Raging tides of the Iron Islands

The sea breeze of the Iron Islands is always carrying the smell of salt and rust, like a rough knife, scraping across the black reefs of Pyke, stirring up foamy waves that crash against the stone walls of the castle on the cliffs with a dull roar.

The wind seemed to carry the whispers of the Drowned God, or the wails of countless Ironborn dying in battle, clinging tightly to the furrowed brow of their current Iron Islands overlord, Gorne Greyjoy, lingering for a long time.

Like all the towers, walls, and bridges on the island, the "Council Room" of Pyke Castle is made of gray-black stone covered with green lichen.

The dome was low, and burning whale oil torches were stuck in the walls, casting long, distorted shadows of everyone present, thicker than ever before.

The stone hall floor was uneven, with old salt grains and dark red bloodstains embedded in the cracks. These were the marks left by the Ironborn "Old Way" that had been traversed for thousands of years. The plundering, fighting, and conquest had never stopped.

Gorne sat on the stone chair carved by the Drowned God. This Seastone Chair was icy cold, and the seaweed patterns swirling on the back of the chair had been smoothed by the fingertips of the kings of the Iron Islands throughout the ages, yet it still exuded the chill of the seabed rock.

He wore black leather armor adorned with polished seashells, and a shark tooth dagger hung at his waist, a gift from his uncle Theomore Harlaw when he inherited the throne.

At this moment, his fingertips unconsciously traced the seaweed pattern on the chair arm, his gaze sweeping over the angry faces of his tribesmen below, his heart churning with emotions more complex than the waves of Crab Bay.

Gorne Greyjoy's uncle, Theomore Harlaw, stood beside him, his silver-grey beard taut like a bowstring, his eyes blazing with anger that had been suppressed for half a year.

Today, Gorne's youngest uncle stood out remarkably tall. Although he was known to the world for his forbearance and humility, and even appeared somewhat shameless and lowly among his fellow Ironborn, he could still draw a powerful bow and wield a two-handed axe in private.

He was Gorne's biggest supporter before his accession to the throne, although Gorne's accession was also due to the disappearance of his rival brother Dagon and the death of Uragon in battle, which was a stroke of luck.

However, it was precisely because Theomore later united with the forces of Harlaw and other islands that he suppressed the rebellion of other Greyjoy factions and propelled Gorne to the Seastone Chair.

Today, as the de facto ruler of Harlaw, he governs the most fertile land and the finest shipyards in the Iron Islands. Throughout his life, he takes pride in the "Old Way" of Ironborn, which his father and brothers taught him with blood and fire. "We Do Not Sow; the sea is our field, the longship is our plowshare, and the battle axe is our sickle."

But now, under the relentless pressure from Daemon Blackfyre, he had no choice but to put away his battle axe again and endure for another six months, just as his nephew, whom he had supported, was about to shed his past filth and show his true colors after taking the throne.

"That kid Pyke's bones are still floating in the waves of Crab Bay!"

A weathered iron woman slammed her hand on the stone table, sending sea salt flying. Her voice, hoarse as if sanded, was filled with blood and hatred, "Children of the Drowned God, sons and nephews of the Iron Islands, just our..."

The Harlaw and House Greyjoy alone had over thirty young men, all of whom had their heads chopped off by Daemon Blackfyre, that Black Dragon! When they were brought back in wooden crates, their faces were swollen from being soaked in seawater, their eyes bulging out, and even their own mothers wouldn't recognize them!

She is both Theomore Harlaw's stepmother and the mistress of Alton Greyjoy, the former Lord of the Iron Islands, as well as the biological mother of Bloodtooth Pyke.

When King Alton was alive, she held a place on Pyke with her shrewishness and ruthlessness. Even after Alton's death, no one dared to easily provoke the "Mother of Bloodtooth," whose son commanded a Black Sails Fleet that dominated the Narrow Sea.

At this moment, her hair was disheveled, her eyes were bloodshot, and her hands were gripping the edge of the stone table tightly, her knuckles turning white from the force.

"Gorne Greyjoy!"

