I Want to Go and See

Yulon finally chose to lay his cards on the table.

In the King of Pike's study, the air was heavier than the sea outside, where a storm was brewing. A whale oil lamp cast a wavering halo on Kaelen Greyjoy's massive black stone desk, illuminating spread-out sea charts, half-rolled trade lists, and the silent clash of wills between a family of three—no, almost the entire Greyjoy core.

Yulon Greyjoy, only seven years old, stood as steady as a sea reef. His voice was clear and crisp, cutting through his mother Sansa Blacktyde's rapid breaths.

"Father, Mother. The Long Night is coming, and it will last for three years. I don't want to waste these precious thirteen hundred days and nights hiding behind Pike's thick stone walls, existing like onions in a cellar, waiting to be slowly consumed." His vocabulary far surpassed his age. "Waiting itself is a form of death."

King Kaelen did not answer immediately. His thick fingers unconsciously stroked a bronze paperweight on the desk, an artwork shaped like a drowning man in agony. His gaze, like the Abyss, scrutinized his youngest, most peculiar, and most uncontrollable son.

"I know your mind is filled with thoughts far beyond your years, as if possessed by the Drowned God," Kaelen finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse, weathered by the sea wind. "But your body, Yulon, is only seven. A seven-year-old child, on the narrow winter seas, a single wave, a bout of cold, could turn all your 'differences' to nothing. If you were five years older, even three, and possessed shoulders that could withstand a storm, my answer might be different."

A faint, almost mocking curve touched Yulon's lips, his heterochromatic eyes shimmering with an inhuman luster in the lamplight. "Father, have you forgotten? They call me the 'Son of the Drowned God,' and some even whisper in taverns that I am the 'Grey King' returned from the deep sea... Do you think the sea would easily reclaim its own creation?"

"Get out!" Kaelen slammed the desk, and the paperweight jumped. "Don't try to fob me off with the same nonsense you use to fool fishermen and salt wives! You are my son, you carry my blood, not some damn fairy tale!" His roar carried a frustration of touching a taboo, and a deeper unease—sometimes he himself couldn't tell if this son was exceptionally gifted or truly possessed by something ancient.

Faced with his father's fury, Yulon's expression suddenly became extremely pragmatic, even a little cold, instantly dispelling the mysterious atmosphere. "Of course, I'm afraid of death, Father. Terribly afraid." He admitted it so readily that it was unsettling. "That's precisely why I won't jump into the icy sea for a swim without proper preparation."

He stepped forward, placing his small hand on the coastline of the continent of Essos on the sea chart. "Pentos has our 'Ice and Fire' Trading Company's largest warehouse and at least a hundred loyal Ironborn. In the alleys of Rhys, informants who serve us reside. Valantis, and even farther Qohor, have our trade partners. I'm not going to wander; I'm going to inspect our existing assets."

His finger pointed to several key locations, his tone as calm as if he were stating accounts. "'Rhaegar' Daggmo will lead his longship fleet, the 'Hao Yin,' and two other swift ships, with a total of three hundred of our bravest and most loyal Ironborn as my escort. They have drunk their fill of saltwater and sworn to protect me with their lives."

He paused, then looked up, his gaze sharp. "Furthermore, I have instructed Maelyo Romis—you know, that Braavosi who handles our 'grey' affairs—to pre-hire a squadron of elite sellswords with a hefty sum. One hundred battle-hardened professional warriors will meet me in Pentos and be responsible for onshore security. I'm not going to start a war, Father. I'm merely going to... consolidate our trade routes, take stock of our warehouses, and ensure that gold and supplies continue to flow to the Iron Islands like blood even in winter. This is safer and more important than any raid."

"No! Absolutely not!" Lady Sansa could no longer contain herself. She stood up abruptly, her face as pale as salt, her voice shrill with fear. "You're only seven! Seven years old! Essos? That's a place crawling with slave traders, assassins, and plagues! They'll capture you and sell you to those Eastern sorcerers as an ingredient for medicine! Or you'll die of a fever in some filthy inn! I forbid you to go! Nowhere! You will stay in Pike, where I can see you!"

As a mother, she saw not grand ambitions, but a tiny body about to be devoured by the terrifying East.

Yulon turned to his mother, his tone softening, yet carrying an unyielding resolve. Such determination on a child's face was particularly frightening. "Mother, I won't go now. I promise you. I will wait until the first real snowflake falls on Pike's towers, until the sea begins to form a thin layer of ice, confirming that Westeros has officially entered hibernation. Only then will I depart." His promise sounded more like a countdown.

Silence fell upon the study, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the moaning of the sea wind against the high windows.

King Kaelen's gaze shifted from his wife, who was trembling with agitation, to his young son's calm, almost indifferent, small face. He saw something deep within those eyes—it wasn't a child's willfulness, nor a youth's recklessness, but a cold, precisely calculated ambition and... a certain hunger for a larger stage. He realized this was not a discussion, but a notification.

After a long while, the King of the Sea Stones exhaled heavily, his voice sounding as if it came from the seabed. "It seems," he said slowly, each word weighted as if by tons, "you have made up your mind. Not as a son seeking permission from his father, but as... a Greyjoy, announcing your actions."

Yulon nodded slightly, not denying it. "Yes, Father."

Kaelen leaned back into his massive stone chair, shadows obscuring most of his face, only his eyes remaining sharp as knives. "Then," his voice regained its usual, unquestionable authority, "before the first snowflake falls, make all preparations. I want to see the inspection records for every ship, the list and background of every escort, the details of every agreement with the sellsword company, and the exact location and contact methods for every supply point. Your plan must be as watertight as a Naga's scales. Otherwise, even if I chain you beneath the Drowned God's altar, I will not let you set foot outside Pike."

This was not a blessing, but an order, a test. A final ultimatum from a father to his son, and from the King of the Sea Stones to the "being" who might lead the family to unknown seas.

Yulon nodded and smiled. "Absolutely! Like I said, I'm very afraid of death."