Balon nodded and pushed the letter across the table. Asha unfolded it, and as she finished reading, her brow slowly furrowed too.
"Are these his only terms? He wants us to abandon the Old Way? Nothing else?"
Asha set the letter back on the table and said calmly, "This Targaryen Dragonlord has grown too comfortable on the Iron Throne in King's Landing. He thinks everyone in the world will kneel to him of their own accord, like those spineless cowards in the Riverlands."
"He doesn't just want us to abandon the Old Way," Balon said in a low voice. "He wants us to bend the knee, lock our longships in harbor, and make the Ironborn till the soil like farmers in the green lands."
Asha said nothing. She simply looked at her father.
"Where's Theon? Why didn't he come with you? Haven't you two been together all this time?" Balon asked.
"He's still on his way. He went down to the docks today to look at the merchant ships that just arrived." A trace of resignation crept into Asha's voice, barely perceptible. She pursed her lips and said, "He still isn't used to the steps here. He nearly fell just now."
At that, the corner of Balon's mouth twitched. Whether it was a smile or something else was hard to tell.
Theon had been back in the Iron Islands for some time, but he still had not fully found his place here.
He had spent too long in the green lands. Having grown up in Winterfell, he bore the stamp of House Stark too deeply. The Ironborn looked at him as though he were a stranger, an outsider clad in iron armor.
A little while later, Victarion Greyjoy strode in.
He was Balon's youngest brother, the Lord Commander of the