Dawn broke.
Golden sunlight spilled over Pike Island today—brilliant, eye-searing banners of black cloth bearing the red three-headed dragon cascaded down like waterfalls from every window of the island's main fortress, covering most of the gray-black stone walls scorched and pitted by fire. Such an unmistakable display of House Targaryen's dragon banners could be seen even from neighboring isles. In this way, Viserys brazenly and unmistakably declared to the surrounding archipelago:
This is already Targaryen territory.
He sent the three-headed dragon banners to every island, along with a message:
My ancestor Aegon the Conqueror and his two queens once rode dragons and burned cities to ash. My flames may not compare—but they're not far behind. Care to try?
The families and scattered remnants occupying the other four main islands witnessed the sight of Pike Island and Wyk engulfed in fire—warships hemming them in with nowhere to flee. The consequences of refusing to surrender were laid bare before their eyes.
Thus, the Ironborn—though some were no longer quite so "iron."
On Harlaw Island, the wealthiest and most populous, the nobles were the first to kneel. They surrendered to the Iron Throne and swore loyalty to House Targaryen, immediately declaring the Drowned God an illegal faith. Viserys was very satisfied. On the spot, he paid a fair price of twenty gold dragons to purchase five locally bred Harlaw ponies from House Harlaw, gifting them to the dukes and counts who had taken part in the campaign against the Iron Islands.
Only then did the Lord of Harlaw feel at ease, secretly congratulating himself on choosing the right path. Wasn't it just switching allegiance to another house? The Greyjoys were no match for the royal House Targaryen anyway. They could still raise horses, sell goods, live as before—after all, they had long since stopped relying on reaving to survive.
As for the Drowned God… the lord comforted himself with the thought that the god's watery halls had already received tens of thousands of Ironborn souls in recent days. Perhaps even a god would feel crowded and stop accepting worshippers.
Seeing that House Harlaw's lands and the property of its people were left untouched—so what if they went from being an Iron Islands count to a royal vassal count? The latter even sounded better.
House Tawney of Oak Island followed suit, then Blacktyde Island. One after another, they accepted the Targaryen three-headed dragon banners from the royal army and hung them from their own keeps.
Only Saltcliffe Island remained stubbornly defiant. House Sunderly, House Suckling, along with the fiercest and most obstinate Ironborn who had fled there, were all reduced to ash by green flames.
Thus, the pacification of the Iron Islands—conquered for two hundred and eighty-three years—drew to a close. The time it took was no more than a single cycle of sowing, growing, and harvesting wheat during this long summer.
In King's Landing, King Aerys was brimming with pride, favoring his youngest son even more. He established the office of Governor according to Viserys's proposal and announced that upon his return, a grand tourney would be held.
The various expeditionary forces of the Iron Islands were about to return to their respective lands. The first Governor, Viserys, decided to host a small gathering to send off Duke Stark, who was eager to hurry back north and check how the harvest had turned out.
Tyrion, dressed in a finely tailored shirt embroidered with golden lions, pattered toward the great hall.
Today brought another piece of good news for the triumphant Viserys: upon hearing that the two Greyjoy children had finally been found, Tyrion let out a breath of relief—they were still alive.
According to the investigation, the children's mother, Alannys, had hidden Theon and Asha in the salt-crystal caves beneath the Sea Tower. She herself cut the ropes leading up to the tower and was soon swallowed by the wildfire that swept through.
Though Alannys had been the wife of Balon, a rebel of the Iron Islands, her courage and maternal love stirred respect in Tyrion's heart. He instructed the soldiers to carefully collect the lady's belongings, and his thoughts drifted to his wife and children far away in Essos.
He touched the embroidered handkerchief Tysha had given him in his pocket and gazed out at the blue sea.
My Tysha would also give everything to protect our children.And I… I am their final support.
At the banquet, the dark-haired Greyjoy orphans were escorted before the Seastone Chair.
Having gone hungry for days, the younger brother, Theon, stared unblinkingly at the food, confused and unaware of what was happening. His sister, Asha, glared with burning hatred at the silver-haired Targaryen seated on the throne ahead.
This hall—so recently bustling with life—had once been filled with her father, uncles, all of them laughing and joyful!!
