The Iron Islands – 266 A.C. / 1861 A.D.
The sound of waves crashing against the rocky shores of Pyke always brought a sense of comfort to Quellon Geyjoy's ears.
"My lord." His sworn sword entered his cabin. "We are about to enter port."
"Very well, Harryn." He dismissed the man, splashing water on his face.
After his sworn sword had left, he put on his doublet and coat. The last ounces of sleep had left his eyes as he stepped out on the deck of his ship. He spotted his nervous guest, dressed in plain, gray robes with a line of chains around his neck.
"So, Qalen," He addressed the man, "what do you think of Pyke?"
Turning around, the maester, Rolston, smiled politely. "A formidable fortress, Lord Greyjoy. One that surely rivals the Lannisters' Casterly Rock."
"I can assure you maester, those Greenlander Lions' special rock is nothing more than a little pebble compared to our fortress."
"I'm sure, my lord." The maester conceded.
Maester Qalen was a strange one. When the Citadel had granted his request for a maester to be sent to Pyke, he was astonished that they had heard his request at all. But when he docked at Oldtown, he was surprised by Rolston's presence, He had a quiet eagerness about him, that he could tell his men looked down upon. But what struck him as odd was that apparently Rolston had requested the appointment.
Rolston's presence was just the first step to his larger plans of reforming the Iron Islands.
His people, since the days of the Conquest, had to content themselves with what little the Iron Islands had provided. It was a harsh land and that meant that his people had been harsh in return. They were practitioners of the Old Way, and that meant no farming, no smithing, none of those Greenlander trades. As Ironborn, their way of life meant paying the Iron Price. Raiding, reaving, and pillaging, these were the ways his ancestors had lived.
But he knew that such ways were outdated, impractical. It was a harsh truth to realize, but it was one that he needed to acknowledge. His people would not survive if they clung to the ways of their ancestors. As it was, they were barely living, clinging to the stony shores of their scattered western islands.
Quellon did not want his people to content themselves to exist, but he wanted them to live, to thrive, and to do so in a way that did not alienate themselves to the Greenlanders.
The war in the Stepstones had opened his eyes to the potential his people could achieve.
Commanding one hundred longships, he had reached an agreement with several of the Dornish lords on the Southern Coast to ferry their soldiers to the Stepstones to aid in the campaign. Talking to the various Dornish nobles, he was inspired by how adeptly they had managed in supporting their people despite the harsh climes they lived in. And as his ships collided with those of the Band of Nine, he had saw how well organized the Ironborn fleet was when it was placed under his strict military organization.
Most notable of all, though, was the attitude of his people when he had outlawed the usage of the Iron Price when his host had aided in the subduing of Bloodstone.
His captains had raised some protest when he informed them that there would be no capturing thralls, no reaving, no kidnapping of salt wives, and that they would let the Greenlanders deliver their punishment onto the Blackfyre host. Despite the disgruntled murmurs that he had heard from some of the men, they had listened to his orders. And in recognition of their valor, King Jaehaerys II saw it fit to reward them with a more than generous share of the plunder.
If his people's barbarous urges could be tempered as such, perhaps the opportunity for change was within reach.
As they entered port, he saw the long three-pronged shadow of his ancestral home loom over all that stood underneath. Pyke was a formidable fortress, an ugly triad of rocky outcroppings jutting out of the ocean all connected by a series of bridges. Since there were no points of safe landing anywhere near Pyke, visitors to the keep had to harbor in nearby Lordsport.
As he walked down the gangplank, he was greeted by his eldest son Harlon and Dagmer Cleftjaw, his Master-at-Arms.
"My lord father." His son bowed, showing all the courtesies and honors that his mother had taught him.
"Rise, my boy." Quellon replied. The lad grows larger every day.
"Lord Quellon." Dagmer greeted, with a small smile. His master-at-arms was an old friend of the family, and they had both served together in the Stepstones. A man as good with his axe as he was with his ship.
"Dagmer." He answered in kind. "I hope nothing untoward has happened whilst I was away."
"No, my lord. At least, nothing that this little bugger can't explain himself." He ruffled Harlon's hair, much to his son's protest.
"I see." He laughed. "Well, we can doll out punishments another time. For now, I must see to my new guest."
