Suleiman repeated the second point.
His voice was calm. In the warm candlelight of Riverrun's study, it sounded as if he were discussing the dinner menu.
Eddard Stark closed his eyes.
He had almost forgotten that this young man had recently ordered the execution of countless Ironborn prisoners. Their desecrated corpses had been planted along the coast like a forest.
Lord Blackwood's assessment of him echoed in Eddard Stark's ears.
Gentle, cheerful, talkative, promising—a young man with a bright future, if only he didn't show his cruel and ruthless side.
Eddard Stark opened his eyes and scrutinized Suleiman.
There was a serious look on the young man's face, as if he truly meant what he said and considered it a reliable, logical final solution.
Suleiman met Eddard Stark's gaze. He could read the anger and refusal in those gray eyes. Eddard would never agree.
Suleiman hadn't expected him to.
When one option was so extreme as to be outrageous, another, which had once seemed hard to accept, could appear far more reasonable.
He intended to relocate some people from the Riverlands to occupy a few islands, laying plans for the future.
Time ticked by, second by second.
Suleiman waited for Eddard Stark to condemn him by his own principles.
But another voice spoke first.
It was so soft it was almost a whisper. "The Iron Islands consist of thirty-one islands, seven of them large."
The speaker stood straight, his hands clasped behind his back, as if stating a mere geographical fact.
"Reefs and caves are everywhere. People can hide and defend themselves with ease."
The voice continued, its reasoning cold.
"What you suggest would be difficult to accomplish."
Suleiman slowly turned his gaze. He saw a beardless face, smooth-skinned and ageless, with eyes of an unusually pale hue.
Suleiman's heart