CHAPTER 134
The Iron Islands, Pyke, Council Hall.
The salty sea wind, like the caress of a dead man, swept through Pyke's towering keeps and damp courtyards, yet it could not disperse the stagnant smell of blood hanging over the hall. Balon Greyjoy sat upon the Seastone Chair, carved in the likeness of a twisted kraken, his expression dark with unrestrained fury. His fingers dug into the armrests until his knuckles turned white, as though he meant to crush the ancient stone itself.
"Euron."
His deep voice carried naked murderous intent.
"You dare return and stand before me!"
Euron Crow's Eye Greyjoy stood in the center of the hall, his soot-black scale armor stained with blood, his lone eye burning like green wildfire upon the sea as it remained fixed on his elder brother.
"Why not?" he replied hoarsely, his voice scraping like a dull blade dragged across bone, carrying clearly throughout the hall. "Balon, we underestimated the North. We underestimated Glover! Your daughter, Asha, was defeated and captured by Glover the moment she landed at Sea Dragon Point, and our brother, Victarion, Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet, was personally slain by Glover at the Battle of Ox Horn Mountain. We were wrong. Terribly wrong!"
Ignoring the fury rising within Balon, Euron suddenly spread his arms wide, almost frenzied in his movements. When he spoke of Victarion's death, there was not the slightest trace of grief in his voice, only the cold regret reserved for a broken tool.
"Wrong?" Balon made no attempt to conceal the killing intent blazing in his eyes. "If there was any mistake, it was believing your madness! You cost the Iron Islands one third of their strength and allowed my heir to be taken captive. Euron, you should never have returned. Now you will pay the price for your failure!"
He lifted his hand, preparing to order his guards to seize Euron and cast him into the dungeons.
Before the command could be given, Euron burst into manic laughter that quickly transformed into a voice filled with irresistible temptation.
"Haha!"
"Failure? Balon, who told you we failed? Don't forget, we still have dragons. Real dragons! As long as we control them, the whole world will pay us the iron price..."
The instant those words left his mouth, Balon realized disaster had struck.
"Shut up!"
He cut Euron off with a furious roar.
But it was already too late.
The mere mention of dragons instantly seized the attention of every captain gathered within the hall.
"Dragons?"
"There are dragons in the North?"
"King Balon, what dragons is Crow's Eye talking about?"
The captains whispered among themselves, while several veteran captains openly questioned Balon, unable to hide the greed shining in their eyes. After all, dragons had been the foundation upon which House Targaryen ruled the Seven Kingdoms for nearly three centuries.
The murmurs caused Balon's face to darken further.
"Dragons?"
He slowly rose from the Seastone Chair, his sharp gaze sweeping across everyone present until the hall gradually fell silent once more. Though age had found him, none present dared forget Balon's authority.
"For those imaginary dragons, Victarion's Iron Fleet has been annihilated and my heir has become a captive. One third of the Iron Islands' strength now lies buried beneath the frozen soil of the North, yet you return and tell me we should go again? All because of some fantasy you brought back from the Shadow Lands?"
Those words gradually cooled the excitement spreading through the hall.
Balon's hawk-like gaze swept across the captains as he suppressed his anger.
"What we should do now is return to our islands like wounded sea beasts, lick our wounds, and wait for another opportunity. We should send envoys to Winterfell and negotiate. Even if we must pay a price, we will bring Asha home. She is my heir. She carries the blood of House Greyjoy. I will not allow you to lead what remains of the Iron Islands into destruction while chasing a mirage."
Euron answered with a sharp, cruel laugh.
"Asha?"
He stepped forward without the slightest fear until only a short distance separated the brothers, close enough to smell the wine and murderous intent upon each other's breath.
"My dear brother, have you grown so old that you can no longer tell seawater from wine? The South is engulfed in war. Lannister, Baratheon, Tully, Stark, they are all expanding their power, yet you would have us cower upon the Iron Islands and accomplish nothing. All for your precious daughter?"
He spread his hands dramatically before looking toward the assembled captains, causing whispers to spread through the hall once again. In only a few sentences, he shifted the focus from his disastrous defeat to Balon's conservative policy.