From behind him, Maester Qalen appeared somewhat bored with the whole proceedings. His chains clinking as he walked down the gangplank, he was greeted with a small grimace from Damger.
"So, this is the gray rat we're meant to host?" He gave the maester a once over. "Are you sure he's a learned man Quellon? He looks like one of my oarsmen after a long night at the tavern."
The maester remained silent, his impassive face betraying no signs of offense or affronted anger.
"Huh," Dagmer shifted haughtily, hiding his discomfort. "You've certainly gotten a live one, eh Quellon?"
"If you're worried that he's slow, I can assure you, you'll not find a man as quick of wit as he." Quellon answered. "Now come on, it's been far too long since I've seen home."
The trek up to Pyke was a welcome reprieve from the long voyage. Whilst a life at sea was one that all ironborn are attested to, it's ravages on one's legs were a known affliction. He appreciated the chance to walk unabated, after spending so long in his cabin.
The landscape was no different from when he left. Sparse grassland and stony shores were all that his people had known since the Conqueror had all but banished them to this land. It left little opportunity for the peasants in the way of farming. Thus, his people had to resort to other trades to get what they lacked, even if it meant pursuing a less than peaceful lifestyle.
As they walked up the path to the main castle of Pyke, he could hear the chatter behind him as Harlon was eagerly testing the maester's pool of knowledge and – he assumed – his patience. The occasional burst of laughter from Dagmer behind him, told him all he needed to know in regards to Rolston's response.
He's sure to test the patience of the other lords.
Soon they reached the outer wall, the gates opening with imperious regard, as the men on duty greeted his return. Crossing the first bridge, he could not help but laugh at the maester's face. Whether it was sheer awe at the size of the ancient keep, or his apprehension at being the first maester to set foot inside, he could not tell. But Quellon knew that he had at least managed to earn some respect from the grey rat over what he was endeavoring to do.
As the gates of the Great Keep opened in front of him, the party was greeted to the sight of his wife and children. Lady Asha Sunderly looked as worn as to be expected from a woman raising five boys. Quenton, Donnel, and Balon seemed as lithe and energetic as ever, whilst the babe Euron was peacefully resting in his mother's arms.
"Quellon," She smiled softly to him.
"My lady," He greeted in kind.
The Lady of Pyke was a soft-spoken woman. So much so, that one would be surprised to discover that she was ironborn. She had a prodigious nature and was never boastful, but her will was stronger than that of any of her forebearers and her inclination toward her family's prosperity was one that people often underestimated.
"Is this our new guest, husband?" She asked, looking toward the maester.
"Indeed, my lady." He answered. "This is Maester Qalen from the Citadel. Say hello, boys."
Each said their greeting with the usual bashful nature of young children to a stranger.
"Now boys, Maester Qalen will be in charge of your lessons now, alright?"
"Yes, father." They responded in unison.
"Good, now I'll see that the maester gets settled, and tonight we can have a feast."
At the way all four of the young boy's faces lit up, Dagmer released another haughty laugh. Even the sunny expression that young Euron had was enough to make his heart warm against the cold sea winds of the Sunset Sea.
"Now, you boys can go back with Dagmer for training." His sons nodded and went of with the master-of-arms, before turning to his wife. "Asha, I'll speak to you after I get Qalen settled in."
"As you say, my love." She answered plainly before setting off with Euron in her arms.
Turning back to Qalen, he gestured him to follow. "I"ll show you to your quarters."
Followed by a retinue of servants carrying trunks of books, the two navigated through the halls of Pyke, crossing one of the bridges connecting the keep, until they arrived at the door of the newly converted maester's tower.
Opening the door, he watched in silence as Qalen looked around the space. With a single nod, he answered, "This'll do fine, my lord."
"Very well." He replied, ordering the servants to place the maester's items down in the room.
"Now then, my lord," Qalen started, "what is so important that you wish to speak to me alone?"
Quellon figured he should be surprised that the maester knew, but then the man was educated at the Citadel, and it wasn't as if he had been subtle to his wife.
"I wanted to talk about my plans for the Iron Islands."
"Ah, yes." The maester nodded, half-remembering what his superiors back in Oldtown had told him of the ironborn lord. "Your planned reformation."
