Dawn painted the sky a pale, fish-belly white.
In the early sunlight, a merchant ship sailed slowly across the calm sea.
"Knock, knock, knock."
"My lord, breakfast is ready."
Old Shark stood outside the cabin, bowing respectfully, holding a wooden tray laden with dried meat and steaming porridge.
Old Shark's father had given him his name.
An Ironborn whose ancestors had lived in the Iron Islands for generations, his father had hoped he would be like a shark in the sea: fierce, domineering, devouring everything in sight.
But Old Shark had disappointed his father.
Timid since childhood, he did not go about burning, killing, and plundering like ordinary Ironborn. Old Shark only liked trading.
He traveled between the ports of the Westerlands and the Iron Islands year-round, and over the decades, reselling goods between the two places had earned him quite a few Gold Dragons.
"Stay calm. Don't make trouble."
That was Old Shark's approach to business. Those two sentences had kept him alive and safe to this day.
Meanwhile, the friends he had grown up with had either been killed while plundering or starved to death because they could not earn any money.
Even his father, who had been so disappointed in him, had died beneath a knight's sword while boarding a ship to plunder it twenty years ago.
"I told you, Shark."
"Don't call me my lord. I'm no lord."
The cabin door opened, and a thin man stepped out. Seeing Old Shark bent so low that his head nearly touched the floor, he shook his head helplessly.
He had no idea how this fellow, who claimed to have grown up in the Iron Islands, could be so timid.
The Iron Islands lay northwest of the Westerlands, with the Twins to their east. Sailing across the Sunset Sea would bring one to the North.
The soil here was barren, the commoners had hardly any farmland to cultivate, and mineral resources were scarce, leaving most Ironborn to make their living by plundering.
Simply put, they usually seemed like harmless commoners, but at any moment, they could transform into pirates capable of every evil!
"My lord, please have your breakfast."
As though he had not heard the man's reminder, Old Shark continued to address him respectfully as "my lord" and walked into the cabin to set the tray on the table.
Old Shark had a keen eye. Though the man before him wore no particularly lavish clothes, his fair skin and the composure in his every movement were things no ordinary commoner could fake.
Most importantly, he was rich!
In his decades as a merchant, Old Shark had never met anyone so generous with money apart from the Lannister lords of the Westerlands.
Since the man had also boarded at Lannisport, Old Shark had concluded without hesitation that he must be a nobleman from the Westerlands.
What? Merchants who did big business were rich too?
True, merchants were certainly rich, but in Old Shark's experience, the richer a merchant was, the stingier he became. They wished they could take every advantage the world had to offer and would never spend as freely as the man before him...
Seeing that Old Shark remained so respectful, the man could not be bothered to explain. He sat on a stool and began eating a breakfast that was not particularly tasty, but was nutritious enough.
To curry favor with him, Old Shark had even thoughtfully prepared a small plate of fruit, something very precious aboard a ship.
"Shark, how much longer until we reach the Iron Islands?"
With his somewhat pale fingers, Pike placed a piece of fruit in his mouth, savoring the refreshing sweetness so rare during a voyage.
He had not returned to the Iron Islands in who knew how many years, and his recollection of the journey had grown somewhat hazy.
"We've already entered Iron Islands waters, my lord."
Old Shark waited at Pike's side like a personal attendant, ready at any moment to serve this "great nobleman" from the Westerlands.
"We should reach Pyke in another two days."
"Pyke..."
Hearing that name, both familiar and strange, Pike turned a nostalgic gaze northward, seemingly lost in memory.
Yes, Pike had originally been an... Ironborn from the Iron Islands.
Just as bastards in the North bore the surname Snow and bastards in Dorne bore the surname Sand, bastards born in the Iron Islands all shared the same surname-Pike!
When Pike had chosen to leave the Iron Islands and become an ordinary commoner in the Westerlands, he had abandoned his old name. From then on, he had called himself "Pike."
Just as the cabin was growing quiet, the ship suddenly rocked violently.
Then a noisy clamor erupted outside, disrupting Pike's thoughts.
The two exchanged a glance and immediately went out to see what was happening.
Old Shark moved a little faster and went out first, while Pike concealed himself in a corner by the doorway.
As soon as he emerged, he saw that a group of men dressed in hemp cloth had already subdued all the sailors on deck.
Their weapons were a motley assortment. Some carried harpoons, others curved swords. They clearly did not look like professional pirates.
"Ironborn!"
Pike's pupils contracted slightly. In these waters, only the Ironborn, long renowned for their ferocity, would dare rob merchant ships with weapons like those.
"One-Eyed Jamie!"
To Pike's surprise, Old Shark seemed to know these men. He walked straight toward a one-eyed man who appeared to be their leader.
Seeing the girl held captive in One-Eyed Jamie's arms-his daughter, Windsor-Old Shark flew into a rage and strode forward, shouting:
"What are you trying to do?"
