Pyke

"C'mon you sleepyheads! The King's one-handed but I've seen him lift boxes faster than you!"

"Then why isn't he here?"

"Cause he's the King, you dolt. Maybe you should be called a moron rather than a maid."

"Ain't the sharpest sword, are you Qarl?" Tristifer Botley laughs, the wind playing with his long hair.

"At least mine's bigger and has a sheath," Qarl bites back. "What are you even doing here, Botley? This is Asha's ship, yours is to the West of the Iron Victory."

"You dare speak to me like that, thrall boy?" Tris drops the boxes, causing arrows to litter the deck. "Why, come-"

"Oy!" Asha slaps the Botley's back with the flat of her axe. "No fighting! We ain't even out of Lordsport! Pick up those arrows and put the boxes else step off my ship. The Black Wind don't like her own crew's blood be spilled, but you're not my crew. Are you, Tris?"

"Sorry Asha," he answers back, picking up the boxes to the snickering of her crew. A glare keeps them silent but not wipe the grins off their faces.

She huffs, latching the axe back to her belt. Asha knows well that Tris has affections for her. And sure, he has grown out of the pimply skin he used to have as a boy and into that of a handsome man, but none of his advances appeals to her. Especially all that children bullshit. The only true relationship she has is with her ship the Black Wind. Maybe Qarl as well, but they both know to keep it loose.

Compared to the Maid, Tris is an anchor keeping her on the Islands, and she'd rather forage to the Stepstones than stay.

"Where are we even going anyway?" Qarl asks, putting down a box full of supplies and cracking his back. "Seems awfully large for a trip to the Arbor."

Asha stands up on the prow of her ship, scanning over the entirety of Lordsport. So many ships gathered in one place. The last time it was this full was during their failed Rebellion by her father. Don't tell me Uncle is planning the same thing… We have even less ships than before! "Don't know, I can't read Uncle's mind."

"Heh, betcha the man went a bit mad with booze," says Six-toed Harl, tying up the ropes for the sail. "Whispers in the wind said Lord Balon was mad as well."

"You starting to listen to the Storm God now? I thought Damphair was the only one," Asha chuckles before adding steel to her voice. "That's two overlords you've insulted, both of them my blood. Wanna become No-toe for a change?"

"Oh come on, can't I do a jab? He's your Uncle!"

"Yeah, and he fed Lord Farwynd and Blacktyde to his silk demons. He's not father, I can tell you that much."

"Fine," Harl grumbles. "The Arbor better have damn good maidens and peaches."

"Why take maidens from there when we have Qarl?"

"You sick fuck!" Qarl cackles.

"Hey, put a blindfold on and you can't tell the difference!" The crew laughs, and the Botley boy seems to take it all in good stride as well. So early in the morning, the sun's barely over the horizon and yet here she is with her crew. Not that she'd rather be anywhere else; her Uncle Victarion's love is often as cold as his axe.

Her answer to Qarl was a bit of a white lie as well. While she doesn't know the specific, she heard enough bits and pieces here and there about Essos and Qarth. The thought excites her since she barely went beyond the Free Cities in her raids. And that's going to be quite the surprise for my crew.

"Aren't cha going to help?"

"I'm captain," she grins, "and a lady. Why must I do the man's share of work?" She languishes on the prow of the ship, earning a few grins and long stares from her crew.

"The Maid here's more a lady than you are."

"Hey! That's… True, actually." Qarl nods.

"Fine, I help you bunch of pansies out."

The supplies consists mostly of dried meats, some water, and lots of arrows and spare weapons. The plan is to take the Arbor's supplies and wines, but Asha does wonder if her mad Uncle-King remembers the Redwyne Fleet. If any of their ships see the Ironborn near their waters, they would soon be on them like sharks to a dead body. He surely has a plan, right? He won't just charge our ships into the war galleys, the same one that took down our Rebellion?

"Asha! Got a minute?"

Putting down a box, she turns to the wharf and sees none other than her Uncle Rodrik the Reader. A book in hand of course, the man never leaves home without one. "Sure. Not much going on here anyway." She jumps down from her ship to the complaints of her crew. "It's been a while."

