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Balon Greyjoy, Pyke – Iron Islands.

“Report,” he said, looking impassively at all the captains present.

“Our second wave has been sent, the first brought us a large amount of resources, excellent quality wood from the wild lands, but there are… problems among the captains,” said Lord Drumm with a frown, while striking the table.

At that statement, the rest of the Lords began to murmur among themselves, agreeing with Lord Drumm’s words.

Balon simply frowned and asked harshly.

“What kind of problems? The orders were quite clear, there should not be a single fucking problem,” snapped Lord Greyjoy, his face furious.

Lord Drumm remained impassive and replied.

“We are Ironborn! Our way is the iron price! We take whatever we please from the greenlanders! Why the hell do we have to go to the ass of the world to take wood? We have the North at a much shorter distance! We could make four trips to Glover and Dustin lands before even reaching the fucking Frostfangs!” shouted the stubborn old Lord.

Marlon Drumm was an old man, a stubborn sea dog who believed in the old Ironborn ways.

And a complete fucking idiot, Balon thought.

“We go to the Frostfangs because they are not lands under the dragon king’s rule, the lands beyond the Wall are not Targaryen jurisdiction, we can cut and exploit those lands however we want and there is nothing Aerys Targaryen can do about it,” Balon explained his reasoning.

Again.

And like every previous time, Dennis Drumm frowned and prepared for his usual damned rant.

“PAH! We are Ironborn, the hardest and most powerful people of Westeros, Lords of the waters, since when do we care about what some stupid Valyrian in his ugly chair thinks of us?”

And the old Lord’s words made several captains nod, showing their support for the idiot Drumm.

But Balon was far from stupid, he might be far from the smartest Lord in Westeros, but he was no fool.

He had heard the rumors, the meteoric rise of Aerys Targaryen, troops, a fleet and even three dragons under the yoke of the royal house.

True, Balon had never seen them, but that did not mean they were not real, the last thing he needed was to give the dragon king a fucking excuse to burn all the islands with them inside.

Something inside the young Lord Greyjoy told him that the monarch would not even hesitate, and all of Westeros would watch with a smile as the Iron Islands burned to their foundations.

Without hesitation, Balon grabbed his cup filled with the bitter and disgusting wine available on this stupid island and threw it at Dennis Drumm with all his fury, surprising him and hitting him straight in the face.

“Are you stupid? The last thing we need is to draw the fucking attention of the Iron Throne, Aerys Targaryen is looking for a damned excuse to kill us all, and you want to give it to him by attacking the kingdom most loyal to the dragon king, you complete fucking idiot!” Balon snapped furiously, making Lord Drumm grimace in displeasure.

Balon simply snorted, most likely the idiot had not even thought about it.

“No, we will continue our operations in the North until we have at least two hundred ships, the plan is to attack the entire western coast at once, our greatest raid in history, from Bear Island to the Arbor, a massive Ironborn fleet that will make the coasts of Westeros bleed and tremble at our mere memory for decades!” Balon shouted, pleased to see that this time all the captains cheered without exception.

Well… with one exception.

Lord Rodrik Harlaw, who looked at him with a frown, as if he were the greatest idiot alive, something that was becoming more and more common in the stupid man.

The only reason Balon had not gotten rid of him was that he was fucking his sister every night, a fact Balon liked to remind that fact to the man.

“Are we not going to address the Targaryen militarization? My sailors say the same, Dragonstone is being fortified, massive docks have been raised and they are building warships as if they were damn fishing boats, all the power of the Seven Kingdoms at the service of the dragon king,” said Lord Rodrik, silencing the entire table instantly.

Balon frowned and opened his mouth to respond, but Lord Rodrik did not allow it.

“Besides, we have more important problems to deal with,” said Rodrik, as he pulled out a scroll and threw it onto the table, just far enough that Balon had to stand up to take it.

Another damned power move that the Lord of Pyke recognized immediately.

And although Balon was furious at the man’s insolence, all his anger vanished at what he read.

