Outside the great hall, soldiers huddled at a distance, shrinking back as though in the presence of some dread apparition. Standing at their center, Euron "Crow's Eye" seemed less an intruder than their rightful master.
He hasn't changed at all, Victarion thought bitterly. He looks exactly as he did the day he sailed away, mocking me as he went.
His hair remained as black as the midnight sea, untouched by even a single strand of grey, his face still smooth and pale beneath a neatly trimmed black beard.
A patch of dark leather covered Euron's left eye. But his right—that remaining eye was as blue as the summer sky, alight with what might have been mirth.
Was it mockery that gleamed there, or malice?
The agonized screams of the wife Victarion had beaten to death with his own hands, the Crow's Eye's taunts during their confrontation—these memories swirled together in a poisonous brew until Victarion could no longer distinguish one torment from another.
Aeron "Damphair" stared at Euron as though beholding a nightmare made flesh.
His elder brother wore a suit of scale armor that Aeron had never seen before—as black as a starless night, yet seemingly as light as a silk shirt upon his frame.
The edges of each scale gleamed with bright gold, shimmering with his every movement like sunlight dancing upon dark water.
Strange patterns adorned the metal—swirls, hieroglyphs, and mysterious symbols, all etched into the steel with painstaking precision.
Valyrian steel, the Damphair realized with a chill. His armor was Valyrian steel.
Throughout all the Seven Kingdoms, no man owned such a marvel. Such things had existed only in the days before the Doom of Valyria, more than four centuries past.
Even then, such a treasure would have been worth a kingdom.
The sound of a door opening...
The scream of a rusty iron chain...
No...
Aeron's hands trembled involuntarily, and he closed his eyes in desperate prayer.
The captains and chieftains gathered in the hall studied Euron's strange companions with wary eyes.
Men with skin as dark as blackened ash, sellswords from Qohor, savage Dothraki, Westerosi exiles, and squat, hairy brutes who resembled nothing so much as the ape-men said to dwell in the steaming jungles of Sothoryos.
This collection of mutes and mongrels stood in perfect silence. Every ironborn captain present knew the grim truth—that all who crewed the Silence had their tongues cut out by their captain's own command.
The Silence was indeed well-named.
"Uncle Euron, you arrive too late," Asha called down from her place beside the empty throne. "Father was claimed by the sea last night."
She lifted her chin in defiance. "After such a long absence, to miss seeing him one final time—perhaps that is cause for regret?"
Her words shattered the tense stillness.
Victarion pulled himself from the quagmire of painful memories, finding his voice at last.
Balon had decreed that Euron must never return to the Iron Islands while he still drew breath.
Three years had passed since that command.
In all that time, the Crow's Eye had not been sighted near the Iron Islands, yet here he stood on the very day following Balon's death.
"Did you do this?!" Victarion roared, his voice filling the hall like thunder. "Did you violate your blood oath and commit the heinous sin of kinslaying that even the gods cannot abide?!"
An uproar swept through the assembly.
Indeed, when one considered the matter, "Crow's Eye" Euron's return represented a coincidence too perfect to be believed.
"I received a prophecy," Euron replied, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade through silk.
He strode forward with unhurried confidence, his silent crew following close behind. The Pyke soldiers hesitated, uncertain whether to bar his path.
"All of Westeros teeters on the precipice of destruction," he continued. "The Iron Islands shall reclaim their ancient glory, taking back their rightful position as overlords. Our word shall be law wherever the sound of waves can be heard."
His smile was as cold as the depths of the Sunset Sea. "And so, I have returned."
Euron sighed softly, as though burdened by some great responsibility. "I simply did not expect the prophecy to unfold in precisely this manner."
His voice hardened. "It seems that I am destined to sit upon the Seastone Chair."
Thus did Euron state his grand ambition, plainly and without disguise.
Asha, Victarion, and Aeron stood as one before him, a living barrier protecting the sacred throne that loomed behind them.
"Just now, I heard calls for 'Queen Asha'?" Euron asked, seemingly unconcerned by their opposition.
He turned to address the captains and chieftains, deliberately presenting his back to the three who stood upon the dais—a calculated insult.
