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The morning mist over King's Landing had barely begun to lift when the docks at Blackwater Bay were already packed with the sails of the royal fleet.
Velaryon silver ships gleamed with cold white seahorse sigils in the faint light. The three-headed dragon banners of the royal warships snapped sharply in the breeze. Gold cloaks of the City Watch stood in two neat rows along the piers, swords drawn, their armor catching a thin layer of morning frost. Today was the day Goron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands, came in person to surrender his crown, and the whole dock carried an air of solemn, heavy authority.
Daemon stood at the center of the pier, Blackfyre slung at his hip, the dark-gold dragonscale armor faintly visible through the mist.
Jarman Waters stood at his shoulder, one good eye sweeping the water. Rupert Crabb and Leon Celtigar gripped their sword hilts, gazes locked on the approaching ships—the Iron Islands fleet. The kraken sigils on their sails were blurred by the fog, the old swagger gone, replaced by clear unease.
"They're here," Rayford Rosby said quietly, clutching the tribute list. "Five ships total. King Goron himself, his uncle Theon Harlaw, and twenty bound ironborn in prisoner garb. From the clothes, they're the ones he mentioned—the ones who burned Lannisport and hit Eagle's Point."
Daemon nodded, fingers brushing the hilt of Blackfyre.
He remembered the black smoke over Lannisport a year ago and the sea at Eagle's Point stained red. His eyes settled on the lead ship's prow—
Goron Greyjoy stood there in a plain deep-gray roughspun robe, an ordinary iron sword at his belt. No crown on his head. A servant carried a wooden box that clearly held the Iron Islands crown instead.
Behind him, Theon Harlaw bowed low, clutching the sharkskin-wrapped letter of surrender like a chastened apprentice.
The instant the ship docked, Goron jumped ashore. His feet had barely touched the pier before he bowed deeply to Daemon. "This humble servant, Goron Greyjoy, pays his respects to Prince Blackfyre."
His voice was deliberately humble, eyes never daring to meet Daemon's. "My foolish brothers Uragon and Dagon offended the Iron Throne out of ignorance. Today I come to surrender my crown in atonement and to deliver the remaining ironborn who took part in the rebellion for Your Highness and His Grace to punish as you see fit."
Two ironborn servants immediately led forward twenty bound men. Their faces bore burns or sword scars—they were the main culprits from the Lannisport burning and the Eagle's Point raid.
Tymond Lannister stepped out from the crowd, golden lion ring spinning fast on his finger. His eyes swept coldly over the prisoners. "King Goron knows how to play the part. At least three of these men were pirate captains who burned Lannisport, according to my retainers. You didn't hide a single one."
Sweat beaded on Goron's forehead. He bowed lower. "Lord Tymond sees clearly! This servant knew of the Westerlands' losses. These men have been locked in Pyke's dungeons. I brought them today only to atone for half the Iron Islands' sins."
He motioned for the servant to open the wooden box. Inside, the iron crown gleamed dull and plain, its cheap gems already removed. "This is the crown of the Iron Islands. This servant offers it to the Iron Throne. If the Iron Throne wishes, from this day forward the Iron Islands shall have no king—only the commands of the Iron Throne."
Daemon studied the plain crown, then Goron's cautious face. He suddenly remembered Racallio's words: the ironborn only respect strength.
The arrogance Uragon and Dagon once flaunted had turned into Goron's submission—all because Targaryen dragonfire had made them afraid.
"Let's go. His Grace is waiting at the Red Keep," Daemon said, turning toward the carriages. Grey Ghost darted out from behind him, the little pale dragon letting out a low growl at Goron that made the man shrink back even further.
In the Red Keep's council chamber, King Jaehaerys sat on the high seat. Baelon, Corlys, Otto, and the others were seated on either side.
The moment Goron entered, he dropped to his knees with a heavy thud and raised the iron crown high overhead. "This humble servant, Goron Greyjoy, offers the crown of the Iron Islands to the Old King, His Grace Jaehaerys the First! From this day forward, the Iron Islands swear eternal fealty to the Iron Throne. We will pay three-tenths of all Summer Isles trade revenue as tax each year. Should chaos arise in the Narrow Sea, the ships of the Iron Islands stand ready at your command!"
Jaehaerys looked at the crown, then at the kneeling Goron, and tapped his scepter lightly. "Do you understand that your brothers Uragon's attack on Eagle's Point and Dagon's burning of Lannisport were acts of plunder against Westeros, violating the oaths your ancestors swore to the Conqueror? These are crimes of high treason."
Goron lowered his head even further, voice trembling. "This servant knows! That is why I have emptied half of Pyke's private vaults to compensate House Mallister and House Lannister for their losses, and sent ironborn shipwrights to Seagard and Lannisport to help repair the docks. I only ask that Your Grace give the Iron Islands a chance to atone."
Baelon spoke for Daemon and Gael, violet eyes appraising. "In your letter you offered gifts for Prince Daemon and Princess Gael's betrothal. Where are they?"
