, dumping gold and jewels and chests of treasures from its deck. Many clamber over each other to get their share of gold and weapons. Even Asha is not immune to Crow's Eye's bribing. "Euron!" they all begin to shout. "Euron! EURON! EURON!"

It's all falling apart for Aeron. The prophecy, the voice, Victarion, all of it. "Can you not see this heresy!?" Aeron tries to remind them all to no avail. "He's no pious man, he worships demons! He's no Ironborn!"

Euron snaps his fingers. With that, the gold and treasure on the ground shivers before all of them float like leaves and gather above the golden palanquin, swirling like a maelstrom. The ungodly spectacle brings both cheers and shouts from the Ironborn. "Call for my name," Euron declares, "and you shall have more than gold. Power. Walking ships. Drowned men! Dead lions and dead wolves! All shall sink beneath the brine! The kraken will reign the drowned world as it's meant to be. FOR THE IRONBORN!"

"EURON! EURON! EURON! CROW'S EYE!"

Pyke

Why?

Why?

Why is it all like this?

Why is it all falling apart?

Was His words mistaken? The voice beneath the waters of Pyke, did the Drowned God not named Victarion as His champion? Nothing was said about that heathen Euron, nor his idol of demons and sorcerers and his walking ship. Damned demon worshipper, nothing more than a godless corsair. Aeron bites his hand raw, the taste of blood filling his mouth.

He thinks. He drinks more saltwater. He prays and prays and prays. He sobs into his dyed wool cloak and bites into his weedy beard, nearly tugging all his hair out. He must do something, anything to stop the heathen from being crowned. Can he leverage the influence of the other priests? How about tell Victarion to break the traditions? Will that prevent Euron from sitting on the Seastone Chair?

…

What am I thinking… He's already sitting on the chair. It's already been a week since the Kingsmoot's finished, a week since Euron was crowned King and a week since he settled himself in what was once Balon's room. And Aeron is no longer standing below Nagga's sun-bleached ribs but instead huddled into a corner of the dead maester's room, books to his left and right. Why is he here? He can't even read.

No, no that's not right. I was… I was… Aeron doesn't remember. None of him remembers why he's here in this unpleasant room away from the sea where he belongs. A nearby window is open and he can hear the waves crashing below. It's night. Aeron had failed his God, and now the God is angry. The roaring, the fury, the anger. But Aeron knows that his God is very disappointed in his lack of results, throwing to the winds His holy words and prophecy. Only a fate worse than death is-

The door to the quarters creaks open and Aeron shrinks back into the corner, shielding his face with a book as he whimpers. He''d been here before, back when he was just a little boy and Euron was awake during-

"Stand up, Damphair. You're making a fool of yourself."

That's not his voice. Putting the book down, he sees instead the large looming figure of Victarion. The older man is wearing some sleeping wear but holds an axe in his hands, though he doesn't seem eager to use it. "Brother."

"My niece said that a rat has been wandering the walls of the Bloody Keep. But here I found a coward instead. Sleep in actual bed for once, Damphair." With that, Victarion exits the room. Aeron quickly follows after him.

"Brother! Brother, you must understand," Aeron calls Victarion, but the man keeps on walking.

"Euron won the Kingsmoot. The Kingsmoot that you planned and conducted, Aeron. You said that the choice was blessed by the Drowned God himself, and I trusted you," the large man snarls. Was it Aeron's fault then that Victarion did not become King? Did his actions bring about the failure?

No! It must not be! I am the Drowned God's prophet, not a simple priest! The words, the words, the- "The Drowned God, brother. He chose a champion. It's supposed to be you sitting on the Seastone Chair! You are his champion, not that heathen who claims to still be a kraken!"

Victarion stops walking, his grip on the axe tightening.

"Victarion," Aeron speaks softly to his brother. "I heard Him beneath the waves. He said your name, not Euron's."

"Maybe you're mistaken," he replies, shocking the priest. "Maybe… Maybe your ears are going bad, brother. Euron is my King, and he is your King as well. We shall do no more of this treasonous talk if you want to keep your head." And with that, the Iron Captain walks away into the depths of the Bloody Keep, ignoring the shouts of his younger brother.

…

Aeron now knows that at the very least, Victarion is very unhappy of the decision of that Kingsmoot. No man is happy, least of all someone with a personal hatred of Euron. Yet, it'll be hard in trying to convince him to go against his brother. His King. The Iron Captain is as dull as a bull but more stubborn than one, making this treasonous decision hard to accomplish.