"Ever since that Kingsmoot, yes," he answers her, though his eyes stay glued to the pages. Asha may be able to read, but she much prefers throwing axes than to be some bookie. Leaning over she sees the cover: The Great Iron Kings.

"Want to see how my other Uncle compare to those lot? A bit unfair since his ink is not even dry."

"Not exactly," he closes the book. Oh, this is serious. "We need to talk, Asha. In a more private area. Mind we go back to my ship?"

"No problem."

The two walk down the wharf and into the main port before heading East. Though Rodrik's ship is a sizeable one, the others catch more of her attention. Cogs and galleys litter the port, no doubt prizes from Ironborn raids. The two great longships Iron Victory and Great Kraken stands out among the rest, overshadowing even the likes of her Black Wind. She wonders who'll captain her father's ship since the man died.

Her Uncle-King's ship however, the Silence, floats alone from all the others on the Easternmost wharf. Her strange mutes scuttle about on the port, giving Asha strange looks that make her spine shivers. Come to think of it, I saw them near the Great Kraken as well. Fucking creeps.

Finally she climbs aboard Rodrik's ship, the Sea Maester. A sad name for a sad man, she thinks. After shooing away the rest of the crew, the two sit down in the captain's quarters. Books litter the desk as her Uncle sighs deeply, dark bags hanging from is eyes. "Someone dragged you under the waters."

"It's about Aeron. He came by your mother yesterday."

"Mother… Come to think of it, it's been a while since I've seen her. How is she?"

"She's as fine as she could be, though sometimes she like to speak about ill things. But that's not what I dragged you here for. No, it's your uncle," he raps his fingers on the table, brows furrowed as the man tries to build his words. In Asha's eyes, all that reading have not made him a poet. "I fear he has betrayed our King."

"…Betrayal."

"Yes."

"And what proof you bring to this baseless accusation?"

"I know for sure that Damphair did not take Euron's crowning lightly. You saw how he laughed during the Kingsmoot; that was not the sound of a person with a sound mind."

"He was never of sound mind, Uncle. Why do you think he hears voices in the waves?" Asha scoffs. "Is that all?"

"No. I couldn't get much out of your mother; you know how she is. However, when I tried to offer him a room to stay and some food, he refused and instead went back to his ship the Salt Tongue. My men at sea last saw the ship sailing to the North, taking with him some of the drowned priests on the island. They tried to give chase but your uncle never lost his skills," Rodrik lets out a dry chuckle. "I think…"

"Spit it out."

"I think he's trying to find the boy, Theon. Bring him back to the Iron Islands."

Her brother… How long has it been since he was taken from the Iron Islands as the Starks' prisoner? She barely remembers him all those years ago, nothing more than a little boy. "He's with a pack of wolves, Uncle. I doubt he's even a kraken."

"But Aeron wants him all the same," Rodrik pushes. "He's Balon's only living son. If Damphair tries to raid the Starks in order to gain him back there might not be much chance of a success. But what if he informs them of our plans, get them to go against us? Then we have the Seven Kingdoms knocking on our doors again and blood will fill the seas."

"We're already going to raid the Arbor, break our pact with the Iron Throne, Uncle! We sail South and-"

"-And the ravens would fly. They fly far and wide, carrying with them dark words of our coming. Then the Redwyne Fleet would be ready for us, no matter how much scheming Crow's Eye is doing with those damn demons. Forget the Arbor, we wouldn't be able to sail past the Shield Islands if that was the case!"

Asha drums her finger on the table, frustration slowly setting in. "And why tell me this? Why not Uncle, our King?"

"He frightens me," Rodrik confesses, his voice lowering to a whisper. "You were away when he was banished, Asha, and were too young to know of what he did to his eye. Damn it, I still remember that day," the man shivers. "If I tell him this, his first act would be to kill Damphair and Theon."

"I doubt he'll commit kinslaying," she leans back on the chair.

"Do you truly believe that, Asha? A man like your Uncle would refrain from such a sinful act?"

