THE SONLESS

The water was smooth as glass, the air just as still, the sun blazing overhead. The first bridge from the Sea Tower to the Great Keep barely moved even as Balon began to cross its length at pace, his hands running along the rough rope and the wood underfoot creaking ever so slightly. He looked out over the ocean as he moved, pondering it in frustration. News always arrived slowly to the Iron Islands.

We must move soon, Balon thought, The seas will not be so becalmed forever. He had sent Victarion and Asha out to take word from whatever merchants they could find and whatever ports would have them. The ships and vittles would be useful too, should they return with tidings of a distracted or weakened prey to seize.

Maester Wendamyr had called the present calm of sea and sky 'the last gasp of true summer', bragging that measurements from Pyke were often regarded as key evidence for the changing of the seasons. The sun might have been hot, but the seas were becoming colder every moon and fewer icebergs were floating down from the Lands of Always Winter.

I'll not have revenge denied by ignorance or storms, he promised in his mind. As he dismounted the rope bridge onto the next island, Balon pulled at his sealskin robe, gathering some fresh air to his body to avoid sweating. He moved to the tower that gave shelter when the weather was not so fair, but almost ran into a figure that came out of the heavy door.

"Who dares…" Balon spluttered out in roaring surprise, before the sight of the answer to his half-spoken question shut his mouth for him.

Black hair as Balon's used to be, an eyepatch over one eye and blue iris peering out of the other, a dark well kept beard and moustache framing lips as blue as a corpse's, scale armour of metal darker still, a shining axe in hand.

Euron.

"Good day, brother," the man said smoothly, "Are you not pleased to see me?"

Balon snarled silently, unable to come to words.

"No, I suppose that would be too much to ask for," Euron smiled, twirling his axe and pacing to the side of the cliff, "You did exile me, after all. But I hold no grudge. The things I have seen, brother…"

Finally, lips made sounds understandable to the Crow's Eye. "How did you get here?"

Euron stopped twirling his axe, and cocked his head. "I sailed here," he said, before he straightened his head again, "But you must mean into the keep. It was simple. Victarion is not here, and it is no mystery where he must be. We must have passed each other in the night. Aeron is not here either, and that is more puzzling to me."

So none dared to stop him without the presence of a Greyjoy. It's been years and his reputation is still hurting this family. "Aeron has gone to Lonely Light," Balon said, "There are rituals to see to, the Drowned God must be appeased before the coming of winter."

Euron smiled, and outstretched his arms to either side. "Of course."

The smile stoked the fire of hatred in Balon. He freed his sword and dirk from under his robes, and shrugged them off. "I exiled you," he snarled, "What makes you think you could return and live?! Even if you kill me, Victarion and Asha…"

The Crow's Eye interrupted him with a hearty laugh, like he had just heard a fine jape in a tavern or at a feast. " Asha?" he said, "It was good that I came, I see my visions were not false."

"You're mad," Balon replied, "Visions?"

The Crow's Eye began pacing away from the cliff again and looking out towards the mainland, yet Balon could detect no weakness to exploit and strike against. He moved like a cat. "I went east and have imbibed shade-of-the-evening many times, brother," Euron said, "I saw the future, or the future that would have been, had I not returned."

The single blue eye looked from its socket sideways at Balon. "I saw many things, spoke to many more. But what spurred my return was a golden-skinned kraken beached upon Nagga's Hill at sunset… a lion just as gold, standing over it, pinning it with its jaws and ripping its beak out with its claws."

Balon knew what his cursed brother was implying at once. The greenlanders were not shy about their house sigils and the animals that adorned them. "You think the Lannisters shall come here?" he asked, almost wanting to laugh himself, "They have more than enough foes already. Vengeful Northmen and riverlords, and both surviving stags besides. They all sent their ravens, demanding fealty or men-at-arms and ships."

Euron turned to face him. "It will not matter," he said, "Soon or late, the West shall come. Mayhaps after they have bent their knees to a stag or another, that too matters not. So I have come before them, to pay the Iron Price for the crown you have not yet placed on your brow."

Balon did not have time to feel the lump of fear rise in his throat. Euron jumped forward and struck out in a flash with axe. Deflecting it with the flat of his sword, the dirk in Balon's other hand stuck out in just a violent a motion, straight into the side of Euron's advancing torso. A screech of metal and the point was deflected then snapped, the scale armour impossible to penetrate.

Valyrian ste… Balon did not complete the thought.

The butt of Euron's axe slammed into his forehead, sending him staggering back.

His senses returning, Balon found himself kneeling and clutching only the post of the rope bridge. Grabbing up his sword from the ground, he looked up to search for his foe, and found Euron's foot lashing out towards his face.

Balon tumbled off the cliffs. He landed hard onto the rocks, back first. Waves lapped around him, but he could only feel them on his face. Euron came to the edge and looked down at him. Burning anger shouted to get out, to climb back up… but he could no longer move his limbs. His skin was numb. Euron looked down, face tight and wordless with disappointment.

This is how it ends? I had not begun to fight.

Balon Greyjoy, would-be King of Rock and Salt, drowned with the rising tide, his brother and murderer watching for as long as it took.