So how?

Aeron decides to leave the walls of Pyke altogether. Ever since that heathen sat on the Seastone Chair, he had put up strange symbols of his demonic idols all around the castle. Every corner of every hall and on top of every door he'll find them. And for a Priest of the Drowned God, such blasphemous things are not at all welcome.

Now he stands at the beach with its grey sand and clay shelf. The moon is a waning crescent now, and in a few days' time it'll be a new moon. The only thing that shines brighter in the sky is that red streak, bathing the beach in a dim red glow. Aeron knows it to be a message of war but from whom? The Drowned God or the Storm God?

The tide is currently receding. He postponed this meeting for too long and now not have much time let to be in the hands of the Drowned God. I must be a better priest, Aeron thinks as he disrobes himself, placing his clothes at the shoreline. No, even more. A better prophet, one who'll understand our God's words.

The waves lap around his body, the cold water softly caressing him and sending vicious chills down his body. But this is nothing, just a normal part of his worship. Once the water reaches his stomach, he secures his feet in some rocky crevices before dunking his entire body under the water. The salt soon fills his nostrils and burn his eyes, but he must endure it. He must know what the Drowned God has to say to him.

…

But there's no answer. Resurfacing and gasping for air, a part of Aeron wonders if his God had truly abandoned him for his failure. Euron is King. No, I am his prophet! I will hear his words! Ad again, he dunks himself under the water.

To be in the sea is to be in the hands of his Lord. Here, the line between the dead and the living blurs as his body cools to be one with the sea. Now water fills his mouth and he can see animals gathering around him. Only here can he be safe from Euron's heretical sorceries, away from those demons and idols.

Aeron feels his chest tighten and slowly struggling for a breath of fresh air. But moments before he resurfaces he can hear low whispers in the water. Sadly, his body can't stand much longer and he stands back up into the sea air, coughing out the water that has gone down his throat. The water has dipped even further now, and soon he'll be unable to speak with Him until tomorrow.

His throat hurts and his eyes burn, but he must do it. One more time, he convinces himself. One more time and I'll hear my God's message. One more time!

He dunks his body again, using his arms to push himself lower into the water. The pain is fiercer now, a few cuts appearing on his body for brushing against the sharp rocks of the beach.

But the voice comes to him precise and clear, like a blade sharpened to a glimmer. "Victarion is my champion," says a passing school of catfish, swimming under his nose. "Crow's Eye will not stay here," says an octopus, wrapping its powerful tentacles around his neck. His vision is getting weaker, and he can feel his body turning cold. "Do what needs to be done!"

Aeron bursts out of the sea, dragging himself to dry ground and coughing out the water filling his lungs. He hits his chest, each time spitting out more sand and water from his mouth. Crabs fall out of his hair and the octopus slithers back into the water. Now he's alone at the beach, not even seagulls to watch his revelation. What needs to be done.

What needs to be done…

…

Aeron smiles. His God has spoken to him again; he's still His prophet. He is still worthy. "What is dead may never die," he whispers into the sea, "but rises again, harder and stronger."

He stands there at the beach as the tide recedes, leaving him to dry with the cold Northern winds. Above him stands Pyke, the seat of House Greyjoy and the place where the Seastone Chair now resides. And now the Great Keep is a place of idolatry and vice, he spits into the sand before wearing his clothes again.

Now the question lies on how Aeron will depose that heretic, that man who cavorts and dances with demons of shadow and smoke. No part of Euron's flesh is devout, thus he's not at all fit to even touch the Seastone Chair. In the end, he must make Victarion take the throne; by force if needed.

But what of kinslaying? he wonders. Even if it's to remove a heretic, that act is so sinful that even the Storm God would grow disapproving of it. Aeron sighs; there's still so much for him to do. This is not even considering the heathens back at the green lands and their supposed sorcerer prophets; maybe Euron gained support from them as well. But at the very least he's sure of one thing.

That red streak in the sky.

It is a call for war.

Pyke

"So," Asha yawns as she leans on her open door. It took Victarion several hard knocks to wake her up, and even now she looks half-asleep. "Did you kill the rat?"

"It was no rat, Asha. Damphair was in the maester's quarters."

"Explains all the whimpering," she chuckles. "The man's more than twice my age but he cries like a sweet maiden whenever he sees Uncle. No kraken is supposed to be that weak in the knees."