He had killed them all.This devil had killed them all!
If her eyes could shoot arrows, Viserys would already have been riddled with holes.
The silver-haired prince calmly and with interest examined the two orphans, completely indifferent to Asha's hatred.
Three-year-old Theon, once the little prince of the Iron Islands, had brown-black hair and lashes like tiny fans—a pretty little doll of a child. He couldn't understand death. He only knew that his parents were gone, that he had hidden in a dark place for a long time, hungry and starving.
Now that he had been brought here, he stared straight at the piece of lemon cake in Viserys's hand, drool dripping from his mouth.
"Not bad. With milk. Give it to him," Viserys ordered.
An attendant lifted the tray and brought the fragrant lemon cake and milk to Theon. The little one grabbed it, about to stuff it into his mouth—
When suddenly Asha slammed into him hard, knocking the food from his hands!
"Don't eat it!! Theon! They're the enemy!! They killed our parents!!"
The milk jug shattered, the cake fell to the floor. Theon tried to pick it up—Asha stomped on it, crushing it flat.
"Don't eat it!"
Theon burst into tears.
Tyrion watched Asha with concern. He noticed that Uncle Kevan had already placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. The Lannisters believed in cutting weeds at the root—leaving no survivors. The Rains of Castamere was the finest expression of that creed.
"A girl raised crooked in a nest of pirates needs her understanding of the world reshaped," Viserys commented elegantly. He waved a hand, signaling the soldiers to drag Asha away.
Amid the little girl's frantic screams and curses, Viserys took another piece of cake, stood up, and personally walked over to Theon, offering it to him.
The child glanced at his sister, hesitating—
But the cake was fragrant and soft! Right at his mouth!
Theon took a big bite, then devoured it greedily, cheeks puffed up like a little squirrel. Viserys gave him another piece, fed him milk, and casually patted his back.
Stuffed and satisfied, little Theon let out a burp.
His round eyes gazed at this being who seemed incredibly beautiful to him. His sister had become smelly and fierce, losing his attention. Tentatively, he reached out to grab a lock of silver hair.
"Hands first—wipe them clean," the prince said, taking out a handkerchief and wiping the dirt from the child's still-handsome but hunger-thinned face. He studied him for a moment.
"That's enough. You don't understand anything. I'll find you a good family to take you away."
Tyrion finally relaxed.
The others present—Kevan with a stiff expression; Duke Stark holding his wine cup, thoughtful; his second son Ned watching Theon closely. Robert of the Stormlands was fully enjoying the food and wine, paying the orphan little mind. In truth, he thought raising one would be too much trouble and leave future problems. Children of reaving squidfolk should all be killed, in his opinion.
Viserys smiled at the family of the Duke of the North.
"Well? Want an adopted son?"
Duke Rickard agreed without hesitation. Brandon was thick-skinned and didn't care—he figured Catelyn would handle it anyway. Ned, however, was genuinely happy with the outcome. He had worried that the prince would kill the last Greyjoy of the Iron Islands.
A child is innocent. A true knight should not harm children.
"Very well. From now on, Theon's only noble status is that of an adopted son of House Stark. Aside from that, he is merely a commoner—the descendant of traitors and raiders. You may tell him his origins; don't hide them. Raise him like a normal child—teach him to read, to train, to ride, to shoot with a bow. Ned—"
Viserys smiled at him.
"Though Catelyn will be a fine foster mother, please still spend some time looking after this child yourself. Among your brothers—Benjen is too wild, Brandon too hot-headed. You are best suited to bear the role of a broad-minded father."
Hearing this, the Stark men laughed heartily. They never imagined that Viserys secretly hoped that this loving couple from a previous world might spark something again. They only thought the prince spoke true. The duke patted Ned's shoulder.
"With you raising him, everyone can rest easy! Though you should also hurry and bring a wife home to share the burden!"
"I say, at the tourney and feast in King's Landing, there will surely be a lady to Ned's liking."
The hall brimmed with cheer.
Even Robert, who couldn't find a wife, indulged in fantasies—sweet wine, fiery beauties, exhilarating combat, all waiting for him. And maybe… he'd have another chance to see Lyanna! Would she regret marrying that dull crown prince?