It was no secret to the maester that the Lord of Pyke desired to change the very fabric of ironborn culture. Before he left the citadel, he had asked Quellon if he could be informed of his intentions in reforming the Iron Islands. Sufficed to say, while he appeared to agree with some of his plans, he appeared just as apprehensive.
"Yes, I need to know if it's practicable."
"Practicable?" The maester inquired. "In the economic sense or the human sense?"
"Ideally both, but I'll settle for human if nothing else."
The maester furrowed his brow, lost in thought, as he seemed to be playing out in his head the likeliness of both outcomes. He knew what he wanted was no small feat. To reform a way of life that had been custom to their people for the better part of five thousand years was not going to be accepted without conflict.
"I can say with some certainty that your planned reforms would bring a great deal of coin to the Isles. Whether or not that will be enough for your people to abandon their reaving lifestyle, I cannot say."
It was a fair answer. After all, Qalen was only a maester from the Citadel. He did not know the thrill of sailing upon a longship to distant lands, nor the excitement of plundering the treasure of his enemies, nor the ecstasy that came with claiming a salt wife from the Greenlanders and their kingdoms.
His people knew, just as Quellon knew that it would take more than riches to get them to abandon the words of their Drowned God.
"My lord, if I may ask," The maester started, "how exactly do you propose to implement these reforms of yours?"
"I plan to start here on Pyke, then gradually incorporate the rest of the isles into the reforms."
"What do you expect to do if you encounter resistance?"
"If there are those who would oppose me, they will suffer the consequences." He answered, his voice level and rough. "I am still the Lord Reaper of Pyke, and I would sooner plant the heads of any dissenters on spikes before they dare to challenge my will."
"I can see there's still much of the Old Way left in you, my lord." Qalen snorted.
"My people… my people need to understand that this devotion to the Old Way is what's keeping us from thriving." He started, taking a breath. "We snort at the Greenlanders and mock them for being soft for their plentiful harvests and long summers, whilst we remain hardy against tempests and rocky isles. But the truth is that it is our way of life that prevents us from thriving as they do."
The maester remained silent for a minute before carefully responding.
"So, you think that full integration with the 'Greenlanders', would be the ideal solution?"
He sent the maester a curious look. Of course, fully incorporating the Iron Islands with the mainland would surely be the most obvious solution to reforming the ways of his people, right?
"You think that's not the best course of action?"
"It's not that I disagree with it, as much as I disagree with how you see it." He explained. "You are of the opinion that by integrating Andal culture to the Iron Islands, your people will see the benefits of that way of life and therefore willfully shed their devotion to the Old Way."
Quellon nodded as he listened, eager to learn what the maester had to say.
"The truth of the matter is, that both goals are independent of one another." Qalen continued. "If you supplant Andal culture onto your people, they will either adopt to it by your command, accept it with great reluctance, or outright rebel against it and by extension you. What needs to happen before you start sending maesters to other lords and begin conducting trade deals with the mainland, is to end the violent nature that is inherent in your people's way of life."
"You mean I should end the practice of the Old Way?" Quellon inquired.
"My lord, if you want your people to thrive, as you say, this must be addressed first."
Quellon nodded for a moment, musing on the young maester's words. He knew that at some point, abolishing the practice of reaving and the Old Way would be necessary, but he had hoped that he could come to a point of compromise with the other lords over the practice. But now he was being confronted with a truth that he needed to hear, perhaps one that he knew all along but refused to accept.
Giving his thanks to Maester Qalen, Quellon bid his farewell to let him unpack his books and equipment.
We're going to need more books.
The initial hesitance of his bannermen to Qalen's presence had managed to dwindle down after several moons. Hostility eventually gave way to reluctant acceptance, although Quellon noted that there were still suspicious eyes directed towards the maester's way whenever they would set foot on Pyke. But the wave of hesitation subsided.
Soon, he was seeing the benefits of having a maester on the island. The organization of taxes on the smallfolk was improved drastically, and a new set of import tariffs onto the harbor at Lordsport brought a new source of income toward his house. And before long, those policies enacted on Pyke were swiftly implemented by the other Ironborn lords. But despite this slow yet steady increase of wealth, he knew that there would be another uproar once he announced the first step in his plan to integrate the Iron Islands with the rest of the kingdoms.