"Have you seen what our King has done to the Great Hall? As a fellow devout like Damphair, I find what he has done there nothing short of blasphemy."

"Oh, don't be such a hard-ass, Uncle. Your brother's King! And like any good reaver, he's simply showing us all the plunder he has taken! Have you seen the jewels he put up near the doors? Never seen anything like it. Besides, as King, he wants to impress his court, wouldn't you agree?" She smiles smugly at him.

Victarion wonders since when have his niece gotten so… Detestable. He suspects that perhaps it's because his late brother Balon allowed her to captain her own longship, or perhaps even before that with Theon becoming a ward of the Starks of Winterfell. A kraken imprisoned on land… So Balon let a girl become a captain. But worst of all, he sees a shadow of Euron in her words and actions. "You still pray to the Drowned God, don't you?"

"Pray to him every night and day and every time I step onto my ship, Uncle. I'm not stupid…" She yawns again, louder this time. "It's pretty late and I have some plans with my crew in the morning. So, see ya."

"Asha, I am not fi-"

*SLAM*

He tries for the door but hears a bar being set down. There's no use in trying to break down the girl's door with an axe, so he'll just talk to her in the morning. "Such disrespect," Victarion grumbles. "I'd expected Balon to have raised you better than this." I never understand why he didn't just marry you off to the other captains once you first flowered, but instead we have you here. Captaining a longship.

What a disgrace.

But there's no use complaining about it now; he'll talk to her again in the morning. It's near the hour of the wolf now. Not even the thralls or servants are awake at this time, leaving Victarion all by himself in the Great Keep of Pyke.

But he feels no peace.

Balon is gone, feasting with mermaids and krakens in the watery halls of the Drowned God. Now, there are only two more krakens in charge of their new brother-King, Euron. Euron Crow's Eye. The heathen who dishonoured Victarion not that long ago.

And now that he's back at Pyke, the new Iron King seems to have made it his mission to debase the land even further. Victarion enters the Great Hall where the Seastone Chair stands, but most of it is obscured from the various wooden scaffoldings Euron had put in place. The man assigned some of his strange mutes to draw and carve into the ancient walls of Pyke, writing into the stone strange glyphs and images. It doesn't matter if the men in charge are skilled for they are still defacing millennium old Greyjoy history.

But that's not the most blasphemous thing Euron has done. Standing to the Chair's left and right are two tall wooden seats, its inside hidden away by coloured veils of silk. The seats of Euron's 'demons,' one encrusted with rubies and lapis lazuli while the other is wreathed in chains of silver.

Never once did Victarion saw the 'demons' hidden away in the shadows, and even now they're not present here. But at least he knows something lives there for the amount of food and liquor they consume. What demon is satisfied by cheap brandy? Victarion wonders. Must be some beggar or sorcerer Euron had picked up.

The only fine addition to the place is the two skulls adorning the seats: Baelor Blacktyde and Gylbert Farwynd. They raised their arms against his brother, and as the Iron Captain he brought them both down. Only a fool would go against the first Iron King in more than three-hundred years.

But it's strange. The Blacktyde's betrayal was expected; Victarion never puts trust in a man who follows false gods. But the Farwynd? The old man shouted strange things as he was dragged to the block, but never once did he shout for his life. No, he voiced out ridiculous claims that Euron stole seals and spotted whales from his islands. None of them died by drowning and their bodies are going to be buried on land. No honour for traitors, especially one with mad ramblings.

The closer he walks towards the seats, the stronger the smell of liquor and rot become. His King made a point of their bodies by feeding them to the 'demons,' or cannibals. That's another thing Victarion is not going to get used to: they house cannibals in the Pyke. But it's his King's words, so he must follow it through.

His King.

Euron.

Euron is King now.

The brother he convinced Balon to banish. The brother who took down the golden kraken for demonic heralds. The brother who litter Pyke with his trinkets and blasphemy. The brother who dishonoured and gifted Victarion with his spawn.

…

The Iron Captain takes a deep breath before releasing the iron grip on his axe. Euron is my King, he reminds himself. I must serve him appropriately. Treasonous thought are not fitting for the Captain of the Iron Fleet.

But the seats, the demon banners, the renovations… None quells his anger nor worry. He's reminded of Damphair's words, how he was supposed to be the Drowned God's champion. None of that came true. You're supposed to be His prophet, Aeron. Was Euron right when he said that your ears are blocked to the truth?