She groans; there's truth in his words, and she does not like that one bit. Though she won't take kindly to her own brother trying to usurp a position that is rightly hers, killing him is far too much. "So what are you proposing? He'll be sure to expect Aeron present for the meeting."

"I'll say that his ships are on Harlaw, resting for the journey. And if the King sends ships to my island, I'll say that Aeron has taken it upon himself to scout the North. It's not much of a lie, but at least it'll explain his presence there. And here's what I'll do." Rodrik pulls a map from a shelf, splaying it out on the table. It shows the Western coast of the North, from the Neck up to and beyond the Wall. "I've sent small ships and skiffs on the lookout for Damphair; none would be missed in the Iron Fleet. If all goes well, they should drag him back to Harlaw for safekeeping and a messenger would be sent for me."

"And if he reaches Theon first?"

"…Then we can voice his betrayal," he folds the map up. "I'll tell Euron that Aeron deceived me with his talk to prophecies and ask for justice to be put against him. Hopefully it will not come to that," Rodrik sighs. "I'd rather nip this problem in the bud rather than risk killing one of your blood; the Greyjoys are getting shorter as of late."

"Right then," Asha stands up. "Uncle's meeting should start soon so you need to go now if you want to lie."

"Aye, that I shall." Rodrik grabs a new book from the table before departing from his ship. They passes by one of the strange mutes, a large bearded man with mud-brown skin. Good thing they can't talk, Asha thinks. Here's hoping that they're as dim as they look.

The walk to Pyke is an uneventful one, though as they near the gatehouse she sees quite a few lords and captains already gathered for the meeting. Fortunately, being family, she can cut the line and walk straight into the Great Keep.

Though Asha spends most of her time at sea rather than Pyke, there's no love lost between her and her birthplace. It has always been a damp and dreary castle, with no kind winds of the sea and far too much dampness to be comfortable. At least my room likes to stay dry. Soon they reach the chattering inside the Great Hall, but upon looking inside she sees the Seastone Chair empty. Her King is not here, and neither are the shadows inside the palanquins.

"I'll be staying here, to inform him when he arrives," says Rodrik, his head buried in a book. "You going back to your ship?"

"Yes. Though I'm curious about our plans, I'll let my Uncle Victarion hammer out the details of this voyage. No doubt they'll be asking for my hand if I stay here," he grimaces, watching the younger sons of captains and Lords stare at her with hunger.

"And fingers will litter the floor."

"Cocks too," she chuckles. "Stay safe."

"You as well."

And so she turns to the bridges for the Sea Tower, where the Lords of Greyjoys' past reside with their solar and bedroom. Though her Uncle's plan sounds all well and good, she has a nagging feeling that it'll bite her back soon enough. Maybe it's best I inform Uncle, she thinks to herself, whistling as she walks. I may care for Damphair, but if it's my neck or his on the block, I'll choose his. Of course, she still plans to plead for mercy, however that much is worth to the Crow's Eye. Maybe mercy is only an axe to him.

She crosses the first stone bridge easily, then the second one slower due to all the built up moss making it slick. The third bridge, the ropeway, she holds tightly the ropes as a wind sways the bridge left and right. At this height she'll break her neck the moment she hits the water. "Damn it," she growls. "A thousand years and you still haven't made it stone!?"

Finally she reaches the mouldy door to the tower. Before she could knock, Asha hears the sound of the bars lifted and latch unlocked. The door swings open by itself; no one's there. Not a guard nor a servant. Her hand is on the hilt of her dirk as she enters the tower, looking cautiously as the only light is from open windows.

The door slams shut and she whirls around, stabbing the blade to whatever fool is trying to take her. But there's nothing- No, there is something. Wispy black smoke twirls around her blade before retreating back into the dark. She gulps and puts the axe on her right hand. Someone's here.

"Well that's kinda rude, don't cha think, girlie?"

Asha turns around, back to the door as she scans the room. That was a voice she does not recognise, quite young at that. No odd shadows hiding here, but there's a glint of movement coming from atop the stony spiral staircase. "Come," the voice beckons. "I'm sure you didn't come here to just stand around. Take a load off and relax!"

