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Crash. Wave after wave smashed into the cliff face, shattering into pieces. The white froth looked like the splattering blood of the sea.
Atop the sea cliffs of Pyke, the black kraken banner of House Greyjoy was whipped and tangled by the wind, making the kraken on it look as if it were clinging to the flagpole, shivering.
Just two days ago, King Balon's son, Theon Greyjoy, had lost his footing and fallen from a rope bridge. If he were a commoner, he would already be in the bellies of the fishes, but because of his status, his body was dredged up to be given a proper ironborn funeral.
Many prominent nobles of the Iron Islands attended the rites: House Goodbrother, House Harlaw, House Botley, House Volmark, House Drumm—
They stood a short distance away, watching the Greyjoys gather around Theon's corpse.
Balon and his daughter, Asha, stood to the side. His brother, Aeron, personally officiated the ceremony and delivered the eulogy for Theon.
Balon's face was grim. Asha's expression was cold; she had little affection for a brother who had been taken as a hostage when they were just children.
She even thought that falling off a bridge at his age made him practically useless.
Whatever his family secretly thought, Theon's funeral was a grand affair. Aside from him being Balon's son, there was another crucial reason for the turnout: Balon's choice for his next heir.
With Theon dead, his sister Asha was still alive, and his father still had two brothers: Aeron and Victarion.
If Asha had been just an ordinary girl, the heir would undoubtedly be Aeron or Victarion.
Not only were they grown men, but Aeron was a priest of the Drowned God, and Victarion was a fiercely brutal warrior.
But Asha was a true ironborn. Gender aside, she was the child most like Balon.
She had started reaving merchant ships at a very young age. She bedded not only men but women too. Ever since she was little, she loved running bare-assed along the shores.
She was tall, and with a bit of disguise, her sex was almost indistinguishable.
Therefore, Asha had her share of supporters. More importantly, King Balon surely preferred his own bloodline to inherit the Seastone Chair.
Theon's funeral rites continued, but mutters of other matters rippled through the crowd. After all, they had no real grief to show for this "prince."
"I heard news of Euron a few days ago," said the Lord of House Goodbrother. House Goodbrother was an anomaly on the Iron Islands; they mined iron ore for coin and traded frequently with the mainland, making them well-informed.
"Euron?"
"Euron Greyjoy. The King's brother."
"Oh, the one who fucked Victarion's woman? What's he done now?" The speaker was Sawane Botley. House Botley was fiercely loyal to House Greyjoy, especially to Balon—their bond was almost like that of the Starks and the Karstarks.
The difference was that the latter shared deep blood ties, while the former was driven more by a fanatical reverence for Balon himself.
"Euron snatched Mace's wife."
"Mace? Which Mace?"
"Mace Tyrell, the Duke of Highgarden!"
"What?!"
Botley's outburst drew the attention of those nearby. Several men standing close clearly wanted a bite of this juicy gossip.
"Euron snatched a Duke's wife? Is it true?" asked a nobleman whose heavy jowls made his face look massive.
"It's true."
"So where is he now?"
"No idea. But I heard someone snatched her right back," Gorold Goodbrother looked at the jowly lord, likely a Drumm. "Word is Euron already had Mace's wife on his ship, but they caught up to him."
"Ah, his ship wasn't fast enough. A pity. If he'd actually pulled it off, His Grace Balon might have let him come back."
Because Euron had bedded his brother Victarion's "salt wife"—an unforgivable sin among the ironborn—Balon had banished him, declaring, "You shall not return to the Iron Islands unless I am dead."
The ironborn worshipped reaving. Despite Balon's decree, they believed that if Euron had managed to steal something truly magnificent, allowing him back wouldn't be out of the question.
Especially since the Seven Kingdoms had been thrown into utter chaos. Renly claimed the crown, Joffrey claimed it, Robb claimed it, Stannis claimed it, and Balon had seized the moment to crown himself once more.
But now Renly was dead, Joffrey had been killed, and Robb had relinquished his crown. Only Stannis remained in the green lands. That left the Iron Islands sticking out like a sore thumb.
Sooner or later, they would face the wrath of the Iron Throne. Balon likely wouldn't refuse Euron's return, especially not right after losing his only living son.
While the lords weighed the rumors, Theon's funeral reached its end.
Aeron, his hair constantly damp, spread his arms toward the sea and roared, "Go! To the Drowned God's watery halls, to the Grey King's galleys! Go, Theon! Go!"
