Interlude: Victarion
Lordsport, Mid-Eighth Moon, 285 A.C., Three days later…
A gust of wind sweeps through the harbor of Lordsport, causing my nephews Rodrik and Maron and their friend Harren Botley to mutter about the cold. Thin snow flurries flutter down from gray clouds as Lord Sawane Botley, Lord of Lordsport and captain of the Swiftfin, peers through a far at the fast-approaching ship.
"It's one of those clipper ships. Must be going six-and-ten knots!" Lord Botley murmurs before handing it over to me. I take the far-eye and put it to my right eye and close my left. Through the looking glass I see a narrow, three-masted ship barreling towards the harbor at impressive speeds. Three banners fly on each mast, one Seastark, one of their trade company, and one of House Baratheon.
"So…" I lower the far eye to see the harbor full of longships, fishing skiffs, captured galleys and trade cogs, and ten great longships of the Iron Fleet with the other fifty relocated to Old Wyk out of sight of the prince. I turn to Lord Botley. "…Why is the prince coming here?"
"'Royal business' is all the raven said. That and it would be quick." I state matter-of-factly as I hand Lord Botley's far-eye back to him, the reaver having paid the iron price from a Myrish captain years ago.
"It looks just like the ship I saw on my first reaving almost two years ago! I was with my nuncle Euron on the Silence when it sailed by us, twice as fast as a longship! It was right before we captured a galley from House Prestor!" I hear Rodrik boast to Harren and Maron, both two namedays younger the him.
"That was when you found a wayfinder and backstaff right?" Harren asked in awe while Maron already knew the answer. "Aye, and now we make our own and we'll use those greenlander inventions against them!" Rodrik continues to boast.
"Can't believe out of all places in the Iron Islands, it's Lonely Light that has sticky-stone." I snort at Lord Botley's words as the greenlander ship draws nearer.
When Euron and Rodrik brought a wayfinder and backstaff back to Pyke, my lord brother had examined the two navigation tools made by Lord Seastark. He shared the same mix begrudging respect and infuriating indignity that I had at the proof of a greenlander, especially House Seastark making better tools than us Ironborn. The backstaffs were easy to copy and were spreading amongst the Ironborn in decent numbers but the wayfinders were more difficult. They required sticky-stone, a special type of iron thought to only be found in Sea Dragon Point and after my brother had all the islands scoured for the necessary material. It was Lord Farwynd of all people who brought the small amount he found at the base of his small islet, enough to make thirty wayfinders and enough to make him a wealthy lord.
"Why are the Seastarks with the prince?" Rodrik sneers when the ship comes close enough for the people of the harbor, both Ironborn and thralls to pause, the hum of many conversations filling the air.
"Lord Seastark is a friend of the prince and probably the reason why he's here." I answer gruffly. The greenlander ship slows to enter the harbor and I gaze upon the harbor to the Ironborn to see their reactions, the thralls having gotten back to work like they should before they got a good flogging. I see some Ironborn staring at the ship hungrily, like a starving dog at a juicy piece of meat. Others glare balefully at the black wolf banner, no doubt remembering fierce battles and lost comrades with the Sunset Fleet. House Seastark might be the youngest house of our enemies, but they've proven to be quite the thorn in our sides. From the birth of their house, when they defeated our last attempt to regain Sea Dragon Point, to our current efforts to build the Iron Fleet, they've been a thorn in our side. Over the last five centuries, reaving the North for plunder and timber has become so difficult due to the Sunset Fleet that it's become a test of an Ironborn's mettle to successfully reave the North against the Seastarks. Northern timber, amber, saltwives, and more are prized by reavers who pay the iron price against the Northern greenlanders.