His face pale. His eyes wide.

Shit, thought Lord Greyjoy, cursing inwardly.

For the first time that night… the room no longer belonged to him.

Looking at Harlaw, the Lord asked.

“How true is this shit?” he asked, raising the scroll and drawing the attention of all the Lords.

“Completely true, Armory Loch was captured on his way to the Islands by one of my captains, he came as an emissary of the crown, Aerys Targaryen knows Quellon is dead and demands your submission, I would not be surprised if, as we speak, the fleets of the Seven Kingdoms are preparing to attack us,” the man snapped, looking at Balon as if he were the greatest idiot alive, the mockery and contempt in his gaze more than evident.

This… this complicated things, thought Lord Greyjoy, now far more cautious now that the element of surprise was no longer on his side.

Aerys Targaryen was in hunting season.

And squid was on the menu.

“What do we do then?” asked Lord Blacktyde.

Balon did not respond, if Rodrik’s words were true—and he had no reason not to believe him—then they were already in the dragon king’s sights.

And a terrible feeling fell over his body, he felt like prey, and with very limited options.

What could they do now?

Balon remained thoughtful for quite some time, lost in his thoughts and plans, the glorious raid was history, that was a fact.

“Cancel all voyages, have our captains and corsairs prepare for battle,” Balon ordered, making the captains present cheer loudly.

“Now get out, I need to think,” Balon ordered, signaling Rodrik to stay behind.

One by one, the Lords and commanders left, truly excited and eager for the glorious raid to come.

And during all this time, Rodrik watched him closely, his intelligent and cold eyes fully focused on Balon.

Once they were completely alone, Lord Greyjoy did not bother with pleasantries and asked directly.

“How fucked are we?”

Rodrik simply looked at him with total contempt, as if Balon were an insignificant insect.

“Your father, Lord Quellon Greyjoy, is dead, and not only did you hide it from the crown, but you also militarized the islands and are planning to attack the continent, houses have been extinguished for less,” Rodrik said with a sigh.

“What do you suggest we do?” Balon asked.

“Submit to the Iron Throne,” Rodrik said without hesitation, making Balon frown with total contempt at the weak Lord Harlaw.

Alas, Lord Rodrik did not seem to be in the mood.

“I’m serious, you stupid piece of shit, Aerys Targaryen is no fool, it is very likely that the royal fleet is already on its way here, send a damned emissary or better yet, go yourself on your personal ship and kneel before the Iron Throne to end this stupidity—”

“Fucking coward, you are a fucking coward Harlaw, get out of here, OUT!!” Balon shouted, completely beside himself.

Lord Harlaw simply stood up, looking at him with contempt before responding.

“Think very carefully about your actions, Balon, the fate of your family, and more importantly, my sister, is at stake, think very carefully about what you do now,” Rodrik said in a cold tone, full of promises of suffering and pain.

And without saying another word, Lord Harlaw turned around and left the room, leaving Balon completely alone, lost in his thoughts and in the consequences of his foolish actions.

Although… not everything was lost.

He could still salvage this situation.

He still had that letter.

Balon walked toward his study in complete silence, frowning at his worn-out desk, unworthy of a Lord like him.

The office was simply pathetic, but that did not matter right now, Balon walked toward his desk and opened the private drawer in the center, the one that, if you did not know what you were looking for, would go completely unnoticed.

Calmly, Balon opened the worn drawer, looking at a pile of letters, a pair of daggers and a few gold coins.

Quickly, he began searching at the bottom of the drawer, looking for that sealed letter he had bothered to read, thinking it would be a complete waste of time.

“Where the fuck is it, where is it!” Balon snapped in desperation.

Until—

“Here you are, you stupid shit,” said the Lord of Pyke with a smile, holding a piece of parchment with a particular message.

A message of betrayal.

But also of opportunity.

He had a letter to answer.

And an alliance to forge.

He had no time to lose.