Balon refused to be manipulated.
"It is because of your mad scheme that we are forced to hide like frightened beasts!"
Euron immediately roared back.
"It is your cowardice! Had you committed more Ironborn to my campaign, Winterfell would already belong to us!"
The brothers' argument clashed like ringing steel, filling the hall with invisible sparks.
The captains remained silent as winter insects. None dared involve themselves in the conflict between the Greyjoy brothers. Some breathed heavily, their eyes gleaming with greed as visions of dragons and conquest stirred within them. Others leaned toward Balon's caution, believing the Iron Islands had already sacrificed enough.
For a long while, neither side gave ground.
In the end, the argument produced no victor.
Euron turned sharply and strode out of the Council Hall without another word.
Balon remained seated upon the Seastone Chair, his bloodshot eyes filled with fury, sorrow, and murderous intent.
"It is time for Euron to leave the Iron Islands. If I allow him to remain, he will only tempt more captains into following his madness. Damn you, Euron. Were you not my own brother, I would have taken your head long ago."
Mindful of the curse of kinslaying, Balon resolved to banish Euron from the Iron Islands at first light.
Having made his decision, he rose and departed the Great Keep, crossing the rope bridges that linked the sea stacks toward the Sea Tower. By then, night had fully fallen, and heavy rain battered the ancient stone, masking every unwanted sound. Long accustomed to the harsh weather of the Iron Islands, Balon continued forward with steady steps until he reached the final bridge, where a familiar figure blocked his path.
"Euron, what do you want?"
Euron calmly looked at his brother.
"The Iron Islands have no need for a weak king."
Balon instantly realized something was wrong. Slowly retreating, he demanded, "You intend to commit kinslaying? That is a sin the Drowned God will never forgive!"
To his surprise, Euron burst into strange laughter.
"Kinslaying? The Drowned God? Haha..."
When the laughter subsided, he strode toward Balon.
"My dear elder brother, do you truly believe Harlon died of greyscale? The day after I killed him, I deliberately walked to the shore to see whether your Drowned God would punish me. And what happened?"
He shook his head, a frenzied smile spreading across his face.
"Nothing. Your god does not exist."
Euron seized Balon, who was already swaying upon the rain-slick bridge.
"My god is the only true god, and anyone who dares defy him will find only death."
Without waiting for Balon to reply, he shoved him from the bridge.
In an instant, Balon Greyjoy plunged into the bottomless darkness below.
Euron lingered only briefly before disappearing into the storm.
Rodrik Harlaw's heart pounded violently, but he still spoke in a hoarse voice. "I will swear my allegiance, but I have one condition. I want to write to Winterfell and ransom Asha back. She is, after all, King Balon's only surviving child." Rodrik deliberately emphasized the words "only surviving child," subtly reminding Euron that Asha could not threaten his claim to the Seastone Chair. Hearing this, the other captains nodded one after another.
"Yes, it is time to bring Captain Asha home."
"Indeed, King Balon had only one child left..."
The murmurs spread throughout the hall, and with a single glance Euron realized he could not reject the request.
"Very well, I agree. You may write to Winterfell, but if Stark's demands are too excessive, do not blame me for refusing."
He looked Rodrik Harlaw up and down with a strange smile curling at the corners of his lips. Rodrik nodded before dropping to one knee and swearing fealty. Euron burst into laughter.
"Spread the word. The Iron Islands will begin selecting new men for the Iron Fleet."
As Euron issued his command, a raven carrying a letter written in a code understood only by Rodrik Harlaw and Asha Greyjoy spread its wings toward Winterfell.
The Stormlands.
Roughly ten leagues northeast of Storm's End lay a broad green meadow dotted with pale mushrooms and freshly cut tree stumps. It had been chosen as the meeting place between King Stannis Baratheon and King Renly Baratheon.
When Catelyn Stark arrived, the field was still empty.
"Lady, it seems we are the first to arrive."
Ser Harris Mollen, bearing the direwolf banner of House Stark, rode beside her.