She abruptly raised her head, her gaze like a poisoned harpoon, piercing the current Ironborn King on the Seastone Chair. "You are the King of our Iron Islands, a subject chosen by the Drowned God, not their dog! The Iron Throne of the Ironborn cannot be shed in vain!"

Daemon Blackfyre killed our people, stole our goods, and cut off our livelihood, and you expect us to tolerate it?

If we keep tolerating this, we'll all become like those spineless cowards in the Green Lands, only good for tilling the land!

Her shout was like a spark that instantly ignited the dry tinder in the council chamber.

A dozen or so Ironborn, echoed his sentiments. Their clothes were stained with seawater and oil, and the battle axes and short swords at their waists clashed with a piercing sound.

These people were all relatives of "Bloodtooth" Pyke, Pyke six months ago led the Black Sails Fleet to plunder merchant ships in the Narrow Sea.

At that time, they were besieged by Daemon Blackfyre's fleet, defeated and captured.

His remaining followers were unwilling to give up and fled to Crab Bay to continue plundering passing ships, but were eventually surrounded by Daemon's fleet at Stony Bay and beheaded one by one.

When the heads were returned to the Iron Islands, the wooden crates were still stained with dried blood, and some of the heads still had scorch marks from Dragonfire on their cheeks.

"It's not just Bloodtooth!" A one-eyed Ironborn captain stepped forward. His left eye was covered by a rough bronze eyepatch engraved with the silver scythe emblem of the House Harlaw. His right eye was bloodshot, filled with a mad hatred.

This man was the second-in-command of Theomore Harlaw's deceased brother, Coren, who had fought alongside Harlaw's fleet for many years and whose hands were stained with blood.

At this moment, he was still clutching a broken piece of ship plank in his hand. The edges of the plank were charred black, and the silver scythe emblem of the House Harlaw was clearly engraved on it. It was a fragment of the wreckage of Aeron Harlaw's fleet flagship.

"Our slave ships! Young Master Aeron's fleet was hijacked by Daemon Blackfyre's men in the Summer Sea!"

Coren's voice was loud and hoarse, like two rocks rubbing against each other, "The ship was burned to the skeleton, all the cargo was looted, and more than thirty brothers were either burned alive by the Dragonfire or captured and sent to Dragon's Roost Port to do hard labor!"

Young Master Aeron barely managed to crawl out of a pile of corpses, with three arrows in his leg, the arrowheads of which were poisoned. He's still bedridden and can't get up, shouting for revenge every day!

These words further fueled the anger in the council chamber, and several young Ironborn even drew their weapons—axe blades and swords—from their waists.

It gleamed coldly in the torchlight.

"Charge to Dragon's Roost Port!"

"Chop up that Black Dragon!"

"Let the dragons of the Green Lands taste our might!"

The angry shouts shook the dust off the ceiling of the stone hall.

Aeron Harlaw, the only son of Theomore Harlaw's deceased brother, is also the key figure in the Ironborn's supply depot in the Summer Isles.

Since the Joint Fleet began patrolling the coast of Westeros, Gorne and Theomore had to find another way, eventually opening up a new triangular trade route Iron Islands Summer Isles, and Slaver's Bay.

This route successfully bypassed the patrol range of the Joint Fleet, allowing the Iron Islands to once again generate enormous wealth by trading the people, gems, and spices of the Summer Isles with the treasures of Slaver's Bay Iron Islands.

Aeron was the main person in charge of this golden route. He was young, ambitious, brave, and warlike, and was deeply trusted by his people and Theomore.

Three months ago, Aeron led five longships laden with captured slaves and goods to Slaver's Bay to trade with the Yunkai nobles, but was ambushed by a fleet led by Colin Celtigar in the Summer Sea.

Aeron's fleet was routed, and he himself was captured. According to his own account, he suffered greatly.

The soldiers of Celtigar branded his arms with red-hot irons, chained his ankles, and forced him to huddle with the slaves in the ship's hold, eating moldy food.