"Show yourself, craven!" she spits, wary of what's around her. Is that person the only one? Where is the King?

"Hehe, fine fine, I'll yield." Black smoke billows all around her and gather themselves up the spiral staircase, as if a whirlwind come to life. Then it takes form and turns solid, absorbing all light before revealing…

"The demon."

"That's me!" the demon cheers, swaying a bit with a half-empty wine bottle in hand. "Suika Ibuki is my name!"

The demon… Is not at all what Asha expected. She thought the creature would be some fucked up amalgamation of horns and flesh, but the one standing before her looks like a little girl with shining orange hair. A strange dress adorns it while chains wrapped around its arms and legs. If one saw the demon from the neck down, they would assume it to be some girl slave taken from a Tyroshi ship.

What makes the thing stands out however are the large branch-like horns adorning its head, all decorated nicely with white and purple ribbons. And those teeth, Asha shivers. A vicious mixture between boar and and shark. A demon true to their name…

"Why so pale?" the demon asks, downing the bottle before setting it down on the stairs. Its brown eyes shine in the dark like a hungry cat. "First time seeing a demon?"

"…Yes." Asha clips her axe but keeps her dirk out; there's no telling what this creature will do. "The stories are certainly wrong about what monsters appears as. And I thought you're merely some sorcerer taken by my Uncle."

"Taken ain't the right word, though I can't say the same for the other," it cackles, sitting cross-legged on the bottom steps. After getting her wits together, she realises that the demon looks real short, probably shorter than herself when she was ten. Its head barely reaches her chest. "Nah, both of us lost the challenges and signed binding contracts with him. We help him out here and there."

"Here and there," Asha draws closer, smelling the alcohol and sweet rot from the demon's breath. "Like making the Silence walk? Or that trick with the gold coins?"

"Ain't that cool? My idea by the way, certainly not the other demon's," it waves its hand dismissively. Fairy tales said that demons like to lie, so is this thing telling the truth? "I could make your ship walk if you'd like. I have power to spare."

"No, I'd rather feel the sway of my ship rather than let a demon row me into hell. Where is Uncle?"

"Mister Eyepatch's upstairs in the solar room, though he's busy with the other demon. Very busy," the demon smirks.

The nickname makes her chortle; seems that the thing is more amiable than she expected. "Very well, I'll interrupt him. I'm sure his niece is more important than whatever a demon talks about."

"Suit yourself."

Asha steps over the creature's horned head and walks upstairs, but glances back to make sure that the thing is not following her. Nearing the solar, she quickens her pace but stops upon hearing some noises. Groaning, slapping, and a lot of moaning. She closes her eyes, pushing down that horrible image back into the depths, before descending the stairs, not caring that she kicks the demon's head. "Ow, careful now," the demon complains, a different bottle in hand still full of brandy. "So how's your uncle? Managed to interrupt him?"

"My Uncle is fucking a demon." Those words feel so foreign to her lips, just like- Gods no, get out of my head! "Care to tell me why?"

The demon shrugs. "They have a thing for ship captains. And since your uncle has that eyepatch, a nice ship, and a mysterious air about him, damned demon couldn't keep their hands off of him!" it cackles. "So much for claiming to be older when you're so easily pleased by a toy. Not that I'm complaining," the demon drinks the bottle before setting it aside. How much could that thing handle? "From the sound of it, he's a good fuck."

That much is apparent, though not at all palpable to Asha's ears. Listening from the bottom floor, she can still hear some of the other demon's pleasured cries. She eyes the little demon Suika carefully, wondering if the other one looks similar to it. So that's the kind of person my Uncle's after. "You're telling me you demons are willing to lend your mighty hands for some good dicking? Well, lucky for you I know a few in my crew that-"

"I ain't easy, girlie," the demon shoots her down. "Not interested in men anyway. What you need is a good bottle of booze to win me over. That and a bit more."

"If it's wine you're after then- No…" Realisation quickly dawns on her. The plans to raid the Arbor. "Are you telling me that we're raiding the Arbor for your sake? So that wine could fill your damn belly!?"