Thinking of this, he glanced at Viserys, far more interesting than Rhaegar. This kid's marriage prospects would be showing signs soon too, right? Robert didn't believe there were any silver-haired beauties in Essos willing to marry over—his parents hadn't found one yet! Honestly… if only Renly were a girl.
Clad in a purple robe, Viserys walked toward the still-cursing Asha.
"As for you, I'll also find a place for you."
As he spoke, he deliberately glanced at Robert.
Robert didn't want her. Though Storm's End only housed himself and Stannis, and Renly had volunteered to be a page in the Reach, he had no intention of raising a hatred-filled little quail in his castle.
He shouted bluntly, "Hey! One day I might just kick this squid brat off the battlements!"
Ned frowned at the words.
"She won't be given to you," Viserys said. He showed Asha a devilish smile.
"A little girl full of hatred—first, you must truly understand what hatred means—"
Asha was taken from Pike Island and escorted overnight by Kevan back to Lannisport in the Westerlands.
She was imprisoned before the ruined Sept of the Seven, turned into a Greyjoy exhibit. Outside her cage lay clean food.
The Targaryen devil had said: as long as someone was willing to hand it to her, she would be released.
Asha told herself to maintain the dignity of an Iron Islands princess. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and ignored the Lannister soldiers guarding the bars.
These villains! she thought. They'll stop anyone kind-hearted from giving me food!
But she soon realized that these Westerlands soldiers were the only thing keeping her from being torn to pieces by the locals.
As a former noble's daughter raised on the Iron Islands, she had at most seen ironborn duels, played finger dances. She had never faced such deep, concentrated hatred from so many people—
Smack!
A stone flew through the bars and struck her shoulder. Asha winced and looked up, seeing a girl about her age with loose pale-yellow hair, picking up a second stone and hurling it at her.
"You bastard spawn of raiders! You killed my parents!! I'll beat you to death!"
Asha was hit again. She stubbornly lifted her head, refusing to cry, holding onto the dignity of the Ironborn.
Then, quickly, more children came running. They had clearly discovered the Iron Islands wretch. One after another, they picked up small stones and threw them at her.
Asha crouched down, covering her head. Only after a long while did the soldiers drive the children away.
"Hey! No throwing stones!"
The pale-haired girl dropped her stone, walked up empty-handed, and spat at Asha through the bars.
"Raider's bastard!"
Asha stared at her and suddenly remembered the woman Uncle Euron had thrown from the castle—also pale-haired, daisy-colored eyes, calling them raiders. Captured, she had refused to become an Ironborn salt wife.
Asha had thought her death deserved.
Yet now, facing the girl of the same height outside the bars, she dared not curse back.
The girl grabbed a handful of sand.
Asha jumped up and lunged forward—
Only to have her hair yanked from behind. Someone else kicked her.
The girl maliciously dumped the sand into the water jar inside the cage.
The soldiers clearly had no intention of stopping it. They were locals too. If not for Tyrion Lannister's orders, they would have gladly let this Greyjoy girl die.
As the sun climbed higher, Asha was filthy, reeking of spit and urine. Hungry and thirsty—had she suffered enough yet?
Her eyes widened, looking at passersby with pleading hope.
"No one here will give you water or bread!" a soldier sneered at the desperate Asha, hatred etched on his face.
"See this rubble? It used to be the most beautiful street in Lannisport! You Iron Islands raiders attacked, burned our ships, looted everything! Over there—on your right! A family of five. The father was hacked to death with an axe. The mother was holding her baby when it was smashed against the wall. She bit one of the attackers—so what happened? All the children were slaughtered in front of her eyes! The girl was stripped naked—"
"I truly hope what happened to her happens to you too, you squid-spawn!"
"This Iron Islands trash should be thrown into the lowest whorehouse," another soldier spat on the ground. "Let beggars fuck her to death!"
Hearing this, fear was unavoidable.
Asha hugged her knees, shrinking as far as she could into the corner of the cage. More and more survivors heard that an Iron Islands brat had been captured. They came to vent their hatred.
...
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"Game of Thrones: Dragon Prince"
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"Game of Thrones The Glory of a Knight"
(End Chapter)