Victarion hopes that all this thinking will make him tired enough to go back to bed, but sadly it does not come to fruition. Seeing what his home is slowly turning into is keeping him awake longer than the promise of battle.

So instead he decides to continue his walk through the halls of the Great Keep; either sleep finds him or he does. But even here in the area only traversed by servants he can find signs of his brother's doing; strange carvings lie eye-level at the walls bearing symbols unknown to him. And below an unfinished image are some hammer and chisels, no doubt the workers will be back by morning. What madness did he pick up during his banishment?

Turning a corner he finds his brother leaning on an open window. The grip on his axe tighten for a moment. "Ah, brother," Euron speaks, a sly smile on his face as he sips from a golden cup. "Care to join me on this fine night?"

And since Euron is his King, Victarion can't really refuse the offer. But the man's appearance… He was only away for two years yet he has come back looking like this. On his fingers shine bejewelled rings, while his serpent hand's scales glimmer in the dark. The older man haven't aged a day since he left Pyke, with most of his features free of wrinkles and scars.

But what pisses the Iron Captain more is the Iron King's clothing. Rather than the usual black and golden attire worn by previous Lord of Pyke, Euron have eschewed it for some ostentatious green and blue frilly robes. What will people say when they see my brother in court? That the Lord Reaper of Pyke, the Iron King, dresses like a eunuch!? You bring ruins to our name by existing, brother.

"You don't look happy," the Iron King chuckles as he watches the world outside. "Care to tell me why, dear Vic?"

"Don't ever call me Vic. And you damn well know why, Euron."

Euron tuts at his words. "Now now, Victarion. I may not be wearing a crown right now, but I have no need to remind you I'm King now, do I?"

"…No, your grace," Victarion bows his head. "I apologise."

To this shameful act, the Crow's Eye's grin grows larger before breaking into laughter. Victarion looks up in confusion. "Oh brother, you actually did it! That was merely a jest, a sibling jest. No doubt you lack that while I was away, hmm? Come now, raise your head. When we're alone, I am simply your brother."

…He'd just been made a fool. And it takes nearly all his patience and devotion to not slam his axe down into his brother- his King's skull. Committing two great sins at once would be…

"Would you like a cup?" Euron offers a silver goblet containing some sweet-smelling blue liquid, with his serpent hand no less. "This should calm you more than walking ever will."

"No."

"Alright then." He pours it out the window. "But accompany me, brother. I'm sure you have a lot of things in your… Mind."

Victarion opens a window further away from him, keeping a careful glance at his brother as well. The sea breeze is such a fine thing tonight, for the Drowned God brings the ocean onto land. But now… "Euron."

"Hmm?"

"Why did you come back?"

His brother chuckles, and the answer is not immediate. "I… Care for what happens to you, Victarion. You, Aeron, little Asha, even Theon who is kidnapped by the Starks. I want to make your futures… Extraordinary. That's why I've come ashore."

"And crown yourself the Iron King?"

No answer.

"An Iron King holds not only the name of House Greyjoy, but the honours and traditions of the Ironborn as well. As your brother and Captain of the Iron Fleet, I shall say this: you are a godless wretch put ashore by the Storm God to test us. Aeron is right."

"Damphair," Euron sneers. "Look down below for our dear prophet, brother. The one who bathe with crabs and talk to the fish. What do you think of him?"

"A craven."

"Hah, truly?"

"The man hides behind books in your presence," Victarion says as he watches his younger brother march on towards the main gate of Pyke. "A kraken who hide is no kraken, brother. But even with all of that, he's more of an Ironborn than you'll ever be. Your 'demons' too are cravens, hiding beneath their silks. And what of you, brother? You godless heathen who wrenched the Seastone Chair from us devout?"

"Godless," Euron scoffs. "I remember him telling me that he hears voices under the water. One of my mutes can hear voices as well, though they mostly convince him to carve open little girls. Do you not wonder then, brother, where does the voice Damphair hears come from?"

"The sea." Aeron have been a great guiding force for all in the Iron Islands. The man led Balon to greater plans and truths, and forged the Ironborn to be of one faith and one truth. But the voice he heard told him that I'm the Drowned God's champion. So why…

"The sea…" Euron sighs, leaning even lower on the open window, pouring out the rest of his drink and dropping the cup. Someone will have to fetch that later. "May I tell you a story from my voyage?"