I smile as I reminisce about one of my first reavings a decade ago, when I sailed with Balon and Euron against father's orders to not reave the Seven Kingdoms. We managed to row up pass Sea Dragon Point under the nose of the Seastark fleet to reave isolated villages in Glover lands. We didn't get much for the iron price, but the bit of amber and Northern saltwives brought back to Pyke was met with hearty approval from many true Ironborn. Not many Ironborn can claimed to have successfully reaved the North and it's the dream of many reavers to attack the vast North and all it's riches, especially the growing Wolfsport…
"Nuncle, you promised to take me on my first reaving. Are you going to take me soon?" My nephew Marlon asks, no doubt inspired by his brother's tales. I mull it over. He's three-and-ten, a bit on the young side but not drastically so. After all, Dalton The Red Kraken Greyjoy started reaving when he was ten and his father at five-and-ten.
"I'll speak with your father about accompanying me to the Stepstones. I am to meet the Rouge Seahorse on his behalf, but we can reave the Orange Shore afterwards. Now, quiet!" I hush my nephew as the clipper docks at the harbor. The gangplank is set on the docks by the crew, which I notice two dozen armed men wear brown leather armor underneath winter furs on the ship, the Seastark sigil on their chests. I spot some them wielding crossbows, boarding axes, cutlasses among other weapons. The prince and princess descend the gangplank first wearing strange furred caps, followed by a Kingsguard I didn't know. Then came a Northerner who I initially thought was Lord Seastark only to quickly realize it wasn't due to them being around Rodrik's age. Must he his younger brother Elric or some stupid greenlander name flanked by two of those strange armored men, hands on the scabbards of their cutlasses and I notice small buckler shields on their left arms. Rodrik puffs out his chest and sizes up the Seastark boy his age.
"Prince Stannis, Princess Cersei. Welcome to Lordsport. I am Victarion Greyjoy." I bow to the greenlander royals, but only the bare minimum as all the Ironborn do. I ignore the Seastark standing beside the Kingsguard, who are introduced as Edric Seastark and Ser Richard Horpe of the Kingsguard.
"Lord Victarion, I am here on behalf of my brother, the king." The prince states plainly.
"I have horses ready to take you to Pyke, it's only two leagues away and it's best to get there quickly in this weather." I nod and order a thrall to bring the horses.
The prince and princess, along with the Kingsguard and the Seastark, mount the small local breed of horse native to the islands, with the Lannister princess riding side saddle as the mounted group made their way to Pyke, the snow flurries having stopped for the time being but it was only a matter of time before they return. I ignore Rodrik boasting to the Seastark about his prowess with an axe and how he gets irked by the stone-faced Northerner's refusal for a spar.
"Prince Stannis…" I lean over from my horse to quietly talk to him. "…Your raven was vague on what you wanted to discuss with my brother." I ask, wondering if he knew about the Iron Fleet.
"Nothing more than the tying up of a small legal loose end. I suggest you have the horses ready for us to depart back to port; this shouldn't take long." The prince says cryptically as we ride with all haste to Pyke, reaching the sixty-foot-tall stone curtain walls that surround the headlands of the castle. We're quickly let though by guards in black iron breastplates wearing the golden kraken with pride, dismounting our horses near the stables before continuing on foot across the stone bridge to the Great Keep, the largest part of Pyke situated on the largest of the islets the castle spread across. Thousands of years ago the castle was built on the side of a large cliff face only for the Drowned God to sink part of it into the sea, leaving tall, scattered rocks and islets connected by stoney arch bridges and long rope bridges. We pass into the Great Keep, dark gray stone with bits of green from lichen giving it some color, towards the long, smoky Great Hall where my brother awaits.
Balon sits atop the Seastone Chair, an immense block of oily black stone carved into the shape of a great kraken twenty feet tall. The light of the many braziers giving the high seat of the Lord Reaver of Pyke an imposing and sinister glow. The prince gruffy demands bread and salt, to my brother's chagrin. The Ironborn in the Great Hall look at the guests with a mixture of curiosity and mild contempt while the thrall servants keep their heads down and mouths shut. I spot Balon's other two children, little six namedays old Theon staring at the prince in wonder while his elder sister Asha stares keenly at the Seastark boy.
