The Iron Islands' Petition

The afterglow of the Small Council had not yet dissipated; the fleet roster and the map of the Stepstones, spread out on the long oak table in the Red Keep council chamber, were still damp with morning dew.

After the meeting, Daemon Targaryen, with his arm around Daemon's shoulder, was rambling on about the new Arbor sweet wine that had arrived at the Silk Street tavern in the city.

Grey Ghost, still carrying the seashell it brought back from Tyrosh, circled around their feet. Its light gray dragon scales occasionally brushed against Daemon's boots, prompting him to bend down and pat the little dragon's head.

"Little Daemon, if we brothers don't go soon, Borros and his gang will drink all the newly arrived wine!" Big Daemon shook the empty flask in his hand, its scarlet dragon-patterned body gleaming. "Let me tell you, last time we came back, that old lion Taimond was having a banquet on their 'Golden Lion,' and that brute Borros almost tore my cloak apart trying to steal the last cup from me."

Before Daemon Targaryen could finish speaking, a series of rapid clanging sounds of armor came from outside the hall.

Ser Harrold Westeros strode in, his white robes billowing, the visor of his Iron Guard helmet still on. His voice carried a hint of urgency. "Your Highnesses Daemon! The guards at River Gate report that envoys from the Iron Islands, with a delegation and tribute, are requesting an audience outside the city gates. They say they have important matters to discuss with His Majesty and His Highness the Crown Prince!"

"The Iron Islands?" Daemon stopped, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the hilt of the Blackfyre.

He recalled his previous travels through the Seven Kingdoms, the blood-stained waters of Seagard Eagle Cape, the scene of Uragon Greyjoy's fleet burning in Dragonfire, and the black smoke rising above Lannisport — Dagon Greyjoy's raging fire that scorched the harbor, a sight that still makes the Westerlands grit their teeth in hatred.

Baelon, who had just emerged from behind, paused abruptly, his hand holding the recently organized meeting documents. A knowing glint flashed in his purple eyes. "The Triarchy has just yielded, and the Ironborn certainly knows how to choose their timing."

He turned to Viserys, who was beside him, and said, "Go and invite your grandfather back, and then have someone bring back Duke Taimond and Corlys to submit their surrender documents for the Iron Islands. This is no small matter."

Before long, King Jaehaerys returned to the council chamber, supported by Vaegon, Maester Alar, and his attendants.

Taimond Lannister, Corlys House Velaryon, and others returned one after another. Even Borros, who had just reached the gates of the Red Keep, turned back upon hearing the news, clutching a half-eaten sweet pie he'd somehow acquired, muttering, "If the Ironborn dare to play any tricks, I'll chop their messenger in half with my battleaxe."

When the hall door was pushed open again, a man dressed in a coarse robe from the Iron Islands walked in.

He was around fifty years old, with graying but neatly combed hair, and a rusty short knife at his waist, clearly not a soldier.

However, as soon as the man entered, he knelt down with a "thud," the sound of his knees hitting the stone slab particularly jarring.

He held aloft a scroll of parchment wrapped in sharkskin, his deep voice carrying a deliberately obsequious undertone. "Theomer Harlow, the sinful subject and envoy of the Iron Islands, pays homage to His Majesty the Wise and Wise King Jaeheris I, Lord of the Bronze Wrath! Pays homage to His Highness Prince Belron, the Wise Hand of the King and Prime Minister, and Prince of Spring Dawn! Pays homage to all the other esteemed lords!"

Two Ironborn servants followed behind him, carrying heavy wooden chests. When the chests were opened, the gold and silver artifacts, jewels, and silks from Slaver's Bay gleamed inside.

It was clearly a tribute specially prepared by the new King of the Iron Islands, Gorne Greyjoy.

Theomore's gaze swept across the crowd in the hall, and when he saw the Blackfyre on Daemon's body, his pupils visibly contracted, and his voice trembled even more. "This humble servant—this humble servant, on behalf of my new King Gorne Greyjoy, apologizes to the Iron Throne for the rudeness of Princes Uragon and Dagon!"

"An apology?" Taimond Lannister suddenly spoke, his gold ring spinning rapidly on his finger, his eyes cold. "Last year, your Third Prince Dagon Greyjoy, burned down our Lannisport, reducing the jewel of our Westerlands, the backyard of my House Lannister, to ashes. The shame and blood feud of the burning of Lannisport —you think you can just let it go with an 'apology'?"