Ooooh, ooooh. A horn blew, sounding like the wails of a weeping slave. Theon's body was placed in a small boat and cast adrift, floating away from the shore.
Just then, the crowd noticed a vessel resembling a merchant ship approaching.
A kraken was painted on its grey sails, but the design was crude, as if it had been hastily daubed on not long ago.
Without needing a word from Balon, Victarion led a few longships out to intercept it. The ironborn lords, captains, and nobles watched from afar.
The longships blocked the merchant vessel. A man quickly leaped from the merchant ship onto one of the longships, and Victarion brought him back to shore. As for Theon's burial boat, it was momentarily forgotten.
When the crowd saw the man brought ashore, curiosity sparked. None of them knew who this stranger was.
He wore a patch over one eye and carried a crow on his shoulder. The man radiated a sinister aura that made everyone instinctively recoil.
They glanced at Victarion, who was following behind the stranger. Victarion's face was thunderous and ugly.
"W-why is he walking straight to His Grace?"
Sawane Botley asked in shock. Balon wasn't someone just anyone could waltz up and see.
They soon found out why. The one-eyed man knelt respectfully before Balon and spoke. "I have returned, my brother."
Asha had little memory of this uncle, so she looked to her father. Seeing Balon's face darken even further at the sight of him, she concluded that this had to be the banished uncle.
"Did I not say that you could only return to the Iron Islands when I am dead? Returning now... have you drifted long enough? Do you want me to throw a funeral for you too?" Balon's voice mixed with the crashing waves and the howling wind.
"My beloved brother, since I left the Iron Islands, my sails have touched almost every corner of the world. When I returned to the Sunset Sea, I heard the news of your crowning. I am happy for you, and even happier for the Iron Islands. You are the strongest kraken; you deserve this title and your rightful place upon the Seastone Chair." Euron's voice was slow and steady, as if he didn't care about Balon's threat at all.
"Do not think this will stop me from killing you. Your crimes against Victarion are unforgivable!"
Hearing Balon's words, Victarion's expression softened slightly. At least someone was demanding justice for him.
Aeron, however, looked unsteady. He peered at Euron through the gaps in his wet hair, like a man hiding behind a door, staring through a crack at a terrifying shadow.
Further away, the ironborn nobles whispered amongst themselves, eager to see how Balon would deal with the return of his brother.
"My beloved brother, I set my sights on Mace's wife. I almost had her, but sadly, I failed in the end. Now Mace is furious. If you truly wish to kill me, why not hand me over to Mace instead? It might save you some trouble." Euron was clearly goading him.
"His Grace sits upon the Seastone Chair! The ironborn will never bow to the men of the green lands!" Victarion barked.
Asha's eyes darted between her two uncles. She had long heard of the bitter feud between them.
After all, stealing another man's woman was unacceptable anywhere—especially when it was your own brother's.
But stealing the Duke of Highgarden's woman? That was a different story. Asha had heard of Euron's "triumph," and she couldn't help but feel a grudging admiration.
Only Aeron, standing to the side, prayed silently, begging the gods that Euron would leave the Iron Islands at once. He truly never wanted to see him again in this lifetime.
He had been "drowned" four times! Yet, he still couldn't shake that paralyzing fear.
Neither Balon nor Euron spoke. They simply stared into each other's eyes in heavy silence.
Seeing Balon gaze out at the sea, lost in thought, Euron continued, "I am your brother, and I am ironborn. As your brother, I seek your protection. But as an ironborn of these islands, I do not wish to bring trouble upon us by provoking a powerful enemy. If my return troubles you, then hand me over."
"Hmph!" Balon scoffed sharply. He looked out at Euron's ship in the distance and said, "That's not your ship, is it? A new prize?"
"Yes, brother."
"Useless. You managed to lose your own ship," Balon spat mercilessly.
Euron said nothing. But the fact that Balon was insulting him meant he was preparing to accept him back.
"Three hundred years ago, if not for the Targaryen dragons, the ironborn would have been the masters of the green lands. We would be enjoying their women, their fields, and their castles."
"Thirteen years ago, if Robert hadn't brought nearly the entire Seven Kingdoms down upon the Iron Islands, we would at least be our own masters, bowing to no one."
"Now, it is only Stannis. Do you think I fear him? Stay for now. Even if I am to cast you out, you must at least win your own ship back first."