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288 AC.
When Arthur left Starfall, he came away with full hands and full saddlebags.
Lord Alan Dayne had gifted him a magnificent black Dornish sand steed to match the golden Reach warhorse from Garlan Tyrell.
Arthur now possessed two fine chargers.
He named the yellow one Swallow One and the black one Swallow Two.
Warhorses were not dragons, but the names still sounded suitably dashing.
Dornish sand steeds were smaller than common warhorses and could not bear full plate, but Dornish legend claimed they could run for two days and nights without tiring.
Arthur had considered buying more from Starfall, but sand steeds were scarce.
Aside from Ser Lucas Dayne, it was difficult to equip the whole company.
By comparison, Reach warhorses were far easier to obtain.
Darkstar Gerold Dayne had already slunk back to High Hermitage in disgrace. The proud young man had lost his title as Dorne's brightest new talent and would undoubtedly return home to train twice as hard in a fury.
"Starfall was wonderfully hospitable, and the scenery is unmatched," Arthur said.
"I won't keep you any longer. When you have time, come visit us at Harrenhal," Lord Alan replied.
"It would be my honor," Arthur smiled.
He bid farewell one by one to Lord Alan, the lady of the castle, Ser Samwell, and Lady Allyria Dayne.
"This is for you," Arthur said, giving Allyria a beautiful amethyst rose.
"May the Warrior protect you, Arthur," Allyria replied, handing him a handkerchief.
The pale purple square was embroidered with Starfall's sigil—like a knight's token before battle.
Her long black hair fell over her shoulders, and her violet eyes were captivating.
But for Arthur, the real danger still lay in the Riverlands.
After the farewells, Arthur boarded the large merchant ship for the journey home.
The vessel would sail from Starfall back to Oldtown first.
Besides the horses, he carried Dornish summer reds and specialties from the Red Mountains.
He had also acquired a fine batch of Myrish crossbows. Being so far south, Dorne had closer ties with the Three Daughters than most regions.
During the Stepstones War, Dorne had even been an ally of the Three Daughters against the dragonlords.
"Homeward," Arthur said, full of vigor.
The only regret of the journey was how rushed it had been. Arthur had not visited more of Dorne, only the western part at Starfall.
He would have to search for more fragments of Greenhand power another time.
The journey was ending. It was time to prepare for the coming storm of war.
...
Pyke, Sea Tower, Lord's Hall.
The Sea Tower stood atop a twisted sea pillar. To reach it, one had to cross three bridges, each narrower than the last.
The final bridge was made only of wood and rope, swaying wildly in the sea wind as if alive.
The Iron Islands were truly barren and harsh, comparable to Dragonstone in desolation.
Balon sat upon the Seastone Chair, his black eyes sharp as knives.
Balon had recalled all his longships. He was preparing to do something big.
Inside the hall were the Drowned Men, his three brothers, his eldest and second sons, and his good-brother, Lord Rodrik Harlaw.
Crow's Eye was the most cunning of Balon's brothers—and his eldest younger brother.
As for his third brother Victarion, he was as strong and loyal as a bull.
His fourth brother Aeron was still a carefree rake at this time.
He liked to stand on tables, horn of ale in hand, bellowing ancient reaving songs.
"I will restore the Old Way," Balon Greyjoy declared, raising his hand with a low growl.
"Well spoken!" the Drowned Men cheered. "Let swords and fire descend upon the world! Scourge the green lands, tear down the temples of the Seven, rip out the white trees of the North…"
"But our numbers, our armor, our knights cannot compare to the green lands. And Robert's rule is now firmly established. People fear and respect him more than they resent him," Balon's good-brother Rodrik Harlaw cautioned carefully.
He was always reading, earning him the name "Rodrik the Reader."
Harlaw was second only to Great Wyk in size, and richer and more populous than the other islands.
Yet compared to the eager ironborn and Drowned Men, House Harlaw's opinion was in the minority.
"Uncle, you're not afraid, are you?" Balon's eldest son Rodrik Greyjoy said scornfully.
"Indeed," Balon's second son Maron added with a mocking grin.
The ironborn were fiercely Darwinian, and House Greyjoy most of all. Fraternal conflict was common.
Rodrik would slap his younger brother Theon when drunk, while Maron tormented him with cruel lies and endless mockery.
"Kingship is a chain upon our thoughts, but success will be difficult now," the Reader warned.
The Seven Kingdoms had some who were dissatisfied with Robert, but they likely hated the ironborn even more and would rally behind him.
"Silence. My mind is made up," Balon snapped. "Robert only appears strong. He has few true supporters among the nobility. If we raise our banners, the lords of the Reach, Dorne, the Crownlands, and the Riverlands will rebel as well."
Balon's heart burned with the desire for rebellion and kingship. He was prepared for the possibility that Robert might be stronger.
But he wanted to be king too badly.
A king independent of the Seven Kingdoms, equal to Robert.
"Previously we supported Robert. Now we rebel against him. That position has no credibility," the Reader objected.
Flipping sides twice—first supporting Robert to raid the Reach, then rebelling—offered no honor.
"Nothing is impossible," Balon insisted. "I believe that if we raise the call, all those stripped of honor and lands by Robert and Arryn will support us."
"Exactly. The ironborn's natural courage can make up for any shortcomings," Crow's Eye said with a smile. "But the enemy is numerous. I suggest we strike quickly before they can react."
The Reader especially disliked Euron. Beneath that smile lurked poison.
"Indeed. To ensure the plan succeeds without fail, I have decided we will muster our forces and launch the attack next year," Balon nodded. "Victarion will train and command the Iron Fleet. Euron and Aeron will help me plan strategy. My two sons will also serve as commanders. The only question now is the main direction of attack. I wish to make a slight change."
"We failed against the Reach before. Now I think we should strike the Westerlands or the Riverlands instead," Balon said, raising an eyebrow.
Balon's strategy had no real strategy. It was pure raiding—grab what you can.
If the Reach was too hard, switch to the Westerlands or Riverlands.
If those proved difficult too, try the North. The ironborn's traditional enemies were always the same few.
The Reader sighed but said nothing.
The last time, it had been these same sons of Lord Quellon who had urged their father into rebellion.
After the War of the Usurper began, Quellon's sons thirsted for glory and wealth and constantly pressured their father to join.
Only after Prince Rhaegar died at the Trident did Lord Quellon finally agree to support Robert Baratheon and attack the Reach.
The ironborn were driven from the Shield Islands, and Lord Quellon died soon after.
"A pack of fools. Excellent," Crow's Eye thought, looking around the hall.
Balon's rebellion was doomed to fail, but he would not stop it. In fact, he would push it forward.
The more who died, the better—the Drowned God would have fine sacrifices.
Best if Balon's heirs and supporters died in large numbers.