Persuasion

"If you want someone to move, first put a more comfortable stone beneath their feet..." When Euron asked Lysa how he could persuade his father, this was her answer. "He is the king of the Iron Islands, and he's your father. Though I've only met him once, I could tell he's very lonely. There isn't a single wise man beside King Kolen who truly considers things from his perspective. There's only arguing, fighting, opposition, and shouting. When you're in the mountains, it's hard to see the whole range. Perhaps all it takes is someone who can calmly part the mist a little, and the king will see all the possibilities ahead!"

Euron smiled. "That makes sense!"

The heavy oak door to the clan chief's study in Pyke creaked open. Five-year-old Euron Greyjoy slipped inside, then quickly closed it behind him. The room was thick with the smell of sea salt and a heavy sense of exhaustion. Kolen Greyjoy stood with his back to the door before the huge arched window, gazing out at the leaden-gray sea, its waves churning. His broad shoulders drooped slightly.

"Father?" Euron's voice was soft, carrying the clear brightness characteristic of a child. It broke the oppressive silence at just the right moment.

Kolen didn't turn around. He only gave a low "Hmm," the final note tinged with an irritation that wouldn't go away.

Euron entered and carefully shut the door. He didn't approach his father directly as he usually did, but stopped beside the huge table in the middle of the room, piled with sea charts and scrolls. He needed a little distance, and a little "stage."

"Mother said... Lord Drumm and the others upset you again today." Euron didn't phrase it as a question. He stated it, his voice carrying a faint, age-appropriate concern.

Kolen finally turned around. The furrows in his face looked deeper in the dim light, and his eyes were weary yet sharp. He saw his youngest son, and the composure in the boy's eyes that seemed far beyond his years. That composure sometimes comforted him, but at other times left him inexplicably uneasy. "A bunch of old fools with brains pickled in salt!" he growled, slamming a fist against the window frame. The glass rattled. "All they can see is the little bit of salted fish and scrap metal they've stolen. They haven't a clue what the future holds for the Iron Islands!"

Euron listened quietly. Only after his father's anger had subsided a little did he speak, his voice still calm. "Father, you're right. The Iron Islands need to change." He first affirmed his father's vision, just as Lysa had stressed: affirm first, then guide.

Kolen's gaze settled on his youngest son, scrutinizing him. "Oh? You think so too?"

"Yes." Euron took two steps forward. His mismatched eyes looked especially deep in the shadows. "But, Father, have you ever thought about this...? Does the sea change the shape of a reef through one fierce battering after another, or through the silent washing of the tides, year after year?"

Kolen frowned, clearly not expecting his son to offer such an analogy.

Euron continued without pause. He had to keep up the rhythm. "When farmers on the mainland clear wasteland, they don't expect to dig away an entire mountain in a single day. They clear a small patch first, plant seeds, and wait for them to sprout and yield a harvest. Once they've proven the land can feed people, more will be willing to join them and clear a larger area."

He went to the table and pointed at the Iron Islands on the map with one small finger. "Our Iron Islands are like the hardest wasteland to clear. You want to make them as rich as the Reach all at once, and that's a good thing. But Uncle Drumm, the others, and my brother Baron are used to barren hills and wild country. They're afraid of change. If you tell them to put down their axes and pick up hoes right away, they'll think you've gone mad, or that you've... betrayed the Drowned God."

Kolen's eyes flickered as he seemed to mull over his son's words.

"The Drowned God granted us the maxim, 'The dead do not die, but rise again,'" Euron said, his voice rising slightly with an oddly certain conviction, as if resonating with that ancient presence. "But the Drowned God never said we had to rise again in the old way! Perhaps... using better iron to build sturdier ships, finding smarter ways to fill our storehouses with grain, and using greater strength to silence everyone who mocks the Iron Islands... that's the true spirit of rising again that the Drowned God wants the Ironborn to show in this age! Wouldn't that bring more glory to the Drowned God than stealing a few bags of gold and capturing a few slaves?"

Kolen's breathing seemed to stop for an instant. He had never considered it from that angle before. The Drowned God... a new way? His keen gaze fixed on his youngest son.

"Father, we don't need to free all the slaves at once. But we could try it first in Pyke, under your watchful eye. Choose a few mines or salt works, and give the most hardworking, obedient slaves a little hope. For example, if they work five years without fault, or learn a trade, they could become Free Folk, or even receive a small patch of barren land to farm themselves. If they see a future for themselves, they'll work harder than if they're driven by a whip! Once Pyke's salt and ore output really rises and the storehouses are full, won't the lords of the other islands grow envious? They'll come running to ask how you did it!"