"My only nephew, Theon, lives still. Why not choose him, ironborn?"
Euron answered his own question before any could speak. "Because he is no longer a free ironborn. He could never become a proud Iron King, never lead the Iron Islands to restore the Old Way, never win the victories that would see us plunder all we desire and claim dominion over Westeros."
His voice dropped to a seductive purr. "I can accomplish all of this."
A smile played across Euron's face, his blue-black lips uttering promises sweet as summer wine yet potent as nightshade.
Asha's expression turned contemptuous, and as she opened her mouth to retort, the Dothraki at Euron's side began to finger the curved arakh at his belt—a wordless threat clear as day.
Victarion caught his niece's eye, silently urging caution. He wished to hear what else the Crow's Eye might reveal.
Asha held her tongue, though her eyes burned with unspoken words.
The hall fell silent once more, Euron's voice the only sound.
"I am Balon's brother," he reminded them, "the eldest living son of Quellon Greyjoy. The blood of King Vickon and the 'Old Kraken' flows in my veins."
The assembled lords and captains calculated silently.
Euron's claim was stronger than Victarion's by right of birth. As for Asha, in the Iron Islands, a daughter's rights were not held above those of an uncle—particularly one as notorious as the Crow's Eye.
"And I have sailed farther than any ironborn who ever lived," Euron boasted, his certainty absolute.
"Among the living krakens, only one has never tasted defeat, only one has never bent the knee, only one has journeyed to Asshai-by-the-Shadow and witnessed wonders and horrors beyond imagining."
Many nodded secretly in acknowledgment.
No captain sailing the seas was ignorant of the terrifying legends that surrounded the Silence and her master—what an enviable infamy he had earned.
"And," Euron continued, casually brushing nonexistent dust from his night-colored scale armor, "only one has set foot upon the fiery ruins of Valyria, uncovered secrets that would turn your blood to ice, and obtained power beyond measure."
His voice dropped to a near-whisper that somehow carried to every corner of the hall. "Only one is truly favored by the gods."
Aeron "Damphair" shook his head in stubborn denial. No, he thought desperately, the Drowned God would never favor such a monster. Never...
Euron smiled, his lone eye sweeping across the assembly like a lighthouse beam cutting through fog.
"Me, or my little niece Asha. Make your choice, ironborn."
He spread his arms wide. "Glory... or mediocrity?"
"Crow's Eye" Euron extended his right hand in invitation, summoning them all to victory and conquest.
The scales of his armor seemed to shine with an inner light, flowing like water across his form.
As though possessed of some fell magic.
Donnor Saltcliffe, Lord of Saltcliffe Island, was the first to respond. He pounded his fist upon the long table, setting cups and plates dancing. "Euron! Euron! Euron! Euron! Euron!"
Gorold Goodbrother, Lord of Hammerhorn, added his voice to the growing chorus. "Euron! Crow's Eye! Euron!"
"Euron! Crow's Eye! King Euron!" The chant spread like wildfire.
Walton Wynch, Lord of Iron Holt, joined the ranks of those declaring for the Crow's Eye.
Victarion stepped forward then, raising his right arm high.
"Queen Asha!" he bellowed, his voice powerful enough to shake the very stones.
Asha released a breath she had not realized she was holding. Her uncle's resolve had not wavered after all. With Victarion's support, all might not be lost.
Here in Pyke, the Crow's Eye's Silence held no sway.
"King Euron!"
"Queen Asha!!!"
"King Euron! King Euron!!"
The great hall descended into chaos, a cacophony of competing shouts. Perhaps half the assembly supported Asha, while a similar number called for Euron. Others remained silent, watching and waiting to see which way the tide would turn.
"Stop! No entry!"
"Out of my way! Are you worthy to bar the King's envoy? How much do you value your miserable life?"
A harsh voice cut through the tumult from the direction of the entrance.
Asha turned, her hand instinctively moving to the axe at her belt.
The guards stationed at the doorway seemed unwilling to intervene, stepping aside with evident reluctance.
Osha, emissary of the Iron Throne, strode into the hall with her retinue at her heels, her arrival as unexpected as a summer snow.