Catelyn nodded and surveyed the surroundings. To the south, the mighty walls of Storm's End rose beneath the gray sky, hiding the sea beyond. To the northeast, Stannis's soldiers were assembling siege engines in preparation for an assault, yet compared with Storm's End's colossal walls, his army appeared insignificant.
Catelyn sighed inwardly. Robb had originally sent her to Bitterbridge to persuade Stannis and Renly to unite against the Lannisters, but neither brother had any intention of reconciliation. Instead, each insisted on defeating the other first.
After realizing peace was impossible, Ser Harris and the others accompanying her had urged her to return to Riverrun. However, Renly had informed her that her youngest son, Rickon, was being sheltered on Dragonstone. With that knowledge, she had no choice but to remain and seek his return.
As Catelyn considered how best to begin, two riders emerged slowly from Stannis's camp.
As they drew closer, she recognized Stannis Baratheon, wearing a golden crown. Beside him rode a beautiful woman dressed in the crimson robes of a red priestess, carrying a crowned stag banner encircled by flames.
"A red priestess?"
Catelyn recalled stories of the strange eastern faith, curiosity flashing across her eyes.
Stannis soon reined in his horse before her.
"Lady Stark."
"My Lord Stannis."
He gave a brief nod, as always dispensing with unnecessary pleasantries.
"I deeply regret your husband's death. Though Eddard Stark was never my friend, because he entrusted your son to Dragonstone, I chose to shelter him."
Seeing Stannis mention Rickon first, Catelyn immediately seized the opportunity.
"Thank you for protecting him, Your Grace. House Stark will never forget your kindness. When will you allow Rickon to return to me?"
Stannis's expression remained cold.
"When your son kneels before me and swears fealty."
Catelyn's heart sank.
Her greatest fear had become reality.
Ever since learning Rickon was on Dragonstone, she had suspected this might happen.
"My lord," she pleaded softly, "my husband entrusted Rickon to you because he believed in your honor. Rickon cannot aid your cause. For the sake of the gods, please return him to me. You will gain the friendship of House Stark and all the North."
Stannis remained unmoved.
"A king has no friends. Only subjects and enemies."
Catelyn fell silent.
Just then, a cheerful voice drifted from behind.
"Surely a king may still have brothers."
Catelyn turned to see Renly Baratheon approaching beside Brienne of Tarth. Renly halted his horse to her right and stared curiously at the flaming stag banner carried beside Stannis.
"Is that truly your banner, Stannis?"
Stannis frowned.
"Whose else would it be?"
Renly shrugged lazily.
"From a distance I could hardly tell. Are you certain that is the banner you wish to fly?"
"It is mine."
Melisandre spoke calmly.
"His Grace now bears the flaming heart of the Lord of Light."
Interest flickered across Renly's face as he carefully studied the red priestess.
Seeing both kings present, Catelyn spoke once more.
"No matter what divides you, you still share a common enemy. Why not unite against the Lannisters first?"
Stannis regarded her without changing expression.
"The Iron Throne belongs to me. Whoever denies that is my enemy."
Renly laughed.
"Brother, the whole realm denies it. Even our elder brother, before he died, chose to legitimize his bastard rather than pass the crown to you."
Stannis clenched his jaw.
"Bastards have no right to inherit House Baratheon's name. Only I am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."
Renly nodded.
"True enough. A bastard remains a bastard, even when legitimized. What claim does he have to inherit what should rightfully be mine?"
Stannis corrected him immediately.
"Mine."
Unable to endure the argument any longer, Catelyn raised her voice.
"Everything the two of you are saying is madness. Lord Tywin still commands twenty thousand men at Harrenhal. Fresh levies are gathering at Casterly Rock. Cersei and her son still occupy King's Landing and the Iron Throne you both claim. Meanwhile the realm bleeds. Is no one willing to defend the kingdom besides my son?"
Renly merely shrugged.
"Robb Stark has won several battles. I intend to win the entire war. One step at a time. Once I finish here, I shall deal with the Lannisters."
Stannis ignored her completely.
"If there is nothing more to discuss, I will leave."
Renly's tone became more serious.
"Very well. Then I suggest you dismount, kneel before me, and swear fealty."