"Are you sure your people will be ready for this, my lord?" Qalen asked, as he read through the official proclamation with deserved hesitance.
"I do." He confirmed. "While there may be another wave of discontent, I doubt it will grow into too much trouble."
"As you say, my lord." He accepted before handing the notice off to a town crier.
Quellon watched with hopeful zeal as he saw the crier ride off into town. Soon the news of this would spread to the other ironborn and they would, hopefully, not be too hasty in voicing their objections. Whether or not things would turn violent, remained to be seen.
NOTICE FROM THE LORD REAVER OF PYKE
THIS DECREE COMES IN THE TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SEVENTH YEAR OF THE CONQUEST AS MANDATED BY LORD QUELLON GREYJOY, LORD REAVER OF PYKE AND THE IRON ISLANDS. EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, ALL THRALLS CURRENTLY INHABITING THE ISLAND OF PYKE WILL BE GRANTED THEIR FREEDOM, AS WELL AS SAFE PASSAGE TO A HARBOR ON THE MAINLAND.
THOSE WHO DESIRE TO STAY ON PYKE WILL BE GRANTED A PENSION, AS WELL AS LAND GRANTS FOR THOSE WHO DESIRE TO TAKE UP FARMING AS A TRADE. FURTHERMORE, THE PRACTICE OF THRALLING IS NOW OUTLAWED ON PYKE.
ANY MAN WHO OPPOSES THIS LAW WILL BE SUBSEQUNTLY PUNISHED.
SIGNED,
LORD QUELLON GREYJOY, LORD REAVER OF PYKE AND THE IRON ISLANDS
From what he gathered, the announcement of the new law was met with a mixed reception. Obviously, the thralls were ecstatic over the news of their emancipation, and there were several raiders who were, surprisingly, unbothered by the fact. There were however quite a few rich merchants and raiders who had voiced their anger toward the new law. But Quellon knew that their grumblings would remain as such lest they dare to tempt his ire.
Thankfully, despite the dissenting opinions of some, the emancipation was carried out with little trouble. Some arrests had to be made for a few who had resisted the new law, but the issue was swiftly dealt the edge of his sword.
"Am I doing the right thing, Asha?" He asked his wife in bed one night, tired and worn from another bout of pleasure.
"Quellon. Ever since I've met you, I have known you to be nothing but kind and wise and respected in the eyes of the people." She answered. "Your ancestors wished to pillage and reap havoc on the mainland, but you? You want us to be better than who we are now. How can that not be right?"
His wife's words bled into his mind as he dwelled on the further changes to come. He knew that this was only the beginning. Soon he would be upending the only way of life that his people had known.
How can that be right?
After a moons turn, he had found that the few troubles that had emerged from his new law had mostly subsided. The people of Pyke were quick to accept the freed thralls that had stayed on the island, while those who desired to return home were sent to Lannisport and given some money for their journey home.
While he was unsure about spending as much as he had for the return of the emancipated thralls back to their homelands, he was assured by Qalen that Pyke's coffers had swelled enough to allow him to be generous without pecuniary concern.
Around him, the deep gray hue of Pyke seemed to brighten slightly as he saw the improvement in his people's state of being. The inhabitants of Lordsport had received a somewhat sunnier disposition. The flow of wealth and trade, had brought about a growing interest in establishing deals with the Greenlanders. But he knew that before any formal trade agreements could even be proposed, he had to implement his policies in full throughout the islands.
It was when Lord Harlaw began freeing thralls on his lands without Quellon's prompting that he decided now was the time to implement his outlawing of the practice of thralldom onto his other bannermen.
Ravens began flying from the maester's tower, carrying words to all the other ironborn lords that their way of life was no longer legal.
Whether or not they listen is another matter altogether.
When after a week news came from Satlcliffe, Harlaw, and Orkmont that the lords of each island had complied with his new law and freed their thralls, he was relieved. Having married a Sunderly and declaring his support for the actions of Lord Harlaw, he had expected such loyalty would sway any hesitant bannermen. That still left Blacktyde and the two Wyks.