"The Old Way... paying the iron price is the glory of our ancestors. Throw it all away at once, and it's like tossing our forefathers' bones into the sea. Of course everyone would find it hard to accept. But we could... change it a little?" Euron's eyes gleamed with cunning. "For example, we could forbid longships from raiding merchant ships bearing a lord's banner from the Seven Kingdoms. That would keep us out of a lot of trouble. But those pirate dens in the Stepstones, and the ships carrying 'living cargo' in Slaver's Bay... raid them! That wouldn't mean abandoning the Old Way. It would mean 'cleaning up the filth of the sea,' a righteous deed the Drowned God would approve of! We could give some of the plunder to the crew and hand some over to you... to buy grain and lumber, or even bring back good smiths to teach our people! That's 'using our enemies' blood to strengthen our roots'!"

"The Faith of the Seven..." Euron shook his head slightly. "You can't force people to accept something. The Drowned God has lived in the Iron Islands for thousands of years. You can't just ask him to leave. Instead of letting them set foot on the islands and make the Drowned Priests furious, why don't we... send a few clever Drowned Men apprentices to the Oldtown Citadel? That's turning the tables and taking the initiative. Let them learn bookkeeping, shipbuilding, and medicine! When they return, they'll be the best proof that the Drowned God and knowledge can go hand in hand. The Ironborn will be more willing to listen to them! That would be far more useful than ten septons of the Faith of the Seven chanting on the docks!"

"Opening the ports is a brilliant idea, Father!" Euron's voice rang with sincere admiration. "But if we want ships to come, it's not enough to open the door. We have to convince them they won't be chopped up for fish bait once they're inside. We can start with two things. First, set aside a small 'safe zone' in Port of Pike, guarded by the men you trust most. Any Ironborn who draws a weapon in the safe zone will be treated as having betrayed his family! Second, find one or two merchants who've traded salt and iron with us a few times and are bold enough to take a chance. Give them special protection and very low taxes, and even let them open a small warehouse in the safe zone. They can take the word that trade is safe in the Iron Islands back with them. Word will spread, and sooner or later some merchants who value money more than their lives will be willing to try. If even one ship returns safely with a full load, that'll do more than a hundred times us shouting, 'We've changed!'"

When Euron finished, his small chest rose and fell slightly. The only sounds in the study were the crackle of firewood in the hearth and the distant roar of the waves. He looked up at his father, his mismatched eyes clear and resolute, waiting for his judgment.

Kolen Greyjoy gazed at his youngest son for a long time. Some of the weariness seemed to fade from his face, replaced by a profound mixture of shock, complicated feelings, rekindled hope, and... a trace of scrutiny he couldn't quite put into words. This child... his thoughts were so clear, so... shrewd, yet so incisive. The problems he'd pointed out were the very ones Kolen had battered himself bloody against. The path he'd suggested was slow, but seemed more feasible and less likely to provoke a devastating backlash.

"These ideas..." Kolen's voice was a little hoarse. He slowly walked behind the desk and sat down, unconsciously tapping his fingers on the tabletop. "Did you come up with them yourself? Or did someone teach you?" He'd asked the crucial question.

"Lysa told me that changing people's hearts is like simmering an old stew. A high flame will scorch it, but slow cooking brings out the flavor. Her words opened my eyes. After that, I thought about it for a long, long time," Euron answered honestly. "I want to help you, Father. I don't want to see them upsetting you like this every day, and I don't want the Iron Islands to stay poor forever."

"Lysa? The little maid who speaks seven languages?" Kolen drew a long, deep breath, then let it out heavily, as though emptying all the pent-up frustration from his chest. He leaned back in his chair and looked once more at the sea beyond the window, forever restless, but this time there seemed to be something different in his eyes.

"Slow cooking..." he murmured, repeating the words as if chewing on a tough piece of salt-cured meat, trying to taste a new flavor. "Perhaps... it's a little smarter than this old wreck of mine battering itself against reefs." He looked at Euron, and at last a weary but genuine smile of approval crossed his face. "I'll give that slow-cooked stew a try."

King Kolen didn't make an immediate decision, but Euron knew from those words of assent that his father had taken them to heart. Just as he was about to leave, Kolen suddenly said, "Starting tomorrow, you'll come with me to the council chamber."