For a brief instant, Stannis nearly drew his sword.
"You will never see that day."
"So there is nothing left to discuss?"
Renly smiled leisurely before reaching inside his cloak.
Stannis instantly grasped the hilt of Lightbringer.
Instead of a weapon, Renly withdrew... a peach.
"Would you like one? Brother, before tomorrow's battle, why not enjoy a peach? They came from the Reach. I promise you have never tasted anything sweeter."
Stannis's patience finally snapped.
"I did not come here to eat fruit."
He drew Lightbringer in a single motion.
"I have no wish to stain my sword with the blood of my own brother. For the sake of the woman who gave us birth, I grant you one final night. Swear fealty before dawn, and I shall confirm you as Lord of Storm's End and even name you my heir until such time as I have a son."
Renly laughed, stepped aside, and gestured toward the vast host behind him.
"Do you truly believe your army can defeat mine?"
Stannis snorted.
"We shall see, brother. Dawn will reveal the truth."
He then turned toward Catelyn.
"My offer remains unchanged. If your son kneels and swears fealty, I will preserve the North for him. Otherwise, Robb Stark's fate will be no different from Renly's."
Without waiting for an answer, Stannis wheeled his horse around and rode back toward his camp. Melisandre cast one long, strange glance at both Renly and Catelyn before silently following him.
Renly ignored the warning entirely, laughed again, and escorted Catelyn back to his pavilion.
Along the way, Catelyn could not stop thinking about Stannis's words or the unsettling gaze of the red priestess. For reasons she could not explain, unease settled deep within her heart.
She exchanged polite conversation with Renly while continuing to wonder how she might safely rescue Rickon. As for reconciling the Baratheon brothers, she had completely abandoned that hope.
Inside Renly's command tent, the great lords of the Reach and Stormlands had already gathered, loudly discussing tomorrow's battle with complete confidence that Stannis would be crushed.
Catelyn listened absentmindedly, her thoughts remaining fixed upon Rickon.
Only after darkness had fully fallen and the lords gradually departed did she return to her senses.
At that point only Renly, Brienne, and Catelyn remained inside the tent.
Seeing the sorrow on Catelyn's face, Renly guessed she was still worried about Rickon. Hoping to secure House Stark's support, he decided to promise that once he defeated Stannis, he would personally see Rickon safely returned.
But just as he opened his mouth, his shadow, cast upon the canvas by the candlelight, suddenly rose unnaturally, a sword appearing in its hand.
Catelyn and Brienne realized at once that something was terribly wrong.
"Your Grace, look out!"
The instant Catelyn cried the warning, the shadow slashed across Renly's throat.
Blood sprayed through the tent.
"Your Grace!"
Brienne screamed in despair, catching Renly as he collapsed.
"So... cold..."
Renly whispered weakly, blood pouring endlessly from the wound.
The great lords of the Reach and Stormlands, hearing Brienne's scream, rushed back into the tent.
"King Renly!"
They stared in horror as Renly's life faded away while the sword-wielding shadow disappeared before their eyes.
"Sorcery!"
"Who used this cursed shadow magic to murder His Grace?"
"I'll kill whoever did this!"
The nobles stared at one another in confusion while only Brienne's anguished sobs echoed through the tent.
Before long, the entire camp fell into chaos.
Realizing the situation had become dangerous, Catelyn immediately gathered her escort and departed under cover of darkness, riding hard toward Riverrun.
Meanwhile, inside Stannis's camp, Stannis silently gazed toward Renly's encampment as though he had long expected the outcome.
"Brother... forgive me."
His quiet murmur disappeared into the night wind.
Without delay, he ordered Ser Davos Seaworth to move against Renly's leaderless host.
Renly's camp immediately descended into complete disorder.
By the following morning, apart from the Reach forces withdrawn under Randyll Tarly, nearly all of the Stormlands had bent the knee to King Stannis.
With that, the flames of war turned toward King's Landing.
Far away in the North, Garon, having completed the campaign to hunt down the remaining Ironborn, finally resolved to return to Winterfell and report everything to House Stark.
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