Theomore's forehead instantly broke out in a cold sweat, and he hurriedly kowtowed, saying, "I dare not! I dare not! My king has already bound all the Ironborn involved in burning the port, and they are in the delegation outside the city, at Your Majesty's and Duke Taimond's disposal! And—and the treasures looted from Lannisport back then, have all been recovered and are offered up!"

As he spoke, he had his servants open several other wooden chests, which were indeed filled with Westerlands- style silverware and silk, and even a few bolts of the House Lannister's signature bright red cloth.

Daemon watched this scene, his thoughts involuntarily drifted back to Lannisport a year earlier.

The sunset that day was tinged a dark red by the thick smoke. Dagon Greyjoy stood on the burning dock, holding the golden goblet he had stolen from the House Lannister, laughing maniacally and shouting, "The glory of the Ironborn is plunder!"

Gael, in coordination with him, rode Dreamfyre down, the pale blue Dragonfire burning through the Ironborn's ship guns. He then gripped the Blackfyre and leaped from the Glutton's back onto Dagon's flagship. With a flash of sword light, several Ironborn fell to the ground instantly.

Dagon attempted to escape by jumping into the sea, but was forced back by the spreading dragon breath of the Glutton, and ultimately disappeared in the chaos.

It wasn't until later, when Taimond privately approached him and sneered, "Your Highness, rest assured, that Dagon is now in the dungeons of Casterly Rock, repenting every day for burning Lannisport and disturbing Your Highness's pilgrimage to our House Lannister, Casterly Rock, in the Westerlands," that he learned of the Ironborn prince's fate.

"When your Second Prince Uragon Greyjoy, attacked Eagle Cape, he didn't just kill twelve guards from Seagard; before attacking Seagard, he also Eagle Cape into a sea of fire."

Corlys House Velaryon's voice pulled Daemon back to reality. Back in the conference room, he tapped the table lightly with his brass binoculars. "Lord Theomore, how does your king intend to compensate the House Mallister?"

Theomore quickly replied, "My Earl has already written a personal letter to Lymond Mallister, offering to compensate with five hundred golden dragons, and has also sent ten Ironborn craftsmen to Seagard to help them repair the burned-down docks!"

He paused, then added, "Last year, when our Prince Uragon escaped back to the Iron Islands, my king had him found, bound, and sent to Eagle Cape, where Earl Mallister could do as he pleased—just like—just like when Prince of Blackfyre and the Earl disposed of those Ironborn on the shore of Eagle Cape, facing the direction of our Iron Islands."

These words made Borros and Lorent beside him burst out laughing, "Oh? It seems you Ironborn also know their fate! Last year, my brothers and I heard in the Stormlands that Little Daemon dragged Uragon's men to the shores of Eagle Cape and beheaded them one by one, facing the Iron Islands. It scared you Ironborn so much that you dared not approach the waters of Eagle Cape afterward!"

Daemon didn't reply, but silently looked at Theomore: "Why is your king only surrendering now? Why was he silent a year ago when his two good brothers Uragon and Dagun, were killed in battle Dagon went missing?"

Theomore lowered his head even further, his voice filled with fear. "Your Highness—my king had not yet ascended the throne at that time and was doing business in the Summer Isles." He only learned of the two princes' affair when he returned.

Later, when he ascended the throne, he heard again—

I heard that Your Highnesses even defeated the Triarchy.

Redib Intlokos, son of former General Arys Intlokos and deputy general, was killed in action;

Admiral Crahas Hal, commander-in-chief of the fleet, Prince Myr, and the Crabfeeder, was captured.

They are still imprisoned in the Dragonglass Prison on Dragonstone, and even their own Myr people dared not ransom them after the war;

Our infamous pirate Queen Racallio, the King of the Narrow Sea Racallio Reyndon, was also captured alive;

The Iron Lord Selos of Tyrosh, who murdered the former Lord Erio, was ultimately banished to Tyrosh.

The port of Tyrosh was burned, the Tyrosh was besieged, the Tyrosh nobles revolted, and tragically immolated themselves in their own Bleeding Tower.

