The night of Euron's demise, Victarion had done two things.
The first was to pull the Reader aside.
"What is it, Victarion?" the Reader had asked as he was led out of earshot of the other captains, sinking deeper and deeper into their revelry. Some captains had already slumped over from the drink, whilst others seemed determined to turn the hall into a brothel. It seemed every girl in the entire keep, perhaps the entire island, was presently stripped bare, being raped bloody right before him.
"I intend to oppose Euron in his madness," Victarion said in a low voice. "Sailing to Essos! Making slavers of us!"
The Reader's eyes narrowed, too shrewd to be so easily fooled. "Certainly, that is welcome news. But I might also suggest that the claim that you advanced that the Arbor might be taken next is not all that much better."
"The Arbor might have its fleet, but what of the Mander?"
The Reader's brow climbed up his forehead in concern. "You want to launch a raid? Into the Reach? Without first disposing of the Redwyne fleet?"
"We are raiders, one and all," Victarion argued. "I see no reason we could not ravage the coasts and terrorise the cities and, having made off with the loot, return to the Iron Islands as rich men. Richer than Balon ever managed to make us."
"And when the Redwyne fleet returns for revenge?" the Reader asked. "When the Boy King's Tyrell bride asks for our blood? What then?"
"She likely already has. The Shields are as much a part of the Reach as any other."
"Then you would be better off pushing for peace terms now, whilst you can," the Reader said.
Victarion snorted. "You think the captains would wear it? Euron promised them gold, glory. I need to offer them both, else they will brand me craven."
"And when you lead them to their deaths?" the Reader asked. "We sail down the mouth of the Mander or the Honeywine without guarding our flank, we are doomed to be trapped in by whatever remains of the Redwyne Fleet at the Arbor. And even if we do manage it successfully, who's to say the Boy King won't take after his father and launch a war against us? That was Balon's mistake, thinking he could further divide the kingdoms by attacking them. Instead, he united the lords behind their new king."
"The Boy King is not his father," Victarion said with a wave of his hand. "The whelp is still wet behind the ears."
"It is not the king himself that concerns me," Harlaw said, "but rather his council. You think the Old Lion will show us any mercy?"
"Stannis has the Royal Fleet," Victarion said. "And the Tyrells are his old enemies. I think the Old Lion can be convinced of the usefulness of bringing the Iron Fleet under his banner."
"Perhaps. Though it is worth noting the Lannisters and Tyrells are more allies than enemies now. And even if such a peace could be struck, it would mean becoming a vassal again," the Reader warned. "The captains won't like that either."
Victarion felt his jaw clench. Have all those books cost the Reader his balls? Lord Harlaw was a clever man, certainly. But entirely too cautious for Victarion's tastes.
The Reader sighed in resignation. "Yet you're right. But now that Asha's gone, I expect it will be harder for us. In his letters, it seemed the Boy King had a certain fondness for her. I don't think he will be as generous with us. And no matter what, I doubt we'd be able to find a position of strength to negotiate from."
"Do you know where she is?"
The Reader shrugged. "I only advised her to run. I didn't tell her where to run to." Something in Harlaw's stance hinted at deceit, but that was the least of Victarion's concerns for the moment, so he let it rest.
"So we are agreed?" Victarion asked. "Your men will stand beside mine?"
The Reader nodded, grim-faced. "To oppose Euron, aye. I'll support you."
Once that was done, the second thing he did was to make it known that he was leaving, to make it clear that he could not be guilty. He left with his men in a huff, making a show of his dissatisfaction with his brother, making it seem as though Euron had still been alive at the time of their last meeting. And so it was with a grin that Victarion descended eagerly into the bowels of the Iron Victory and then the flesh of the dusky woman. He told her of the glories yet to await him as she laboured over him and, feeling generous, spared her the sharper edge to his affections.
He stayed into the night, allowing the dusky woman to share his bed as he slept for the first time, then lingered with her long into the next day, watching the rays of the sun drift lazily through the windows into his cabin as his hands wandered her supple flesh.
When Victarion finally returned to the keep, what greeted him was chaos.
Captain had already turned on captain, accusations were hurled, and Victarion found himself in the unenviable situation of having to settle the passions of his fellow ironmen. Naturally, he was one of the targets of their suspicions, being the heir to the Seastone Chair. But he had excuse enough to allay their suspicions. He had made a big show of storming away from his meeting with Euron. And besides, everyone could understand the desire to break in a salt-wife.
Yet still the unease persisted.
"The dragon horn is gone," the Reader noted. Victarion blinked in surprise. Upon sighting Euron's corpse, thought of the horn had not even crossed his mind. But its theft did not make for good tidings.
"Fuck the horn!" one man replied. "I - we - were promised the Mander! Gold! Girls! We don't need any horn for that."
A roar of agreement rang out. And though Victarion was sat in the centre of Lord Hewett's hall, it seemed few had noted his presence. For the moment, that was fine. Victarion was content to let Harlaw work his magic; the old man had a way with words far beyond Victarion.
"No," the Reader agreed, "we don't. But we do need a leader. Divided, even the flower knights of the Reach could defeat us. United, we stand far stronger. And thus, since Euron is dead, it seems we'll need to hold another Kingsmoot."
"A waste of time!" another captain complained. "Oldtown and Highgarden and the Arbor will be marshalling their defences as you prattle! Our king was killed in his bed, in the dark. His killer may well still be among us. I would wager it was a Reachlord - too craven to face us in battle. Every moment we waste is one we give to our enemy."
"Well," the Reader asked, "how else would you propose we resolve this?"
Eyes turned to Victarion. "We follow the line of succession, Lord Harlaw. Theon, I would guess, is well and truly dead. Asha is a woman, and too far gone to be of any use to us in any case. Of all Balon's heirs, only one is here."
Harlaw's eyes narrowed as he gazed at Victarion. Was this you? was the question in the old man's eyes.
Victarion did not deign to answer the Reader's look. Instead he lifted himself to his feet, clad in full plate, looking every bit an ironborn warrior. "I will lead you all to gold and glory. I will deliver to your feet the wealth of the Reach. I will secure our strength.
I don't have any horn, nor any letter. I have naught but the strength of my arms, and the blessings of the Drowned God. And if you feel yourself stronger, then stand and test your might against the kraken!"
...
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