Chapter 141 138

While Balon studied his maps and laid plans for the further ravaging of the Sunset Sea's shores, a voice cut through the chamber uninvited.

"Father!" He was not even surprised that his guards had let someone through without his leave. They had always been thick-skulled brawlers, loyal enough but dim.

"Who are you?" Balon did not look up from the map.

"Your son. Your blood. Your heir." Blind confidence, as though the boy had forgotten that on the islands, rights had to be earned.

"We'll see." Balon finally lifted his gaze from the map, and what he saw displeased him.

Any seasoned raider worth his salt could size up a man's worth at a glance. And the boy wore too many soft things. Boots of fine black leather, woolen breeches in silver-grey, a black velvet doublet with a golden kraken on the breast. Worst of all, a gold chain and a belt of white leather. Theon had dressed himself like some preening lord of the continent.

"That woman's trinket around your neck, was it bought with gold or taken with iron?"

Under the Old Way, only women wore jewelry purchased with coin. A warrior stripped his trophies from the enemies he had slain. That was the iron price, something every ironborn knew from the cradle, something the boy had plainly forgotten.

"With gold, Father," Theon said, not bothering to lie. "Gold from Lannisters I killed."

Balon settled somewhat. His son had bought his ornaments, yes, but the coin had been paid in iron. Not ideal, but at least the boy had not lost the spirit of his homeland after all this time. There was something to work with.

"The gold will have to go," he said, and his son gave a meek nod. "The green lands have softened you, made you a weak landbound rat. You'll need to work for a long time before you're a true Kraken again."

"I've led men into battle, hunted alongside the king, won honors at tournaments more than once, smashed Lannisters in the Riverlands, fought against Randyll Tarly, killed men, and taken wounds myself, and you tell me I'm not a real Greyjoy?!" Good. His son had not turned into a spineless wretch.

"How much will your tournament victories help you in a raid? Or your land battles when a storm is bearing down? We are the Greyjoys. The sea is our greatest ally, and it is treacherous and fickle as any living thing. You must remember that the saltwater and iron run in your veins." Balon could not avoid stating the obvious. Ten years was a long absence. "Now speak. What brought you here."

"King Stannis Baratheon and his Hand, Lord Eddard Stark, sent me to deliver you this letter." From the inner pocket of the ornate doublet came an envelope, which was held out toward him. "Read it."

Balon broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. His dark eyes moved quickly down the lines. What he read left him with complicated feelings. Stannis wrote briefly, plainly, and to the point, without the flowery nonsense for which the soft men of Westeros were famous. The letter offered much, but demanded no less in return.

"King Stannis is calling us to honor our oaths to House Baratheon and wants to strike at Casterly Rock?" It all sounded like madness to him. "The Lannister stronghold has never fallen to anyone."

"There's a first time for everything," Theon smiled, clearly savoring the taste of some imagined swift victory.

"So that is why Stannis Baratheon sent you here after so long an absence? To win my agreement?"

After the rebellion, Balon had gone quiet and made himself a model vassal. No raids, taxes paid on time, no quarrels with anyone. He believed in the Old Way, and by that reckoning he had counted Robert Baratheon as his king. The Demon of the Trident had been a warrior who had earned his place honestly. The rest were green boys he had no interest in serving.

"Stannis's army is at Sarsfield now and will be able to strike at Casterly Rock within three days. Ser Stafford Lannister's blocking force has been broken. Before that, Jaime Lannister stripped the West of every man fit for war. Lord Tywin will try to fight his way back west, of course, but he won't manage it."

"And why not?" Balon asked, a trace of mockery in his voice. The boy's self-assurance amused him at this particular moment.

"If the Old Lion sends too few men, he won't break through the Reachmen lines. If he sends enough, he leaves King's Landing open to an attack down the Roseroad." The ease with which the young man spoke of war was something to note. "The West is defenceless right now. Reach out and take it, and Pyke's treasury will overflow."

The plan was not bad. Balon liked the manner of the letter too. Stannis had broken the mold of the continental fools who could do nothing but make promises. The king had offered them everything they could take for themselves, at the iron price. Simply put, they were being granted a free hand to raid and plunder on the condition that they leave his allies alone. Had it come from anyone else, Balon would have laughed. But it came from Stannis, a celebrated commander and the man who had once broken the Iron Fleet. The ironborn had always respected strength, and the middle Baratheon was a strong man.

Respect was not love, however. He had no great fondness for Stannis, but he acknowledged that Stannis alone among the claimants matched the spirit of the ironborn, and the fact that substantial land and sea forces stood behind him was a very persuasive argument.

"Very well." Seeing Theon's puzzlement, the Lord of Pyke added, "The plan has merit. The Iron Fleet will aid King Stannis in this matter."

He could admit to himself that the prospect of leaving his name in the history books as the man who brought Casterly Rock to heel was a tempting thing, as were the vast riches of the West and the sweet satisfaction of repaying the Old Lion.

"This plan was mine," Theon said proudly. "Let me lead the attack and prove that I am your heir."

"We'll see." Inwardly, the Old Kraken was satisfied.

He had expected worse from his last surviving son, but the Drowned God had given him a gift. Theon had not become a pampered little lord of the green lands and had even kept something of the qualities a Lord Reaper of Pyke needed. He was like unworked timber waiting for a skilled carpenter to shape it into a fine ship. And Balon would do exactly that.

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