Goron quickly had Theon hand over a silver chest. Inside lay a goldenheart bow carved with Summer Isles patterns and a string of emerald necklaces, each gem full and lustrous. "This goldenheart bow was traded from a Summer Isles tribal chief. It can pierce plate armor."
"And these emeralds and other jewels are specialties from Slaver's Bay in Essos. This servant thought Her Highness the princess might like them."
He glanced furtively at Daemon standing beside Gael. "This servant heard that Your Highness and the princess are soon to be betrothed. If His Grace permits, this servant would be honored to remain in King's Landing and attend the betrothal ceremony, to offer my sincere congratulations."
Gael took the string of emeralds, violet eyes smiling, but she didn't accept it immediately. She looked to Jaehaerys.
Goron's uncle, Theon Harlaw, quickly added, "There are more treasures and wealth that can be offered to the wise and just Old King on the Iron Throne, as well as to the other honored members of House Targaryen."
Only after the Old King nodded did she let Mysaria take the gifts. She said to Goron, "I accept Lord Goron's kind intentions. I hope the Iron Islands will behave themselves from now on and refrain from any more raiding."
Goron bowed low. "Your Highness may rest assured! This servant has already ordered that the ships of the Iron Islands sail only for trade in the Summer Isles. Any who dare raid Westerosi merchant vessels will be executed by my own hand—no need for the Iron Throne to lift a finger!"
He pulled out a roll of parchment from his robe. "This is the register of every Iron Islands ship, listing each captain and route. This servant brought it so it can be given to the Master of Ships for future oversight."
Corlys, who knew intelligence matters better than Lyonel, took the register, glanced at it, and bowed to Jaehaerys. "Your Grace, the number of ships matches our intelligence. Nothing is hidden."
Jaehaerys finally nodded and tapped his scepter once on the floor. "Goron Greyjoy, in light of your voluntary surrender of the crown, delivery of the guilty, and payment of reparations, the Iron Throne forgives the Iron Islands their past crimes.
From this day forward you may remain King of the Iron Islands and continue to rule your people. But every year you will send a report to King's Landing, and any movement of your ships must have the Master of Ships' approval. Should you disobey, dragonfire will not give the Iron Islands a second chance."
Goron's face lit up with relief. He banged his forehead against the stone floor until it rang. "Thank you, Your Grace! Thank you! This servant will obey every command and never harbor disloyal thoughts!"
Once Goron had been led to a side chamber to rest, the tension in the council chamber eased.
Tymond Lannister gave a cold snort. "The man knows how to act, but as long as he keeps the ironborn in line, the Westerlands coast will stay quiet."
Corlys tucked the register away and smiled. "He wouldn't dare step out of line. Racallio has claimed those small islands in the Summer Isles and is blocking his triangle trade route. He has to please the Iron Throne while keeping Racallio happy—he can't afford trouble."
Daemon walked to the window and watched Goron's retreating back. He remembered what Larys had told him earlier: King Goron had made a fortune on the Summer Isles–Slaver's Bay triangle trade, but he was terrified Racallio would cut off his route.
The man's submission wasn't just fear of dragonfire; it was fear of losing the wealth he'd built without the Iron Throne's protection.
Larys limped in on his cane, holding a fresh intelligence report, a sly glint in his eye. "Your Highness, the Shadow Guard just sent word. King Goron still has quite a bit of gold hidden on Pyke—most of it earned from the slave trade. Racallio has banned slavery in the Summer Isles, so half of Goron's trade route is already severed. He came here hoping the Iron Throne would lean on Racallio and spare what's left."
Daemon took the report, scanned it, and gave a short, amused laugh. Goron looked obedient on the surface, but he was really trying to use the Iron Throne to protect his own profits.
Still, it didn't matter. As long as the Iron Islands stayed quiet, the Narrow Sea trade routes would stay open, and his betrothal to Gael could proceed without extra headaches.
"Whatever game he's playing," Daemon said, handing the report to Rayford, "as long as he behaves, the Iron Throne will treat him with dignity. If he tries any tricks, Targaryen dragonfire can reach Pyke anytime."
Outside the window the morning mist had burned away. Sunlight poured through the tall panes and fell across the three-headed dragon emblem on the long table.
Goron's crown surrender wasn't just the submission of the Iron Islands—it was a clear signal that peace had finally reached Westeros's coasts. From the Stepstones to the Iron Islands, from the Narrow Sea to the Marches, the wars had paused. What remained now was preparing for his and Gael's betrothal and the Old Valyrian wedding on Dragonstone.
Grey Ghost rubbed against his ankle, a stolen honey cake clamped in his jaws. Daemon couldn't help smiling as he scratched the little dragon's head.
He glanced toward Gael. She was discussing wedding details with Queen Alysanne, her pale-violet gown catching the light with a soft glow.
There might still be Otto's schemes and Summer Isles troubles ahead, but right now the King's Landing sun felt warm, and the gentle warmth of peace was already slipping through the council chamber doors to spread across all of Westeros.