"An island of wine sounds like a dream come true for me~" the demon's words slurred from all the wine in its blood. "My suggestion as well."

"Do you know what else the Arbor has? The Redwynes!"

"Red wine's nice, sweeter than white wine."

"No, the Redwyne Fleet you drunk!" Asha flicks the demon's forehead, causing it to flinch. "Damn biggest navy in Westeros right now, all because of our failed rebellion a decade ago. And you want us to sail right into their ranks and steal the drinks from their table? Have that thousands of years of drinking made your head soft?"

"I'm only a thousand year old, girlie, and a few centuries." The demon leans back on the steps, looking quite carefree with its decision to send the Ironborn to their doom. "I told you to relax, didn't I? All that stress ain't good for your muscles."

"And an axe to the head is not good for my neck."

"I'm helping you guys out. Trust me, those ships of theirs would be no problem. Wanna drink?"

"No." Asha feels doubtful of its words. It's one thing to lift a ship into the air and make it walk on land, but another to suicidally charge into a navy fleet. To be led around by a drunk and a whore… Is this what it feels like to be that fatty Robert Baratheon? "I'm leaving. Tell Uncle that his subjects are already waiting at the Great Hall."

"Will do. But hey, may I spare ya a few words of advice?"

"What?" Asha turns around, hands already lifting the bars of the door. "If your advice is to drink and fuck, my crew has that covered."

"Nah, not that. A simple advice, that's all," the demon's grin grows wider, as if it knows some terrible secrets that's best left unsaid. "Love your other uncles and say your goodbyes before the voyage. Ye won't be seeing them for some time."

"Is Crow's Eye planning to send them off?"

"In a way," the demon chuckles, this time its voice sounding far more deep and threatening. "Good luck, girlie. You'll need it."

Asha leaves the Sea Tower, welcoming the sway of the rope-bridge and the salt-spray of the sea. All much better than the dark smoke the demon exudes. Though the sun's not far up from the horizon, she feels as if having gone through the whole day sprinting and sailing. A nap is what she needs right now, maybe in the cot of her ship with familiar smells and sounds.

"Fucking demon fucker…"

Pyke

For most Lords, there's no better way to spend their time than to drink and feast to their heart's contents. The Kitchen Keep of Pyke have been doing tremendous work over the last few days to prepare today's meals which is attended by most Lords and captains of the Iron Islands. It's a celebration after all in preparation for their eventual raiding of not only Westeros but Essos as well.

The tables are littered with pork stuffed with birds, squids and clams marinated in exotic spices, grilled swordfish and tuna decorated with flakes of gold; all food fitting for an Iron King.

But he's not here.

Victarion sits nearest to the Seastone Chair, dressed in his finest black leathers and his heavy golden kraken cloak. He swirls the wine in his hand, passing the time until Euron arrives to conduct the meeting. Some softer lords suggested that he simply eat his fill, but he would have none of that; a meeting with the King is not supposed to be done while drunk, but these Lords seem to not mind that fact.

Neither do they mind the bones of the late Farwynd and Blacktyde hanging above the demons' gold and ebony palanquins. Not that Victarion cares for them: they're traitors to the end, and none of their bones deserve the sea.

On his plate are half-carved pieces of pork and squid. Though the savoury spices relieved his stomach, it does nothing to quench his worries. Not unnoticed by him is that his niece Asha and brother Aeron are not present. He has an inkling of where she could be, and he's disappointed that she won't be attending this one. But what of Aeron? He last saw the man aboard his ship the Salt Tongue, departing for Harlaw with a gaggle of drowned priest. I hope the Drowned God will lead him off the treacherous path he's on. It'll be the death of him.

He spots the Reader sitting near Lord Gorold Goodbrother, though the man is more focused on a book rather than his plate. Victarion can't read the title and nor does he care; reading is for fools who care more about past glories rather than the future. Weaklings.

Sipping on his wine, he feels goosebumps rising on his skin. The clamour dies down and a cold autumn chill settles on their bones. Something's wrong.

