Game of Thrones: I'm Dothrak King!!
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Hundreds of warships packed Lordsport harbor to the brim. The vessels rocked gently in the breeze, straining against their mooring lines like they wanted to slip away with the tide.
The ironborn soldiers aboard looked just as beaten down. Higher-ranking men sprawled lazily in the sun while the rest scrubbed decks with half-hearted strokes. The defeat at Harlaw had gutted them. Thirty thousand warriors held off by three thousand scattered fighters. Even the toughest reavers were losing their nerve.
Add the eight thousand dead at Beheading Bay and the whispers had already started. If Balon's second kingship ended in total failure, the ironborn would never give House Greyjoy another chance.
Inside Pyke's Selection Hall the air felt thick as frozen blood. Every lord sat with a stone on his chest. The seats once reserved for Harlaw and Goodbrother now stood empty. Nearly a third of the clan chiefs who should have been there were gone.
This was a real gut punch.
Gorold Goodbrother of Great Wyk felt it worst. From every angle Jon's next target looked like his own island—big, rich in thralls, a perfect copy of Harlaw. The man could barely sit still.
Asha felt it too. She'd brought half a dozen of her most trusted crew, two of them men she'd fucked, just to feel safe. Something was very wrong. She'd lost two uncles in two battles and Euron had been there both times. Balon used to care about his brothers. Now he barely reacted. And lately he and Euron were inseparable.
Could the rumors be true? That Euron was a kinslayer who used dark magic?
Asha's thoughts broke when the herald called out, "His Grace Balon has arrived—Prince Euron has arrived!"
The herald was Lord Drumm. He respected the Greyjoys, but not the way Sawane Botley had before he died at Beheading Bay.
Balon and Euron entered one after the other. Everyone stood. Asha watched them closely. Euron followed Balon, yet it felt like Balon was the shadow and Euron the man.
Balon climbed the steps and settled onto the Seastone Chair. Asha looked from her father to Euron and back. She had no idea what game Euron was playing. Was he going to burn the whole house down?
Before she could decide, Balon spoke. "I have decided to give up the Seastone Chair." He let the words hang. "And submit to Stannis."
The hall went dead silent. Only the sound of waves outside reached them. No one moved. No one argued. That silence said everything.
A weak voice finally rose from the corner. "Your Grace, we'll fight to the end."
Another added, "We are ironborn! Children of the Drowned God!" The words lacked any fire.
Balon ignored them. He had Euron send a raven to King's Landing offering the Iron Islands' surrender to the Iron Throne.
It was all Euron's plan. He knew pushing the war harder would tear the islands apart from within. He also knew Jon wasn't just coming for him—he was coming to swallow the Iron Islands whole. But Euron had seen the growing rift between Jon and Stannis. A little submission now could buy him the time he needed to tighten his grip.
Once the lords agreed, Balon ordered every house to bring its best fighters and even their families to Pyke. If Jon attacked, they would stand together or fall together. No one wanted to face him alone.
—Lord Stark and His Grace King Stannis, we are defeated, without dignity or excuse. Stark's sword has cut the Iron Islands open. Our warriors feed the fish. Our longships are gone. Even the Drowned God's wrath has abandoned us. The reefs swallowed my captains. I have no men left to send, no ships to fight with, and no face left to call myself king—
Grand Maester Pycelle read the letter aloud in the Red Keep. Relief washed over the Small Council. The usurper Balon had surrendered. The Seven Kingdoms were whole again. Stannis was finally the true Protector of the Realm.
Davos smiled with the rest, but unease lingered. Balon had listed Jon's name first and Stannis second. The slight was obvious. He prayed it wouldn't widen the crack already forming between the king and his most powerful duke.
Oberyn noticed the same trick, but his mind stayed on Jon's campaign. Three thousand men landed on Harlaw and left with nearly ten thousand. Armies were supposed to shrink in war. Jon's had grown. The Red Viper was impressed.
"Congratulations, Your Grace," Pycelle said. "The realm is united once more."
"Excellent news, Your Grace," Oberyn added. Stannis gave him a flat look but said nothing.
After a long moment Stannis spoke. "Jon's achievements keep growing. Even Balon's surrender letter fears the Duke of the West more than his king."
Davos's stomach tightened. "Your Grace, Jon is your Duke of the West."
Stannis ignored him. "I intend to summon Jon to King's Landing. What do you think?"
He swept his cold blue eyes across the table. Davos frowned hard. Pycelle and Oberyn stayed carefully neutral. Varys gave nothing away.
Davos knew suspicion had taken root in Stannis. He just hoped Jon wouldn't refuse the summons out of pride. If he did, the rift might never close.
Before Davos could speak, Oberyn smiled. "Wisdom has no peer, Your Grace. What post do you have in mind for our Lord Jon?"
"Lord of Dragonstone," Stannis said. "And I want him to bring the Casterly Rock fleet with him."
Dragonstone sat close enough to King's Landing for easy watching. It was also the old Targaryen seat. Jon would never ally with dragons. The position fit like a glove.
No one objected. Stannis had Pycelle add the order to the agenda. Once the Iron Islands were settled, Jon would be called south.
Davos hated the idea but couldn't find the words to fight it.
Varys spoke up. "Your Grace, my lords, I may have some welcome news as well."
He handed Stannis a thin letter. Oberyn, Davos, and the others leaned in.
Stannis read it once, then passed it to Pycelle to read aloud. It was from Slaver's Bay. Volantis, Qarth, and New Ghis had turned against Daenerys. Some were already calling for war.
Varys smiled. "It seems the gods have begun to smile on us, my lords."
Stannis's tight mouth softened. "The dragon spawn was always cursed by the gods."
Davos felt a sour twist in his gut. He knew the truth from King's Landing's spies. Daenerys had dragons and she was freeing slaves across Slaver's Bay—something that should have earned respect in Westeros. Yet here was his king glad to see another ruler suffer for doing what was right. It left a bad taste.
Still, Davos told himself it wasn't his concern. Stannis ruled Westeros. What happened half a world away wasn't his problem.
Two ravens left King's Landing that afternoon.
One flew to Jon: prepare to accept the Iron Islands' surrender.
The other flew to Pyke: every ironborn house must send its heir to King's Landing as a hostage.