Later, after Larys Strong interrogated and drained him of his value, he advised Daemon that keeping Aeron alive was more useful than killing him.

Daemon took Larys's advice and deliberately had someone "accidentally not keep an eye on him," allowing Aeron to escape.

Aeron, who had escaped back to the Iron Islands, became even more irritable and easily angered. He began to clamor for revenge all day long, vividly describing to his people the cruelty of Daemon Blackfyre. He said that Daemon had not only cut off their source of income, but also humiliated the warriors of the Drowned God in Dragon's Roost Port, treating the captured Ironborn like livestock, making them pull ships and mine, and that any slight disobedience would result in being devoured by the dragon's Dragonfire.

He also said that Daemon once mocked the Ironborn's "Old Way" as the act of barbarians in front of all the prisoners, and ridiculed the Drowned God as a mere fabrication.

Theomore's fists clenched so tightly they cracked. He looked at Gorne, his voice low and thunderous. "Gorne, we've had enough."

Daemon Blackfyre killed our people, cut off our livelihood, and forced us to bow down to their dragons, yet they repeatedly provoke us, the children of the Drowned God— "

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the tribesmen present, his tone filled with resentment and anger. "You all know how much effort we put into opening up that new sea route to the Summer Isles?"

How much weaponry and food did we send to forge an alliance with the natives of the Summer Isles?

How many brothers died trying to open up the trade route to Slaver's Bay?

The triangular trade alone has brought more iron price coins to our Iron Islands this year than the entire archipelago's longships collectively plundered for three years in the past!

Now, Daemon Blackfyre has destroyed everything with just one sentence!

If we keep tolerating this, even without the Joint Fleet of the Targaryen Iron Throne or Daemon Blackfyre, our own people will rebel first!

Gorne Greyjoy's face was ashen as he helplessly watched his uncle, who had been teaching him the art of forbearance since childhood, stand before him.

It wasn't that he didn't want to rebel, but that he couldn't.

Damon Blackfire not only has dragons and improved warships, but also the support of the massive combined fleet of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros under the Iron Throne. No matter how valiant his Iron Islands fleet may be, they will never be a match for the Targaryen dragons.

But the fates of his second brother Dagon, and his third brother, Uragon, were still fresh in his mind. Dagon was the most cunning of the brothers, and Urgang was...

The most valiant of the brothers, yet they were all dead, all perished under the Dragonfire of Daemon Blackfyre, who was touring the Seven Kingdoms.

Furthermore, there was his half-brother, Bloodtooth Pyke, who was the first among his brothers to set sail independently. However, the Black Sails Fleet, which he had built with his own hands and was proud of, was burned to ashes by Dragonfire less than half a month after it appeared before Daemon Blackfyre. In the end, he was humiliatingly beheaded and sent to him.

In a way, it was "thanks" to Daemon Blackfyre that, thanks to his Dragonfire, he was able to choose to avoid Westeros and raid the Summer Isles in the Summer Sea under his Targaryen's guidance, and ultimately, by a twist of fate, inherit his father's Seastone Chair.

But the current situation no longer allowed him to tolerate it. "Those who own ships are never slaves; every captain is the king of his own ship."

"War is our rightful profession. The Drowned God created us to commit adultery and plunder, to create a new heaven and a new earth with blood, flames, and songs of joy, and to carve our names into it."

The eyes of the tribesmen below were filled with madness; if they didn't give an explanation soon, a mutiny was imminent.

These children of the Drowned God roared angrily from below the Seastone Chair.

"I will send an envoy to King's Landing," Gorne finally spoke, but his weary voice carried a hint of helplessness. "To the Green Lands, to their Small Council, to accuse that Black Dragon Slayer, Daemon Blackfyre, of waging war without authorization, slaughtering the people of the Drowned God, and disrupting our maritime trade."

"Give us an explanation from the King and his ministers of King's Landing. At the very least, make Daemon Blackfyre stop harassing our shipping lanes."

The one-eyed Ironborn captain below frowned. "Would those cowards from King's Landing help us?"