My king knows that if the Iron Islands don't submit, I fear—I fear the most noble Targaryen royal family, the great dragons, will unleash their Dragonfire upon our Pyke.

He wasn't lying; in fact, he was being honest. After all, any lie would be easily exposed under the ever-present threat of the dragon's Dragonfire retaliation.

Moreover, this was the same entity that, at the very beginning of its establishment, decisively defeated Volantis, the overlord of the Free Cities of Essos, and after defeating Volantis in the border war, finally joined forces to drive Volantis out of the Disputed Lands, traversing the Narrow Sea and crushing the invincible fleet of the Kingdom of the Three Daughters Triarchy, which was entrenched in the Stepstones by the pirate kings!

In the end, they were almost completely wiped out by the newly formed Joint Fleet of the Seven Kingdoms and the Targaryen!

Even Obaya Sand, the bastard daughter of Marion Namelos Martell, the former king of Dorne, who was also in Westeros with the Iron Islands and was to join forces with the Three Cities, was defeated by Martell's Grey Terror fortress on the Dornish Sea!

Finally, they don't even dare to return to their Sunspear. They can only lead their men to the Red Mountains, to Prince's Pass and Boneway, to confront the Dornish Marches forces of Stormlands and Reach, using some low-level tactics to stall for time.

Having said that, Theomore, while speaking, pulled out another parchment scroll from his robes and presented it with both hands. "This is a letter of submission from my king, written in his own hand. He says he is willing to come to King's Landing in King's Landing to present the crown, and from this day forward, the Iron Islands will forever submit to the Iron Throne, paying thirty percent of the spoils of the Summer Isles as tax each year—and—"

He also used his private trade funds to prepare small gifts for His the Conciliator, His Highness the Queen, His Highness the Crown Prince, His Highness Prince of Blackfyre, and the other princes of the royal family.

When the servant opened the third wooden box, everyone in the hall was somewhat surprised.

Inside were not only parrot feathers from the Summer Isles and spices from Slaver's Bay, but also a Valyrian steel scimitar inlaid with jewels, its scabbard engraved with the coat of arms of the House Greyjoy of Pyke —clearly a possession of Gorne Greyjoy.

Theomore pointed to the scimitar and said, "This sword was bought by my king in Slaver's Bay. It is said to have originally belonged to a nobleman of Volantis. He said—he said that His Highness Prince of Blackfyre is worthy of this sword, and if His Highness does not like the hilt, he can have it replaced by a craftsman at any time."

It seems that in the hearts of the Ironborn of the Iron Islands, this mysterious Black Dragon, who twice inadvertently defeated the elite troops led by their Iron Islands princes on their "Old Way" journey, is far more terrifying than the other princes of the Targaryen royal family!

Daemon stared at the scimitar and suddenly remembered the ruby dagger in Racallio's hand and the sword of Selos Theros engraved with the Bleeding Tower —weapons that had once swaggered across the Narrow Sea, now spoils of war for the Iron Throne. The submission of the Iron Islands was merely another footnote to this victory.

"Gorne Greyjoy certainly knows how to pick up bargains," Daemon Targaryen suddenly quipped, leaning against a pillar and continuing to toy with the Caraxes dragonscale badge in his hand. "His two brothers, one dead and one missing, have made a fortune from the trade in the Summer Isles —I heard he ran a triangular trade route between the Iron Islands, the Summer Isles, and Slaver's Bay, selling the Summer Isles natives to Slaver's Bay and then transporting the spices back to the Iron Islands. He must have made quite a bit of gold dragons?"

Theomore's face flushed instantly, but he dared not refute, only stammering, "My king—it's also for the livelihood of the Iron Islands, after all, we have always believed that We Do Not Sow," but since His Aegon conquered Westeros, we have only dared to plunder the Summer Isles. Apart from those two reckless bastards, we of the Iron Islands have always followed His the Conqueror the Conqueror's teachings and have never plundered Westeros again. After all, daring—daring to oppose a dragon is courting death."

King Jaehaerys tapped his scepter lightly, his gaze sweeping over Theomore: "Gorne Greyjoy's sentiments are accepted by the Iron Throne. Go back and tell him to come to King's King's Landing in three days with a letter of surrender and the crown. The Iron Throne will grant him a respectable title—but remember, if he dares to plunder the waters of Westeros again, the Dragonfire will not give the Iron Islands another chance."