"I must admit Prince Stannis; I am curious why a stag prince would come all the way to Pyke. And on a Seastark clipper ship, no less." My brother emphasizes Seastark as he glances over to the boy with his two guards with barely disguised contempt.
"Lord Edric was already taking us back to King's Landing on his ship. I simply decided to take a detour here on behalf of my kingly brother." The prince answers.
"And what is this royal business you wrote of, your raven was…unclear as to its nature." Balon finally gets to the heart of the matter.
"The reason I'm here is simple. All houses of all the kingdoms have formally bent the knee and sworn fealty to my brother…" The prince stares at my brother dead in the eyes "…All except House Greyjoy and the Iron Islands." A heavy silence descends across the Great Hall. My brother's widen and glares at the prince before turning to me.
"Brother, tell me. Do I wear a crown?" He asks, voice thick with restrained fury. I shook my head. "Have I called for a Kingsmoot?" He asks and I shake my head a second time. "Have I been crowned king in the ways of our people?" "No, brother. You have done none of those things." I state plainly as my brother turns his attention back towards Prince Stannis.
"And now you come to my castle, to my great hall, and accuse me of treason! Especially after we fought against the dragons." My brother's voice gets louder but he doesn't yell. The guests look unfazed by my brother's restrained fury.
"I accuse you of no such thing Lord Greyjoy and indeed my brother thanks you for your contributions against the loyalists. I am here to simply fix a minor legal issue. All houses have sworn fealty to House Baratheon, even the damn Tyrells! But yours has not. So, my brother has provided me with the authority to accept your oath on his behalf." The prince holds up a raven scroll with the royal seal of House Baratheon of King's Landing, the seal is the same as the royal banner, split in two with the Baratheon stag and colors on the left and the Stark direwolf and colors on the right, mirroring the rearing up pose of the stag.
"I only seek that you bend the knee and swore an oath of fealty to House Baratheon. No other Ironborn needs to do this, you will be enough for the rest of the Ironborn lords." The prince's words cause murmuring in the assembled Ironborn with some like Lord Botley looking relieved that they don't have to kneel and others like Lord Drumm of Old Wyk glaring at the greenlanders for their audacity.
"This is an outrage! We have paid our taxes to the Iron Throne, have we not! I wrote to your brother our of acceptance of the Iron Throne's authority!" Balon argues loudly.
"Aye, you have Lord Greyjoy, but you never formally swore fealty to brother, only the Iron Throne." I grimace when the prince points out the legal loophole my brother has been using to justify our coming rebellion.
The prince has effectively cornered my brother. Either he has to kneel or start the rebellion now by taking them as hostages. My brother and the prince loudly argue for several minutes, the air in the Great Hall becoming heavier and heavier before my brother looks to me. Our eyes meet and after a brief unspoken conversation between us, Balon begrudgingly bends the knee and swears an oath of fealty to the greenlander prince. A mix of horrified and outraged murmurs fill the hall but the prince ignores them, declaring his business concluded and that they'll be leaving. I move to escort the greenlanders out of the Great Hall, looking back at Balon, whose eye told me they were going to talk in his solar later. The greenlanders ignore the scathing glares from the Ironborn, mostly towards the prince and especially the Seastark boy. Not just for historical enmity, everyone in the Great Hall could tell Lord Seastark had a hand in the prince's visit. My nephews, with Rodrik in particular, glare at the Seastark boy with malice. Well, little Theon tries and fails to and Asha continues to stare at the Northerner with a smile and dangerous glint in her eyes.
Some Ironborn throw quick glances and mutters of disapproval at Balon, but I know why he knelt. As commander of the Iron Fleet, I understand better than most the simple but infuriating fact that we're not ready. At sixty great longships the Iron Fleet is too small to win against the rest of the realm, even if we throw in the one hundred normal longships used by the other Ironborn lords, it wouldn't be enough. The Iron Fleet needs to be at least twice a large as it is currently and more importantly, the greenlanders need to be distracted.