"They will." A calculating glint flashed in Gorne's eyes. "Daemon Blackfyre's power is growing, and those Green Lands nobles King's Landing Lands who, like some of you here, placed their bets early won't stand idly by and watch him become the dominant force."

The former Master of Laws, Lord Otto Hightower, had always disliked Daemon Blackfyre, and so did those Green Lands nobles who had placed their bets early on. Which of them would want to see a Black Dragon rise to power, wielding Dragonfire and real authority, controlling the Narrow Sea and its fleet?

"If we just make a big scene and let the nobles of the Green Lands know about the Black Dragon's ambitions, they will naturally step in to suppress him."

He looked at the man in front of him, his youngest uncle Theomore Harlaw, who had raised Aeron Harlaw: "Let Aeron go. He's the victim, and his words carry more weight."

Bring along our gifts for the King of Green Lands and his ministers: the gems of the Summer Isles, the spices of Slaver's Bay, and the same dragon-patterned dagger that Daemon Blackfyre stole from the captives.

Tell them that the Iron Islands are willing to continue to be subservient to the Iron Throne, only asking that Daemon Blackfyre be severely punished and that the trade routes we have pioneered be returned.

Theomore gritted his teeth and nodded. As shrewd and patient as he was, he finally understood.

He and his nephew were now in a precarious position, practically roasted by their subordinates. "Alright! I'll get to preparations now, and have Aeron set off tomorrow!"

The anger in the council hall gradually subsided, and as the clansmen dispersed, a hint of anticipation lingered on their faces.

Gorne watched their retreating figures, knowing it was merely a delaying tactic. He didn't expect King's Landing to truly punish the Black Dragon; he only hoped to buy some time to reorganize the fleet and find a way to counter the Dragonfire.

Theomore Harlaw silently walked to his side and whispered, "If King's Landing doesn't give us an explanation, we'll unite with the nobles of Slaver's Bay and the Triarchy, who just suffered a defeat at the Stepstones, and attack Dragon's Roost Port."

Gorne nodded silently. He knew this day would come sooner or later.

Black sails rose slowly in the twilight of the Iron Islands, and the salty sea breeze carrying the sound of the waves made the sound of Aeron Harlaw's cane tapping the deck all the more distinct.

He gently stroked the dagger inlaid with jewels from the Summer Isles at his waist; the unhealed arrow wound in his leg still throbbed, but the anger and ambition in his eyes burned brighter than the oil lamps in the cabin.

He was going to King's Landing to show the nobles of the Green Lands the "injustice" Drowned God Iron Islands, the Ironborn Islands, and to make Daemon Blackfyre pay for cutting off the sea lanes and slaughtering his people.

Gorne Greyjoy stood on the cliffs of Pyke, watching the longship carrying gifts and accusations cut through the dark waves of the bay and silently sail towards King's King's Landing in the distance.

His uncle Theomore Harlaw, placed a hand on his shoulder, his silver-grey beard fluttering in the wind. "Aeron will stir up trouble in King's Landing's Landing. Our time is running out."

Gorne didn't turn around, his gaze fixed on the rolling dark clouds in the distance. The coldness of the Seastone Chair seemed to still linger on his fingertips because he knew that this "accusation" sent to the Red Keep of King's Landing was both a delaying tactic and a die thrown into the power game of Westeros. When the die landed, it would either be the Ironborn's way out or a dead end where Dragonfire would burn everything.

The silhouette of the longship gradually disappeared on the horizon of the Sunset Sea, leaving only the sails bearing the golden sea monster of the Gorne House Greyjoy Greyjoy House Harlaw, the current King of the Iron Islands, gleaming with a final, cold light in the setting sun.

The Red Keep in King's Landing's Landing, the Conciliator on the Iron Throne, Prince of Spring Dawn, the Crown Hand of the King and Prime Minister at the Small Council, the menacing nobles, and Prince Blackfyre, wielding Dragonfire, are all awaiting this "judgment" delivered to them by the Ironborn of the Iron Islands.

The impending Storm had already been quietly gathering on the seas along the coast of Westeros.