Then the main door shakes, as if a battering ram hitting against it. The servants and maids scatter to the side rooms, hiding behind pillars as the Lords and captains draw their weapons. Victarion curses himself for leaving his axe back in his quarters as he grabs a nearby dagger. Who dares to attack us when our best is-

The door bursts open and a thick black smoke blankets the room, enveloping all the attendants. It feels as if a thousand fingernails are pricking his skin. "At arms!" he commands. "Secure the doors and open the-"

"My my, so quick to action aren't you, dear Vic?" says the billowing smoke. "That is a fine quality."

"…Crow's Eye."

If darkness could smile he would have seen it. The smoke slithers past their legs and clambers over the terrified servants before coalescing at the Seastone Chair. And there, swirling like a whirlwind of the Storm God's making, Euron appears before them all. Clad in jet-black and gold attire, he wields the strange shifting trident with his normal hand and a driftwood crown upon his head. His demonic herald sway in an unseen wind, greeting him as the shadows appear inside the palanquins.

The awestruck Lords break out into raucous cheers and chant his name, but Victarion doesn't follow their lead. Some more craven Lords hide and whisper to each other things in secret, and a few stand frozen with their faces plastered in horror. What monster are they serving?

"Fellow Ironborn, forgive me for my lateness," says Euron with a cold smile. "But my duties with the demons will bear fruit soon enough. With their powers and my guidance, all dwellers of the green lands shall fear the shadow we bring upon them. We will stretch our reign like a kraken's arms for even the land shall not hold us back! So let us eat for this is our last feast before their doom!"

"EURON! IRONBORN! CROW'S EYE!" More cheers and thumping of mugs. Smoke still drifts along their legs as Euron sits on the Seastone Chair, the dark colours melting into one. The man looks like a bloody raven in Victarion's eyes, especially with the necklace of crow heads he wears. A part of him wonders if his brother was sent by the Storm God, but he soon pushes the idea away. "The Storm God sows discourse" is what Damphair always said. That's how that thing wants me to think.

Euron stops a maid from setting his meal down. "But before we continue, let us have our favourite priest conduct the prayers. Bless our mission so that we may find victory beneath the waves."

But no one comes forward. Murmurs ripple through the Great Hall as the Lords wonder where the man could be. That's when Victarion notices the Reader standing up from his seat. The man's forehead is sheen with sweat and his face is pained. "My King," he speaks, "Aeron Greyjoy have left the Iron Islands to survey and defend us from the North. He told me as such when he visited me at Harlaw."

"Did he now…" Euron smirks as the shadows dance in the palanquins. "Why did he not inform his King then? Why leave without my call?"

The Reader gulps, and Victarion sees him as nothing more than a weak man for not braving his brother. "My King, I am sorry to say but Damphair does not… Does not like to be in your presence." Some of the Lords call Aeron a coward and traitor, but the Reader continues. "However, the man pledged to serve the words of the Drowned God and the Ironborn cause. He simply saw it as an opportunity to aid without… My King's interference. I'm sorry to say," the Reader concludes, sitting back down on his chair. Black smoke seem to gather around his seat.

"So you're telling me the truth, Reader? One of my demons do certainly hate liars," the Iron King smiles.

"Yes, my King," the Reader answers. "My words are as true as my steel."

"Or your books," Euron chuckles before turning to Victarion. "Dear Vic, what do you make of our dear devout brother Damphair? Do you… Approve of his actions?"

"Aeron is a craven," the Iron Captain answers. "He should be here standing before you rather than drift away with the waves. However, if he is truly doing this for our benefits, then I will give him my thanks when he returns." Some nearby captain whispers his name, but they shy away from his eyes. Cravens, Victarion thinks. If this is what you people are like, then no wonder my brother became King.

"Fuck the North!" shouts the Drumm, carrying with him a few agreeing nods. "The wolves give no chase upon the sea, and those mermen lay East of the green lands. Death lies upon the Redwyne Fleet; their numbers are greater than ours!"

"For a House bearing the herald of red and bones, the Drumms fear death more than a mermaid," Euron and a few others laugh. "I have not forgotten what they did upon our Iron Fleet, Lord Dunstan, nor am I going to forgive them. It is… One reason why we must strike them first so that none shall ever give chase to our ships. You have seen the powers of the demons at my call, correct?"

