The sunset's dying light spread across the Sunset Sea like a flowing sheet of blood.
The sails of the Iron Victory billowed in the evening wind.
On the black canvas, a golden kraken stretched out in the wind, its countless tentacles thrashing wildly, as though it meant to leap from the banner and devour men.
Victarion Greyjoy stood at the bow, one hand resting on the haft of his battle axe, his gaze sweeping over the Ironborn captains gathered around him.
These were hard men chosen from every island.
Missing ears, scarred faces, severed fingers-they were everywhere.
To them, these mutilations were not flaws but proof of their ferocity, scars of honor earned in countless raids.
They were all old pirates who had spent half their lives amid the waves, every man's hands steeped in the stench of blood that would never wash away.
Victarion tapped the letter spread across a barrel, his voice rough. "Tywin Lannister has handed us Lannisport on a platter."
"Tell me, what's his game? Do we wade into this mess or not?"
The moment he finished, an Ironborn captain missing half his left ear slammed down his wineskin with a bang and roared, spittle flying:
"We do! Why the hell wouldn't we? The meat's already at our lips! Only a gutless eunuch would spit it out!"
"What else could that old bastard Tywin be thinking?"
"The Targaryen dragons must have scared him shitless! He's running off to the Green Lands with his tail between his legs and wants us to guard his door!"
That struck a chord with many of the Ironborn captains.
To these pirates, who lived for plunder, there was no reason to refuse a feast delivered to their mouths. The bow erupted into a clamor.
"Exactly! The whole garrison's pulled out! Lannisport's