And whatever decision he made next… would decide whether the Iron Islands burned… or ruled.

Rodrik Harlaw, Pyke – Iron Islands.

“Are you alright, Alannys?” Rodrik asked, as he knelt at his sister’s feet, who held a small blanket tightly, her gaze was strong and cold, but there was immense pain in her eyes.

Rodrik could not understand it, he was not arrogant enough to think he knew what a woman felt when losing her firstborn.

“I am strong, brother, this is only a setback, nothing more,” said Alannys calmly, but Rodrik was able to detect the pain in her words.

Lord Harlaw said nothing for a long time, the silence was comfortable and his sister needed company, not sermons.

“How was the meeting?” she asked absentmindedly, as she sharpened the war axe that their mother had given her some years ago.

Rodrik sighed heavily before responding.

“We are fucked, Balon’s strategy to strengthen our fleet, although good and prudent, has drawn the attention of the crown, the dragon king is aware that Lord Quellon is dead, and the rumors of a consolidation of naval power in Dragonstone are quite strong,” Rodrik said honestly.

Alannys did not respond, she simply looked out the window toward the untamable ocean, there was desire and regret in her gaze.

Rodrik could understand her, Alannys had been a daughter of the ocean, sailing her own ship from a young age, free as the wind, dangerous as the sea.

Only to end up here, tied to Balon’s bed like a fucking trophy.

Just thinking about that made Rodrik’s blood burn with fury, the characteristic shine of Alannys, her defiant smile and her vitality were fading little by little.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

Right?

“We have another option,” said his sister, making Rodrik’s attention focus on her, Alannys’ face completely cold, devoid of any emotion.

“What do you mean?” asked Lord Harlaw with curiosity, making his sister look at him with determination.

“If the rumors are true and Aerys Targaryen knows that Quellon Greyjoy is dead, you know it is only a matter of time before all the fleets of Westeros fall upon us, a war against our people would consolidate his reign even further, as well as his reputation, and after what happened in Duskendale, I am more than certain he will burn all the islands to the ground”

The certainty with which his sister spoke disturbed Rodrik, but before he could respond, Alannys continued.

“For that same reason, you will send a discreet emissary to Seaguard, so that Lord Mallister sends our submission to Dragonstone with our family’s seal, swearing loyalty to House Targaryen,” Alannys stated, making Rodrik surprised by the bold plan.

However, the more he thought about it, the more… reasonable it sounded.

“Send as few ships as possible, keep the bulk of our fleet in the islands, and when Balon’s stupid raid fails and the drums of war reach our home, House Harlaw will raise the Dragon’s banner,” said his sister, making Rodrik frown.

“That action would make us enemies of the rest of the island houses, sister,” Rodrik said cautiously, warning Alannys about her plan.

His sister’s response? A sad smile.

“Bold of you, brother, to think that Aerys Targaryen will leave in power the houses that rebel against him, the dragon king will use Balon’s stupidity to cleanse the islands, he will rid himself of the old way of the Ironborn and pacify these waters, by reason or by force”

Rodrik did not respond, meditating on his sister’s words, they made… a lot of sense.

And it presented an opportunity, if they were the only ones to submit to the dragon king, there was a very high probability that they could negotiate being named Lords of the Islands.

“I will send the message, sister, and when the time comes to negotiate, you will stand at the head of House Harlaw,” Rodrik said with determination, making Alannys smile sadly before looking away.

“You must leave, Balon should not take long to return and I do not wish for you to be near when that happens, I don't desire that you hear what he will do” Alannys said with resignation, the meaning more than clear.

Rodrik clenched his fists tightly, embraced his sister and left the place, swearing by the Seven Hells that he himself would take care of getting rid of each and every one of the disgusting Greyjoys, and that he would make the cockroach Balon suffer.

And he would enjoy every fucking second of it.

But now, no matter how much he hated it, he had much to do, he had to sail to Ten Towers and select a trustworthy emissary to travel to Seaguard.

There was much to be done.