Blacktyde was hesitant to enforce the new law, but was swayed, supposedly, by the example of House Orkwood and Tawney. Despite the raven from Blacktyde Castle stating as such, he still sent Damger with a ship and a small party of men to ensure that his word had been made law.
Great Wyk and Old Wyk remained a complicated issue. Apparently, there were a few of his bannerman on the two Wyks who were eager to see his law put into effect but were worried about the possible resistance from those lords who were opposed to implementing it. Namely, Houses Sparr, Goodbrother, and Drumm.
Quellon knew that this was by no means a small act of rebellion. The houses of Great and Old Wyk were among the oldest of the ironborn houses and the most loyal to the Greyjoys. If they refused to enact his emancipation law, then the other houses might be inclined to think the same. With his authority undermined, it could lead to a war between his people.
And war would be nothing short of ruinous.
As he sat in the Seastone Chair, he quietly debated to himself what he should do about the rebel lords of Wyk. He had ignored the soft sound of footsteps nearing him until they had ceased right in front of him.
"My love, a raven from Blacktyde Castle." His wife handed him the scroll.
"News from Dagmer?"
"Yes," She nodded. "He has managed to confirm Lord Ion's claim. All of the thralls on Blacktyde have been freed."
He read through the scroll carefully, his eye weary in spotting any potential tricks. It was in Dagmer's handwriting, and he could tell by the wording it was his friend's own and not that of another's through Dagmer's hand.
"Good… good." He exhaled in relief, bringing his hand over his eyes. "That just leaves Great Wyk and Old Wyk."
Asha nodded quietly, before she asked, "Quellon..."
He raised his gaze up to her.
"… Are you alright?"
He remained silent, regarding the concerned look on his wife's face. Ever since his last wife's death, he had not thought he could bring himself to open his heart to another, but Asha's efforts were on the verge of proving him wrong.
"Please, my love. Tell me what ails you."
"I'm worried that my actions may be steering my people toward ruin." He admitted. It was the first time he ever aired out the thought.
"You believe you were wrong to outlaw thralldom?" She asked, her concern doting and dutiful.
"Aye." He nodded at her question, pouring himself a cup of Arbor Gold. "But not just about freeing the thralls, but also how I went about doing it."
He took a large sip before continuing. "Mayhaps I should've been less mandatory in the decree, or I should have done as Qalen suggested and compensated all the masters who had their thralls emancipated. Or maybe I shouldn't have outlawed thralldom at all."
He felt his wife's palm cup his face, as he brought his downward gaze up to meet hers.
"Quellon." She started in her firm voice. "Do I need to remind you that you are the Lord of the Iron Islands. Not those petty hounds at the Wyks. You."
Quellon remained speechless at the sudden steel that his wife was bearing as she carried on.
"Do you remember last year the stories coming from King's Landing about the Men in Blue Coats who entreated the Greenlander king?"
He nodded silently, confused as to where the conversation was leading.
"There is a rumor among the merchants' wives that the reason they left in haste was because they were dealing with a rebellion in their own lands, one they desired to aid in suppressing thoroughly." She recounted. "According to Qalen, the reason their country is in rebellion is because their king desired to outlaw slavery and has called upon all his lords to crush the rebellion by any means necessary."
Quellon absorbed his wife's words as he hesitantly stumbled onto her meaning. "You would have me threaten civil war?"
"You do not threaten civil war, my lord husband." She huffed indignantly at his question. "It is they who have done so. By disobeying your laws, by calling your strength into question, by threatening to take up arms against you! If war is declared, it is they who have chosen to inaugurate it!"
A new kind of mettle had been unsheathed in his wife as she finished her case. He realized that she was right. He was the Lord of the Iron Islands, not them. If he desired to bring prosperity to his people at the cost of their traditions, then the Old Way be damned. His word was law and if the petty lords of Drumm and Goodbrother and whoever else desired to undermine his authority, then they would see the consequences that their impudence would bring.
They would all know the embrace of the Drowned God.
They would all feel the wrath of the kraken.
The seas were choppy as Quellon's ship made port in Great Wyk. He had called on a meeting of the rebel lords, petitioning them to negotiate one last time for the sake of unity between the ironborn.