"No."

"It's worth it, trust me," Euron grins, his bright blue eye shining in the red streak's light. "After I made a deal with those demons, I… Planned to sail North. But when I passed Lannisport, that old place, you know what I saw?"

…There's no use in not answering, is there? "Whales. A cog full of gold."

"A mermaid! A damned real mermaid, the first ever I've set my eyes on," he exclaims, clearly excited in telling Victarion this story. A far-fetched tale, but at least nothing blasphemous about it. "It was a beautiful thing with the fair face of a maiden and blue hair like the sky. And no man could resist its beautiful body, I can tell you that much."

"And so you hunted her."

"As with our late brother Balon, I'm a firm believer in the Old Way. What is mine I take from others."

Others. Like what you've done to my wife. "A mermaid as a salt wife. That would be an incredible feat, but I didn't see any mermaids at the Kingsmoot."

Euron sighs, no doubt in Victarion's mind from another lie. "It is a shame I must admit, brother, that I accidentally speared her through the spine with the trident. Such a powerful weapon, but perhaps far too strong for a mermaid."

"Of course you did."

"But we did bring her onto the ship, cold and dead like the sea. Her clothes are the ones I'm wearing now," he spreads his arms wide. "Such strange materials, like spider silk. The rest of her body was quite smooth as well. I gave her gorgeous head and torso to my crew while I toiled with the lower, more perplexing part. The thing that differentiates merlings with man. And you know what I found?"

"What?"

"Nothing," Euron sighs again, now sounding dejected. "Her fish parts tasted like bream and her organs were like a human woman's. But if I'm honest with you, that's not the most interesting part. For you see, during the hunt where the demons aided me, the mermaid screamed and prayed for her life. Do you know which god she called for salvation?"

Such simple questions. Even Asha can answer this, and she's not one to hear Aeron's teachings. "Mermaids serve dead Ironborn in the watery halls. They have no lords but the Drowned God."

"Wrong!"

"Wrong!?" Victarion turns to Euron, both parts confusion and anger. "What is this blasphemy you speak of!?"

"It's not my blasphemy I speak of but the mermaid's, brother. Take it up with her," he chuckles. "Yes, she did not speak for his name but instead some queer god that even I have not heard of. But the demons have heard of that name," Euron grins, lips as blue as his eyes. "They know that name and hundreds more."

"You lie."

"I can't lie, brother. I sold my hand and my lies to have the demon's services."

"I don't believe your words, heathen," Victarion huffs. "Stop speaking of blasphemy."

"And they tell me even stranger things," Euron continues, ignoring his brother's complaints. "One said that the history, present, and future of our world have been written down in squid ink on a… book. We are simply living out what's already written. But I wonder, are there any other books on that shelf? Do you ever ask yourself that, brother? Can the ink from this book stain all the others black?"

"…You best keep that speech away from the others," Victarion threatens him. The King might be older, but the man has lack of control for his tongue. "It's fine to speak strange riddles in my presence. But if Damphair hears any of this, let alone all the other Lords and captains… Even I will be unable to help."

"Of course you think of them as riddles," Euron snorts. "Of course… As the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet, are you not my right hand man? One of my most trusted advisor?"

"Yes I am," he steps closer to his King. "I command them in your name."

"And you shall do a fine job at it, brother. You will be my champion then."

Champion? "And what do you mean by this?"

"It is the truth when I tell you that I care for your future, Victarion. But while I have sailed through the secretive lands of Essos, most Ironborn here have not seen further than the Stepstones. You've sailed to the Free Cities, and no doubt Asha did the same, but none have raided Westeros since our rebellion many years ago. But that will change. Kneel."

Victarion kneels, holding his axe below his chin, not sure of what's to come. Then he feels the familiar scent and taste of saltwater pouring down his head. A blessing from his King.

"I have great plans for us all. One that shall make every green dweller fear our names, and no castles shall be able to hide them. And you," he feels Euron's serpent hand wrap around his shoulder, "shall be the Reaper of Westeros. The devout, the faithless, the maidens, the mothers, the warriors, all shall fear your golden kraken. And so rise, Victarion Greyjoy. Be the chaos in my stead."

Victarion. He might be a stubborn man, a devout man, a vengeful man. But under the command of his King, he must comply.

From that night on, he's no God's champion. Only Euron's.