"Thank you, Your Majesty! Thank you, Your Majesty!" Theomore kowtowed repeatedly, his forehead hitting the stone slabs with a resounding clang. "I will certainly convey Your Majesty's words to my king!"

After Theomore and his entourage left the council chamber, Borros couldn't help but laugh, "This Gorne Greyjoy is quite pragmatic, much smarter than his two brothers. He knows to surrender when he can't win, which is better than having Pyke burned down by Dragonfire."

Taimond Lannister scoffed, the gold ring resting on his finger. He thought to himself, "Being pragmatic? That's just cowardice. If Dagon knew his brother had used the money earned from selling slaves to atone for his sins, and had even offered up all his escaped men, he'd probably be spitting blood in the dungeons of Casterly Rock."

As he pondered, his gaze swept over Daemon, "If it weren't for Your Highness and Princess Gael arriving in time at Lannisport back then, the Ironborn would have trampled our Westerlands's honor underfoot."

Daemon shook his head. "That's everyone's achievement. I just gathered everyone together for the tour to the Westerlands and did what I was supposed to do with my men."

He looked at Baelon, "With the Iron Islands surrendering, the Narrow Sea shipping lanes will be completely safe, the taxes on the Stepstones can be paid on time, and the Night's Watch's supplies can be transferred from the ports of the Westerlands. It's a win-win situation."

Baelon nodded, his fingertips lightly pressing against an old wound beneath his ribs. "Next up is Dorne. Obara Shad is still locked in a standoff on the Dornish Marches, but House Martell hasn't sent any messengers yet. It seems they haven't grasped the situation."

"When Gorne Greyjoy comes to present the crown, let the Dorne envoy see it too."

Daemon spoke slowly, the scabbard of the Blackfyre gleaming coldly in the light, "Let them know that even the Ironborn have submitted. If Dorne continues to resist, the Dragonfire of the Iron Throne can reach Sunspear."

The sunlight outside the council chamber gradually shifted towards the afternoon. Grey Ghost curled up at Daemon's feet, a piece of spice left by Theomore dangling from its mouth, occasionally nuzzling Damon's hand with its head.

Daemon looked at the offerings on the long table, and suddenly the image of Racallio Rendon's sails heading towards the Summer Isles came to mind.

The mad "King of the Narrow Sea" might be drinking coconut wine right now, while the submission of the Iron Islands, the defeat of the Triarchy, and the standoff in Dorne all indicate that the current temporary peace in Westeros is no longer just a mirage.

"Little Daemon!" Daemon Targaryen leaned closer again, a new flask appearing out of nowhere in his hand. "Now that the Ironborn issue is resolved, shouldn't we go for a drink? Taimond said the new wine in the Westerlands is really good!"

Daemon looked helplessly at the expectation that returned to his eyes, then at Jaehaerys, Baelon, Viserys, and even Corlys, who were giving him tacit or encouraging looks. Finally, he nodded and accepted his great-grandfather's invitation again. "Let's go, but if you get drunk again this time, I won't be carrying you back."

As for Borros and his companions, they had already taken advantage of the moment when Theomore left the council chamber. Led by Borros, they exchanged knowing glances with Daemon Targaryen, indicating that they should take Daemon with them, and then left first.

Grey Ghost seemed to understand the word "go out" again, and immediately stood up from the ground, oblivious to the spice falling from its mouth onto the ground, and just kept circling around Daemon's ankle.

The sound of the Kingsguard's footsteps echoed outside the hall. Ser Harrold Westeros was waiting to escort them out. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting long shadows of the three men and the dragon onto the stone slabs of the council chamber, creating a warm and inviting scene.

Daemon knew in his heart that the submission of Greyjoy in the Iron Islands was only the beginning. The standoff with Dorne, Otto's scheming, the undercurrents of the Seven Kingdoms, the conquest of the other side, and the aurora in the the North were all waiting ahead.

But at this moment, he still only wanted to temporarily set aside these conflicts, drink a glass of Westerlands ale with his brothers, think about the new amulet Gael embroidered, and think about the upcoming Old Valyria- style wedding on Dragonstone.

Those warm and precious things are the meaning behind his battles.