"My lord, are you sure this is wise?" Dagmer voiced his concern as they neared the harbor.
"Had I any the heart to lie to you, Dagmer, I would say yes. But today…" He stared briefly at the shore. "I might make an exception."
Dagmer shook his head at his old friend's words. He always had a way with words that most born on the Iron Islands lacked. Dagmer knew that Quellon's wit was mostly taken from the books of other learned men, but that didn't stop him from enjoying when he used it.
Stepping off the gangplank, he was greeted with the sight of thirty armed men under the oak saltire of House Sparr, as well as the Sparr himself.
"Lord Quellon." He bowed in compliance. "I trust your voyage was well."
"Aye, well enough."
"Well then, perhaps we might retire to my keep so we may – " He interrupted the man's invitation.
"I'll ask this but once: Will you follow the law and emancipate your thralls?"
'My lord, I – "
"Now." His voice was harsh and demanding as he stared the Lord Sparr in the eye.
"No, my lord." He had finally answered. "Not without sufficient compromise."
Quellon raised an eyebrow, his temper beginning to boil over at the defiance being so openly displayed.
"Sufficient compromise?" He asked, his voice calm amidst the crashing waves. "Very well."
In one swift movement, he drew out his knife and thrust it into Lord Sparr's stomach. A river of blood pooled out of the rebellious lord as he stared in awe at the blade protruding through his belly. His eyes drifted upward meeting Quellon's, his mouth moving speechlessly in fear.
The shuffling of men's feet brought Quellon's attention as he spotted the armed men rushing forward to aid their liege lord. A whistle from the deck of the Greyjoy ship alerted the men as they spotted nearly half a dozen appear with crossbows in hand. They cried out in pain before dropping as bolt after bolt shot forward through their shields and into their bodies.
Before long all but one guard was left alive. Quellon had his men subdue the survivor, bringing him forward to where Lord Sparr was now kneeling, blood pouring out of him.
"You." He addressed the survivor. "Return to the keep, and tell the other lords threatening rebellion what happened here, and what will happen to all those who dare to undermine me."
The sound of a war horn seemed to punctuate his point, as all those on the dock could see on the distance the arrival of hundreds of longships, each bearing their sigils, but all flying under the banner of the yellow kraken
Drawing out his sword, he stepped back and leveled it upon the neck of Lord Sparr. Staring up in shock from the betrayal and the arrival of the Greyjoy host, his shook his head in fear at the sight of the blade. A large piss stain seemed to punctuate the man's fear as Quellon gave him his last judgement.
"For the crimes of treason and continued practice of thralldom, I, Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke and Lord of the Iron Isles, sentence you to die."
His swing was good, and his blade true and with his screams dying on his breath, the Sparr's head rolled carelessly onto the dock.
The surviving guard's fear was palpable as Quellon stared into his eyes. Reaching down, he grabbed Lord Sparr's head and placed it in the guard's hand.
"You may go."
Nodding furiously, the guard shook with each step as he was brought up to stand and sent on his way to return to the other rebel lords.
They all surrendered that day, each cursing themselves for thinking that Quellon Greyjoy was weak for behaving like one of the gray rats. Since the Lord Sparr had not yet offered bread and salt before he was beheaded, the other rebel lords dared not to claim a violation of guest right. The next few weeks were spent on Great Wyk, ensuring the fealty of the other lords whilst Quellon personally oversaw the emancipation of the last thralls on Great and Old Wyk.
After nearly two months away, Quellon Greyjoy left Great Wyk making sure to leave behind a suitable retinue of overseers and men-at-arms to ensure that his rule of emancipation would not be overturned.
The cheers of his men were punctuated as they set sail from Great Wyk.
"Quellon!"
"Quellon!"
"Quellon!"
With a satisfied smile, he looked off to the horizon as he contemplated his plans for the ironborn's future.
Drowned God, be damned.
It is the might of the kraken that should be feared.
- As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, while God is marching on! -
I felt a bit awkward writing the Ironborn, but the idea of having Quellon's struggle to integrate the Iron Islands paralleling the growing campaign to end slavery that would eventually lead to the American Civil War to be a thoroughly interesting parallel to write.
Next up, the Riverlands...