"Don't forget, this shipping route belongs to Lord Balon!"
One-Eyed Jamie held a three-section harpoon, its sharp point pressed against Windsor's neck. A thin trickle of crimson blood ran slowly down the girl's less-than-fair skin.
"Oh, Old Shark, you really have gone senile."
Sticking out his tongue, One-Eyed Jamie licked the face of Windsor, who trembled in his arms. He closed his remaining eye, as though savoring the girl's sweet taste.
He tightened his grip on Windsor again, holding her fast against him and rubbing himself against her:
"Tell me, what are House Greyjoy's words?"
"'We Do Not Sow.' That's how we Ironborn survive."
"Since you won't marry Windsor to me, I had no choice but to bring my men and take her myself, in keeping with fine Ironborn tradition!"
"You..."
Faced with his arrogance, the normally good-tempered Old Shark was so angry that he struggled to speak.
Over the years, his knack for keeping on good terms with everyone had meant that Old Shark had encountered almost no danger on his trading voyages.
Even when he occasionally encountered pirates, invoking King Balon's name was enough for them to show respect by collecting a token toll and letting them pass.
The price was that Old Shark handed over seventy percent of all his trading income to the ruler of the Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy.
"Aren't you afraid of Lord Balon's wrath?"
With things having come to this, Old Shark could only invoke Balon's name again, hoping it would give the other man pause.
But reality was always cruel. A figure slipped behind him without his noticing.
With a thud, Old Shark's vision went black, and he collapsed to the deck.
When he recovered his senses, he found that an Ironborn wielding a curved sword had already bound his hands tightly.
"You damned old bastard!"
One-Eyed Jamie seemed to bitterly resent Old Shark. He shoved Windsor into a companion's arms and walked toward Old Shark, cursing with every step, before raising his foot and stamping hard on his hand:
"I showed you plenty of respect! I scraped together two Gold Dragons to marry Windsor."
"But you arrogant bastard actually dared refuse!"
"Do you think your daughter's some noble lady from the Westerlands?"
As he spoke, he ground his foot back and forth twice on Old Shark's hand, making him cry out in pain.
As though that still had not vented his anger, One-Eyed Jamie spat in Old Shark's face, then turned and walked toward Windsor again.
A large hand, calloused from years of fishing, seized the girl's delicate face, and he bared two rows of black teeth caked with filth:
"I'm going to fuck this little whore who pretends she's so innocent right in front of you, then let every man here have a turn!"
"Once she's all used up, you'll have to pay me ten Gold Dragons before I'll agree to marry her! Hahaha!"
"Hahaha!"
One-Eyed Jamie's words drew a burst of laughter from the Ironborn aboard the ship. All of them cast lustful gazes at Windsor, silently praying they would get their turn ahead of the others.
After all, this was Windsor, the most beautiful woman in the Iron Islands!
"Tap... tap... tap..."
Just as Old Shark was about to despair, crisp footsteps rang out. A thin figure had appeared on deck at some point and was slowly approaching One-Eyed Jamie.
"My lord!"
Seeing Pike appear, Old Shark, who was pinned firmly to the deck, could no longer spare any thought for his captive daughter and hurriedly shouted:
"Please, hurry back to your cabin and hide! This has nothing to do with you."
"These are King Balon's shipping lanes. They wouldn't dare kill a Westerlands nobleman here."
Hearing Old Shark call him a Westerlands nobleman, the Ironborn were so afraid of the Lannisters that, for a moment, not one dared step forward to block his path.
Pike ignored Old Shark's cries and did not even turn to look at him.
He simply approached One-Eyed Jamie with slow, steady steps, watching him with interest. A red gleam seemed to flash through his eyes.
"What are you looking at, pretty boy?"
Though he was somewhat wary of the man's status, as their leader, One-Eyed Jamie could hardly lose face in front of so many Ironborn:
"Listen here, I don't care whether you're a Westerlands nobleman. Kill a man out on this vast sea, and no one will ever know!"
"Relax, you fellow with only one eye left."
Pike paid no heed to One-Eyed Jamie's bluster. He merely pointed at the oddly shaped harpoon in the man's hand, looking deeply interested:
"I only want to make a trade with you."
"A trade?"
Failing to grasp Pike's meaning, his lone eye flashed, as though something had occurred to him.
Licking his dry lips, One-Eyed Jamie immediately demanded an exorbitant price:
"I know you Westerlands nobles are all rich."
"How about this? Give me five thousand Gold Dragons, and I'll take my men and leave immediately."
"No, no, no..."
Pike shook his head and gently rested a hand on the harpoon One-Eyed Jamie held. He grinned happily, revealing two rows of sharp teeth that seemed to bear the dark red traces of blood.
His voice gradually grew hoarse, like a vengeful spirit come to claim a life:
"The trade I mean is that you give me this thing."
"And the price is..."
"Let me cut off your heads!"