CHAPTER 159
Garon of the White Staff was an Ironborn who lived during the Age of Heroes and was remembered as one of the greatest priests of the Drowned God.
He wielded a white staff carved from weirwood, using it to punish those who strayed from the Drowned God's faith.
His name spread throughout the history of the Iron Islands because he was the one who ended the divisions between the islands and convened the first Kingsmoot attended by all Ironborn.
Under his guidance and blessing, the first High King, a ruler above all the petty kings of the Iron Islands, was chosen.
Later, when the son of that first High King attempted to inherit the crown directly without calling a Kingsmoot, Garon of the White Staff once again stepped forward. He gathered the captains and kings upon Old Wyk, deposed the would-be king, and preserved forever the sacred authority of the Kingsmoot.
Without him, there would have been no Kingsmoot and no united Iron Islands.
Across countless generations, Garon of the White Staff attained an unparalleled reputation among the Ironborn.
Many even elevated him beyond a mere priest, calling him the messenger of the Drowned God walking among mortals.
Therefore, the moment Rodrik Harlaw shouted, "Garon of the White Staff..."
Every captain who knew the ancient legends stared at the newly revived white weirwood staff, then at Garon standing calmly beside it despite the astonishment in his own eyes.
Their hearts were instantly overwhelmed by indescribable reverence and fanatical faith.
"It's Garon of the White Staff!"
"Praise the Drowned God!"
"The Drowned God's most faithful messenger has returned to the world!"
"The glory of the Iron Islands shall rise once more!"
The cries rose one after another until they merged into an overwhelming tide.
Faced with such an undeniable miracle and a legend brought back to life, every scheme, every fear, and even their hostility toward the North suddenly seemed insignificant.
In their eyes, Garon Glover was no longer an invading Northern lord.
He had become the incarnation of the Drowned God's holy messenger walking among men.
He was one of them.
As the center of all those shouts, Garon paused briefly while searching through the memories of his previous life.
Within moments, he remembered the stories recorded in The World of Ice and Fire about Garon of the White Staff presiding over the Kingsmoot and crowning the first High King of the Iron Islands.
"So this is Garon of the White Staff..."
"This has nothing to do with the Drowned God."
"It's simply the blessing of the Old Gods."
"I never expected the Old Gods' blessing they bestowed upon me to become useful here."
Recalling Euron's sorcery just moments ago, Garon lowered his eyes toward the warm, jade-like weirwood staff resting in his hand.
A bold idea suddenly emerged.
"If that's the case..."
"Why not become Garon of the White Staff?"
"The authority of a god is far stronger than political authority."
"With this identity, binding the Iron Islands to me will be far easier than merely controlling Asha."
A cold light flashed through Garon's crimson eyes.
He looked toward Euron, whose face had frozen from the sudden reversal, before striding toward him.
"No..."
"Impossible!"
"How could you be Garon of the White Staff?!"
Fear, disbelief and madness spread across Euron's face as Garon approached with the glowing white staff.
His remaining eye turned bloodshot.
"Die, you wildling bastard!"
He attempted to invoke his strange magic once again.
Unfortunately...
Garon never intended to give him another opportunity.
His body flashed sideways.
Appearing beside Euron, he raised the white staff high before smashing it downward with overwhelming force.
Boom!
The staff crashed into Euron's head.
The tremendous impact instantly knocked him onto the ground.
The power carried within the weirwood effortlessly dispersed the remaining traces of Euron's dark sorcery.
Once stripped of that unnatural power, he was nothing more than a heavily wounded man.
"Hmph..."
"No..."
"The Drowned God..."
"It's fake..."
"How... how is this possible..."
Blood mixed with foam spilled from Euron's lips as he struggled to rise.
But his shattered body and heavy chains firmly pinned him to the ground.
Garon watched him coldly.
His crimson eyes flashed with icy resolve.
Raising the white staff high above his head, he proclaimed for everyone to hear.
"Euron Greyjoy murdered his own brother."
"He usurped the Seastone Chair."
"He abandoned the Drowned God's teachings and sought the power of dark gods."
"He has defied the will of the Drowned God."
"In the name of the Drowned God..."
"I judge him guilty."
As the final words echoed across the courtyard, Garon swung the weirwood staff down with tremendous force.
Crack!
Euron's neck snapped instantly.
His body twitched several times upon the stone ground.
His remaining eye remained filled with unwillingness until the very last trace of life faded away.
At last...
Crow's Eye was dead.
Garon let out a slow breath.
Leaning lightly upon the white staff, he calmly surveyed everyone gathered before the temple.
Every Ironborn captain who met his gaze immediately lowered himself to one knee.
Their faces overflowed with awe and reverence toward Garon of the White Staff.
Asha remained completely stunned.
"Garon..."
"Garon of the White Staff?"
"But..."
"He's clearly a Glover..."
"How could the Drowned God choose someone who worships the Old Gods as His messenger?"
