Through dawn's sea-fog, a white-flagged rowboat drifted like dead leaf toward the Iron Islands fleet's black silhouette.
"Hawk Eye" Coz stood alone at the bow, the white flag trembling in salt-laden wind, mirroring his inner turmoil.
When led onto the Telltale's broad deck, iron-shod boots on wood-planks sounded unnaturally hollow. Euron Greyjoy stood facing away, gazing toward Fly Island's gradually clarifying outline. Sea wind stirred his raven hair; his figure seemed one with the ship itself.
Lord Barron crouched like a giant bear beside the mainmast, arms crossed, thick fingers unconsciously caressing his axe-haft. The six other lords flanked both sides like sea-eagles roosting on rocks—silent, sharp gazes unified upon the visitor.
Coz felt his throat tighten. In this suffocating silence, his white flag drooped.
The Harrenhal Island lord stepped forward, steel-shod heels striking deck with icy-pike-eye gaze piercing the flag-bearer. "Fly Island's envoy—state your purpose."
"Hawk Eye" Coz's throat worked. The flag's edge trembled in his fingers. He forced his head up, meeting that ever-turned-away silhouette. "Beast-Lord, Lord Euron... we... are willing to submit."
Lord Barron released a contemptuous snort, his massive frame leaning forward, his shadow nearly swallowing Coz entirely. "Submit? Can one man represent all those bone-gnawing dogs on Fly Island?"
"Before coming here," Coz deliberately ignored the "dogs" descriptor, hastily explaining, voice roughened by tension, "the island's leaders reached consensus. Only... we require certain safety assurances..."
The Stonehouse family patriarch from Old Wych Island suddenly stepped forward, his weathered face flushing with rage, voice thunderous. "So you're negotiating terms with me!?"
Coz retreated half-step, the flag nearly slipping. "No... dare not. We merely wish to know—after submitting to the Iron Islands, we... what fate awaits us?"
The Stonehelm lord tapped his axe-haft with knuckle-strikes producing dull rhythms, voice cold as polar ice. "Speak. What conditions do you want?"
"Hawk Eye" Coz's eye-corner twitched uncontrollably. He forced steadiness. "We hope to continue garrisoning Fly Island, retaining our current membership. As for Nas Island—" he swallowed, "since under your protection, we willingly abandon business there."
Euron, still facing away, suddenly laughed softly. He slowly turned, his heterochromatic eyes utterly devoid of warmth. "The same territory, same personnel, same enterprises—only abandoning one business that shouldn't exist anyway. So tell me," his voice smooth as knife scraping leather, "why did we muster forces to come?"
"We'll plant the golden kraken flag on our island," "Hawk Eye" Coz hastily added, "declare ourselves part of the Iron Islands..."
"Part of us!?" Lord Barron's roar thundered like explosive lightning. His massive palm slammed the gunwale; the entire ship shuddered. "This is your gift to us? This is the glory the Iron Islands bestows upon you scum!?"
Coz shuddered, bowing repeatedly. "Naturally, naturally—greatest honor... yet our submission would spread the Iron Islands' renown through Summer Sea faster..."
The Drumm family patriarch from Old Wych Island erupted in thunder-like laughter, mockery saturating every sound. "When has the Iron Islands' renown needed you sewer rats advertising on our behalf!?"
Euron raised one hand—a simple gesture silencing all laughter and rage.
Sea wind flooded the sudden quiet, stirring his dark hair.
Euron's gaze fell upon "Hawk Eye" Coz, his voice flat yet carrying irrefutable decisiveness, each word hammering the other's heart. "Every condition you proposed—"
He deliberately paused, watching the envoy's fragile hope-flame waver.
"I reject them all!"
Coz's face turned deathly pale.
"Fly Island, fly, fly—what a filthy, disgusting name!" Euron's voice dripped disdain. "It will be renamed. Whoever may garrison there afterward, the Iron Islands will decide. You've no say."
"Having chosen submitting to the Iron Islands, the Bone Brothers cease existing. Dissolved immediately. How all former Bone Brothers members are resettled, I determine. Per your proposal, preserving your original structure unchanged—that's not reorganization—"
"That's enabling! Waiting for you to regroup anytime, stab our backs!"
Euron's decree fell like iron: "Final condition—not merely Nas Island. Throughout all islands under Iron Islands rule, slave-trading will be—"
His voice cut clear as crystal into Coz's ears:
"Completely, utterly, permanently eradicated!"
Silence fell across the Telltale's deck. Only waves lapping hull and Coz's heavy, desperate breathing remained.
Euron's voice remained quiet, calm as always. "Return and tell 'Old Bone' Colin, tell every self-styled hard-bone Brotherhood member—"
He leaned forward slightly; his shadow descended like cliffs pressing Coz down. "Every Bone Brothers member must stand on Fly Island's beach when tomorrow's first sunlight pierces the sea surface."
He raised one finger. "To welcome our fleet's arrival. Kneel. Lower your heads. Raise your blades high—this is the submission I recognize."
Euron's heterochromatic pupils contracted sharply. Killing intent swelled like deep-sea pressure in his voice. "Don't attempt negotiating with me. You have only two choices—accept, or die."
Just as Coz stood paralyzed by this terrifying presence, Euron's robe-sleeves suddenly whipped, releasing sharp whistling wind:
"Now—"
The word thundered like lightning, sending Coz staggering backward.
"Get out!"
The white flag dropped responsively, spiraling in salt-laden wind, drifting toward dark-green sea.
"Hawk Eye" Coz nearly scrambled back to his rowboat, not even noticing the abandoned white flag on the Telltale's deck.
The small boat panicked through waves like frightened water-strider, fleeing toward Fly Island.
Euron turned, his gaze falling on the three sisters standing quietly, speaking softly:
"Have your crow companions observe."
Euron gazed toward Fly Island's direction, smiling. "Watch closely. See what choice these cornered beasts make."
The three sisters bowed in unison, their gray cloaks rising in synchronized arcs.
They required no verbal communication. One gently raised her hand, and three jet-black crows silently emerged from the mainmast's shadows, like ink-drops merging into dimming sky, rushing toward that distant, blurred island.
"As you wish, my lord."
Their unified voices carried non-human rhythm, like whispers emerging from sea-fog.