The roaring on the hill rolled on and on, like furious waves battering the cliffs of Pyke.
Euron Greyjoy stood at the center of the frenzy.
His single eye swept over faces twisted by greed and bloodlust, and the smile on his lips grew ever more deranged.
He loved this feeling.
Blending fear and desire into a poison called "loyalty," then feeding it to these foolish Ironborn with his own hands.
He casually slung the ominous Dragonbinder over his shoulder, then helped Theon up from where he knelt before him.
"Look!"
Euron gripped Theon's shoulders and turned him toward the Ironborn.
"Now this is my worthy nephew! This is the blood of House Greyjoy!"
"Look at the fire in his eyes! That is the fire of vengeance! A fire that can burn the entire North to ashes!"
Theon trembled slightly, no longer from fear, but from an excitement unlike anything he had ever felt.
He could feel countless gazes fixed on him.
There was no longer contempt or mockery in those eyes.
Instead, there was awe, envy, and fervor!
He was no longer the weakling raised by northerners, no longer a hostage who scarcely mattered.
At that moment, he was a hero!
A conqueror who would lead the Ironborn to glory!
He drew a deep breath. Cold sea wind filled his lungs, and even his blood seemed to take on the salty tang of the sea.
This feeling... was wonderful.
Asha stood outside the crowd, watching coldly.
As she watched her brother dance in Euron's palm, his face flushed with excitement, an indescribable irritation welled up inside her.
She knew Euron was a madman.
But she had never imagined that Theon would fall under a madman's spell so easily.
Prince of the North? Riding a dragon?
*Even a three-year-old wouldn't