No one speaks as we cross the stone bridge back to the headlands, mount our horses and ride for Lordsport as the flurries returned, thicker and falling faster than a few hours ago…
Later…
I open the door to my brother's solar, finding him not at his desk, but outside on the balcony overlooking the island and Lordsport. His back was to me, staring off where the clipper had long disappeared into the horizon. I walk up beside him and stare at the harbor, where the flagship of the Iron Fleet, the Iron Victory, docked with the other nine great longships currently in Lordsport, the other fifty docked in Old Wyk for the time being. Despite the name, the great longships made for battle were much closer to galleys than longships in design.
"This changes nothing." My brother seethes. "We will continue as planned but need to make few changes. How many great longships can be constructed from all the wood in the Secret Grove?" He turns to me with a stern face, full of determination. Surely he can't mean…
"Brother, all of the wood? But the Secret Grove of pine trees has been carefully maintained by the Ironborn as an emergency source of lum-" "Yes! All of it! We need every ship we can build or pay the iron price for. How many?" Balon's eyes blaze with fury. I mull over the size of the grove, more of a small forest, and the amount of lumber needed per ship.
"Thirty. But if we use it, we won't have it-" "I don't care, we'll use every damn tree we can find both here and elsewhere. We can't get wood from Beyond the Wall due to winter burying the frozen wasteland under waist deep snow but neither can we afford to stop construction of the Iron Fleet." My cuts me off. I only bow my head and accept his order. He holds up a letter for me to read. I read its contents to find it's from Euron, claiming to have come to an "understanding" with the Summer Islander princes of the Three Exiles, a group of three islands in the western most part of the Summer Islands. The details of how they came to an agreement aren't explained, only that the previous ones were dead. The agreement was for then to give lumber and a tribute of saltwives each year to the Ironborn in return for not reaving them. I hand back the letter to Balon, careful not to show the begrudging respect for Euron for his achievement in getting us a source of desperately needed wood.
"How long will it take to construct another sixty great longships?" Balon interrupts my thoughts. I make some calculations in my head before I answer.
"At the rate we were going I'd say four or five years, but if we're using the entire Secret Grove… two or three years." Balon nods at my estimate.
"We'll reave the Summer Sea around the Orange Shore and Volantis and as far east as Slaver's Bay, capturing every ship we can to be remade into warships. We'll build the largest Iron Fleet our people have ever seen and I want us to be ready for war by summer at the earliest." I give my brother a rare smile and nod. Hearten by his words, spoken like a true Ironborn.
"Speaking of the Orange Shore, I take it you still need me to leave for the Stepstones in a week?" I ask Balon, who answers without hesitation.
"Aye. We need this alliance with the Rogue Seahorse and we need to know when he'll be done conquering the Stepstones for his petty kingdom. Only if we attack at the same time will we have a chance." I nod grimly at Balon's words.
"Another thing, brother. Marlon is three-and-ten and had been pestering me about me taking him on his first reaving." I ask my brother about taking his second born son with me and having the honor of mentoring him on his first reaving. Balon mulls it over in his head.
"Fine. Marlon can go. The boy needs to learn how to be a proper reaver, and I trust you to teach him properly. You are dismissed." I bow my head and thank my brother, knowing Marlon will be excited once I tell him the news and leave my brother's solar.
A/N: A little peek into the Ironborn. They're hard at work building the Iron Fleet even with the handicap of not having easy access to Northern timber. The Ironborn have a lot of hatred for the Seastarks for the existence of the Sunset Fleet making their lives inconvenient. The Ironborn managed to get their hands on the wayfinders and backstaffs because let's face it, that was going to happen eventually. Balon knelt because for all his stupidity in rebelling, he knows he can't win as the Ironborn are at the moment, even with some nice big juicy hostages to take. Balon strikes me as just barely being smart enough to swallow his pride and bid his time to do something stupid later