The Iron Islands.
Pyke, the Great Keep, council hall.
The salty sea wind swept through the towering spires and damp courtyards of Pyke like the touch of the dead.
Yet it could not disperse the thick, stagnant scent of blood lingering inside the hall.
Balon sat upon the Seastone Chair, carved from twisted kraken-shaped stone, his face filled with fury.
His fingers dug into the armrests, knuckles whitening with force, as if he might crush the stone itself.
"Euron..." His voice was low, thick with murderous intent. "You dare return to face me?"
Euron stood in the center of the hall.
His dark scaled armor was stained with blood, and his right eye burned like a wildfire at sea as he stared directly at his elder brother.
"Why shouldn't I?"
His hoarse voice scraped like a dull blade across bone, cutting into every ear present.
"Balon, we underestimated the North. We underestimated Glover."
"Your daughter Asha was crushed and captured the moment she set foot ashore.
And our brother, Victarion, the invincible commander of the Iron Fleet, was personally slain by Glover at Bullhorn Mountain."
"We were wrong. Completely wrong."
Euron spread his arms wide, his movements bordering on madness.
When he spoke Victarion's name, there was no grief in his tone, only the cold regret of a broken tool.
"Wrong?"
Balon's killing intent was undisguised.
"If there was a mistake, it was believing your lies!"
"You cost the Iron Islands a third of our strength. You let my heir be taken prisoner!"
"Euron, you should never have come back! Now you will learn the price of failure!"
He raised his hand, ready to have his men seize Euron and throw him into the dungeons.
But before the order could be given, Euron burst into wild laughter, which quickly twisted into something more fevered and persuasive.
"Failure?"
"Balon, who told you we failed? Have you forgotten? We still have dragons. Real dragons!"
"If we control them, the entire world will pay us the iron price..."
Balon's expression darkened instantly.
"Silence!"
But it was too late. The word dragons ignited the curiosity of every captain in the hall.
"Dragons? Are there dragons in the North?"
"Your Grace, what is he talking about?"
The captains murmured among themselves, some even speaking directly to Balon, their eyes filled with interest.
Dragons had once ruled Westeros for centuries.
Who could ignore such power?
Balon slowly rose to his feet, his sharp gaze sweeping across the hall.
The noise died at once.
Though aged, his authority remained unquestioned.
"For the sake of this imaginary dragon, Victarion and the Iron Fleet are dead. My heir is in chains."
"A third of our strength lies buried in the frozen North. And you come back telling me to chase illusions?"
"An illusion you brought from some shadowed land?"
His words cooled the hall.
The captains began to steady themselves.
Balon's voice lowered, heavy with restrained anger. "What we must do now is return to our lair like a wounded beast."
"Lick our wounds. Wait for the next tide."
"We send envoys to Winterfell. We negotiate.
Whatever the cost, we bring Asha back. She is my heir. She carries Greyjoy blood.
Not throw what remains of our strength into ruin."
Euron laughed, sharp and cruel.
"Asha?"
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
"My dear brother, have you grown so old you can no longer tell seawater from wine?"
"The south is at war. Lannister, Baratheon, Tully, Stark. All are expanding their power."
"And you want to hide here? For your precious daughter?"
He spread his hands, glancing around at the captains, drawing murmurs from them.
He twisted failure into an argument against caution.
But Balon was not so easily swayed.
He stepped forward and roared, "It is your madness that forced us into this corner!"
Euron shouted back without yielding, "It is your cowardice! If you had given me more men, I would have taken Winterfell already!"
Their voices clashed like blades, sparks of hostility filling the hall.
The captains remained silent, caught in the storm.
Some were stirred by Euron's vision of dragons and conquest, greed burning in their eyes.
Others leaned toward Balon's caution, fear tightening their expressions.
The future of the Iron Islands swayed between them. In the end, there was no resolution.
Euron left midway through the argument.
Balon remained seated alone upon the Seastone Chair, his bloodshot eyes filled with anger, grief, and killing intent.
'It is time to drive him out. If he stays, he will only poison more minds with his madness.'
'Damn you, Euron. If you were not my brother, I would have killed you long ago.'
Because of the taboo of kinslaying, Balon resolved to exile Euron at dawn.
With his decision made, he rose and left the keep, crossing the stone bridges that stretched between the sea stacks toward the Sea Tower.
Night had fallen.
Rain poured heavily, striking the stone and drowning out all other sounds.
Balon walked steadily through the storm. Until, upon the final wooden bridge, a familiar figure blocked his path.
"Euron. What do you want?"
Euron looked at him calmly. "The Iron Islands do not need a coward for a king."
Balon stepped back slowly.
"You would commit kinslaying? The Drowned God will never forgive such a crime!"
Euron laughed strangely.
"Kinslaying? The Drowned God?"
"My dear brother... do you truly believe Harlon died of greyscale?"
Balon's pupils shrank.
Euron stepped closer.
"The day after I killed him, I went to the shore. I wanted to see how your god would take me."
"And do you know what happened?"
He shook his head, smiling madly. "Nothing... Your god does not exist."
He seized Balon and dragged him toward the edge of the bridge. "My god is the only true god. Anyone who defies him... dies."
Before Balon could respond, Euron shoved him. Balon fell into the endless darkness below.
Euron stood for a moment, then turned and left.
The next morning, the rain had lessened.
Euron stood before the Seastone Chair, his face solemn as he addressed the gathered captains.
"King Balon, weakened by defeat, lost his footing on the bridge last night."
"The Drowned God has claimed his faithful servant."
Gasps and murmurs spread through the hall.
A fall?
On such a night?
Many understood immediately. Their eyes turned toward Euron, filled with fear and suspicion.
But Euron did not give them time to think.
He clapped his hands.
Several bodies were dragged into the hall and thrown onto the floor.
Respected captains. Men who might have questioned him.
"Traitors."
His voice was cold, stripped of all pretense.
"They dared question the king's death. They sought to divide us at our weakest."
"For the glory of the Drowned God, I have executed them."
Then he gestured.
A servant brought forward a massive, twisted horn. "This is the key to controlling dragons."
"This is power."
He ordered a man to blow the horn.
The sound that followed shook the soul.
The captains stared, transfixed, unable to look away. They did not even notice when the man collapsed, dead, after sounding it.
"From this moment on, I, Euron Greyjoy, am your king."
"Follow me, and we will ride dragons and make the world tremble."
"Doubt me...."
He nudged the corpses at his feet.
"This is your fate."
Fear and temptation crushed resistance. One by one, the captains knelt.
Until only Rodrik Harlaw of Ten Towers remained.
"And you?" Euron asked coldly.
Rodrik's heart pounded, but he spoke.
"I will kneel... But I have one condition. I will write to the Starks. We will ransom Asha."
"...She is Balon's only daughter."
Others nodded in agreement.
Euron studied him, then smiled.
"Very well. You may write your letter. But if their demands are too great, I will refuse."
Rodrik knelt.
Euron laughed.
"Prepare the Iron Fleet. We begin again."
A raven soon flew from the islands, carrying a letter meant only for Harlaw and Asha to understand.
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