"Yes, and that walking Silence of yours."

"But I can assure you all that you've only seen a fraction of their capabilities. When the demons crush their ships, the Arbor's cask will be open for our goblets." More men agree with the words of their Iron King, wishing to drink the Arbor's expensive wines. A fine dream to sit in their halls, yet is he making false promises?

"I trust your words, my King," says Urek Ironmaker, here in the stead of his cripple grandfather Anvil-Breaker. "But I do not trust the words of those foul demons. Tales of old say the demons lie with their silver tongue, and just like the crows they're the cloud spawns of the Storm God."

"Perhaps clear the clouds in your head before speaking of dangerous things, Urek," Euron warns. "The demon holds no love for liars and crows, and for them they're one and the same."

"The King wears a necklace of raven heads, idiot," the Stonetree sneers. "You have the eyes of a blind fool."

"No need to insult the blind, Lord Stonetree," Euron jests to more laughter. "But there is true fear to be had. From what I heard, ravens have all left your keeps and halls. Is this true?"

"Damn birds can nest elsewhere!"

"Yes, and they will roost with the storm." Euron's words cause an uneasy silence to drape over them. "The demons… They advice me on all matters of magic and faith of the world. And especially of crows," he smirks. "From their dark wings fly dark words, and no words are darker than a gathering storm. Those birds… It is no coincidence they fly at the same time. I'm sure you know what it all means, don't you?"

Yes, Victarion realises. Aeron has warned him before, time and time again. The man always received the true words of the Drowned God, and one of them have come true. "The Storm God have made his move."

Cries of anguish fill the halls, but they soon turn to anger. Anger for their Drowned God will be trodden again by the cruel and sharp winds. The hall erupts for even the servants are devout. "Where's Damphair when we need him!?" shouts a drunken Lord. "The Drowned One shall cast him into the sea!" shouts another. "His winds will not bend us!"

"A storm is coming!" Euron stands, his serpents writhing and the shadows clamouring. "A storm unlike anything living eyes have ever seen, enveloping all the seas and land! But we are the Ironborn! Salt is in our blood and our bones iron. What do we say to the one who dwells in clouds!?"

"Your winds shall not bend us!"

"We are the Ironborn!" Euron shouts. "Westeros knows our name but what of the East? How will they know to against the oncoming storm!?"

"We reave! We burn! We take their wives and their lives!"

"The iron price!" the Iron King laughs, his voice half-mad with . "The iron way, the iron rule, the iron price! But I am one and there must be another, he who is worthy to remind the lions and birds and horses of who rules the waters. The one with an iron will and and iron bite! And I only know of one worthy to take that place. Victarion Greyjoy, come before me!"

The Iron Captain strides forth through the cheering of all the Lords and captains around him. He kneels before his King, his golden cloak a kraken in prone. The trident is upon his head. "Lord Victarion Greyjoy," says Euron with an air of magnificence, "you are my champion. You are my axe that bites into the skull of my enemies. You are the water that drowns any heathens. You are the beak of the kraken that sinks any who stands in our way. What shall he be worthy of, Ironborns?"

"A ship!" a voice shouts. "A mighty ship," shouts another. "To cleave our enemies like the waves on our prow!"

"And there's no mightier ship in all our glory than the Great Kraken itself! Receive its hull, brother, one with Greyjoy blood on its deck. The Redwynes shall know your name and Westeros shall tremble before your shadow. Make mothers weep and maidens cry! Everyone, shout his name for our champion is Victarion Greyjoy!"

"VICTARION! VICTARION! VICTARION!"

"For what is dead may never die! You shall rise again, Victarion, harder and stronger! Accept your gift! Our champion!"

The crowd gather around him to cheer and congratulate his new gift, a new ship, and a new title. And Victarion… Smiles. A joy so rare that he thought to never have it again, yet here it is. He drinks, he yells, he celebrates with his men and allies. And such joy he finds in these halls that he forgets a simple fact, one that he often reminds himself over and over ever since his brother's arrival.

Euron's gifts are poisoned.