Countless conflicting emotions surged through her heart.
Shock.
Confusion.
Disbelief.
Meanwhile, Garon remained perfectly calm.
His thoughts raced rapidly.
"Now is the perfect opportunity."
"I'll imitate the deeds of Garon of the White Staff."
"I'll personally crown Asha."
"Once that happens..."
"Her legitimacy will forever be tied to mine."
"She'll never be able to separate herself from me."
Garon understood better than anyone what that coronation would represent.
The moment Asha accepted the blessing of Garon of the White Staff, her authority would surpass even Balon's.
Yet that authority would exist only because of his identity.
From this day onward...
Asha herself would have to defend the existence of Garon of the White Staff.
Should anyone deny his identity...
They would naturally question the legitimacy of her coronation.
Her entire rule would crumble with it.
Looking toward Asha, who still stood frozen in disbelief, Garon slowly inhaled before lifting the white staff and walking toward her.
He gently took her slightly cold right hand and led her before the wooden table outside the temple.
"Ironborn."
His voice was calm.
Yet every person present heard it with absolute clarity.
"Evil has fallen."
"Just as the ancient legends foretold."
"The Drowned God has not abandoned His people."
The kneeling Ironborn instantly became even more excited.
They repeatedly lowered their heads in worship.
Not far away, however, the Northern soldiers exchanged uncertain glances.
None of them knew whether they ought to kneel.
As for the Skagosi...
They remained utterly dumbfounded after witnessing everything that had just occurred.
They simply stared blankly at Garon.
Seeing this, Garon subtly glanced toward Ron and Mihawk.
The two immediately understood.
Without drawing attention, they quietly withdrew the Northern soldiers from the courtyard.
Once the Northerners had left...
Garon raised his voice once again.
"And now..."
"The rightful heir shall return."
Turning sideways, he gently rested the tip of the white staff upon Asha Greyjoy's shoulder.
The gesture was solemn.
Sacred.
"By the authority granted to me by the Drowned God..."
"And in the name of this white staff..."
"I witness and proclaim."
"Asha Greyjoy..."
"Daughter of King Balon Greyjoy."
"The lawful and rightful heir to the Seastone Chair."
"From this day forth..."
"She shall wear the driftwood crown..."
"And rule the Ironborn."
After speaking, Garon laid the white staff gently upon the wooden table.
Using both hands, he lifted the rough driftwood crown.
Though plain in appearance...
Its meaning outweighed any golden crown forged in Westeros.
"Kneel before me, Your Grace."
He spoke softly.
Yet his voice carried irresistible authority.
At that moment...
He was no longer the Lord of Deepwood Motte.
He stood as the priest who carried out the will of the Drowned God.
Almost instinctively...
Asha obeyed.
She slowly knelt before him.
Garon carefully lowered the driftwood crown onto her head.
The crown itself weighed very little.
Yet at that moment...
It felt heavier than a mountain.
The last remnants of hesitation within Asha quietly disappeared beneath its weight.
Raising his voice once more, Garon declared the ancient oath of the Iron Islands.
"In the name of the Drowned God..."
"You shall swear your loyalty to Asha Greyjoy..."
"Queen of the Ironborn."
The moment those words fell...
Rodrik Harlaw was the first to react.
He stepped forward.
Dropped to one knee.
Then declared loudly.
"In the name of House Harlaw..."
"I swear eternal loyalty to Queen Asha."
"And I shall forever obey the divine judgment of Garon of the White Staff."
His example shattered the final hesitation.
Like falling dominos...
Every captain knelt.
Regardless of former loyalties.
Regardless of private thoughts.
All of them submitted beneath the combined authority of divine legitimacy and lawful succession.
One after another...
They drew their swords or daggers before laying them at Asha's feet.
"Long live Queen Asha!"
"We obey the messenger of the Drowned God!"
"Long live the Iron Islands!"
Their voices thundered across Pyke.
Standing beneath the driftwood crown, Asha listened to the overwhelming vows of loyalty.
She slowly turned her head toward Garon.
There he stood beside her.
White staff in hand.
Calmly accepting everything unfolding before him.
As though he had always belonged at the center of this moment.
At that instant...
Asha finally understood.
Her crown.
Her authority.
Even her future.
Had become inseparably bound to the man now revered as Garon of the White Staff.
She was no longer merely his ally.
She had become the proof of his divine authority upon the Iron Islands.
A living symbol of it.
"No..."
"I am Asha."
"I am Greyjoy."
"My relationship with him..."
"It cannot remain like this."
Determination slowly gathered within her eyes.
She silently made a decision.
Yet Garon noticed none of it.
His gaze swept beyond the kneeling captains...
Beyond the towering cliffs of Pyke...
Toward a future lying far across the Narrow Sea.
"The Iron Islands..."
"At last, this unruly longship has been brought under my control."
"Now..."
"It's time to completely secure the North."
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