#erik ironmaker

[dyannawynnedayne]

Terros' Next Top DILF: Round 1

Erik: art from A Game of Thrones: The Card Game, AWOIAF Page

Ned: art by amuelia, AWOIAF Page

BRACKET LINK

[2maegor2cruel]

i've spent the last year getting my degree in genderbent theon studies so lemme say some shit real quick. i'll probably make a seperate post about The Themes, but this is about the logistics, babeyyy 🫶

"thea" vs. asha: pick your hostage

from the get-go, whether it is theon ("thea") or asha who is taken hostage, the intent would be to 1) shore up the power of the loyal regions in mainland westeros, and 2) "neuter "the iron islands. a northern or riverlands match is the best option, as both lack any significant fleet (which is bizarre in and of itself, but that's what grrm went with), balancing out the reach's naval superiority with the redwyne fleet.

in canon, we don't get any in-depth explorations of how women experience the hostage system. we know of dorna swyft, who was given to house lannister as a hostage until house swyft could pay off its debts. dorna would later marry kevan lannister, which tyrion describes as ser harys swyft's "greatest accomplishment". tyrion is naturally biased, but a relatively minor vassal getting to marry into the ruling house IS a serious step up. however, this is only one case, with it's own unique circumstances.

which brings us to my original question: would asha or "thea" be taken? asha is the obvious choice in a two-greyjoy-daughters scenario, as she's the legal heir, but asha is also a lot less malleable. she's around 13 by the end of balon's rebellion, and though women's opinions or identity wouldn't be given much weight or consideration in this context, the intent of a marriage pact would be to build a working alliance and mend rifts between regions. that's a lot more difficult when the conquering party doesn't have a mostly blank slate to work with.

also, theon was balon's last son and legal heir, but even he was essentially written off as dead in canon. i imagine a daughter would be regarded as similar to a salt wife, taken from her family by conquest due to her male relatives "weakness"/inability to protect her. it would be too much for balon's ego and sense of ironborn masculinity to bear, so i don't doubt he would consider her "as good as dead" as well, even if the conquering party (robert baratheon & co) couldn't have anticipated this.

most importantly, as we see AFFC, "the laws of the green lands" do not count for much on the iron islands. so let's get into it.

to start, the greyjoys themselves are relatively new major lords, having ruled for only 300 years (compared to the starks' alleged thousands of years of kingship). and, as we can intuit from the kingsmoot, the greyjoys do not command unquestioning loyalty from the ironborn. dunstan drumm, gylbert farwynd, and erik ironmaker all put forth their names at the kingsmoot, and some receive a levels of support that is surprising to the greyjoys in attendance, particularly aeron, who has a very skewed perception of balon (and therefore an overly rosy view of balon's legacy).

if it had been asha who was taken as hostage-bride, i honestly don't think any tully-greyjoy or stark-greyjoy children (who would have been ~9 years old MAX at the time of the kingsmoot in canon, assuming asha was forced to have children immediately after the rebellion) would have stood a snowball's chance in hell of inheriting. euron would likely have them killed in some clandestine way, and victarion, should he win, would be pressured to neutralize them in a less kinslay-ey way (though he could potentially take a male child on as heir, given his own lack of progeny).

all of this to say, the greyjoy line of succession is inevitably thorny. in my predominately vibes-based opinion, in the absence of a clear male heir like theon and knowing the ironborn's lack of deference to "green land law", "thea" might be taken over asha. i imagine lords like ned stark or hoster tully would be afraid that an asha match would basically be throwing their grandchildren into the greyjoy succession meat grinder, when asha/"thea" still have so many living and powerful male relatives.

anyway, thank you for coming to my female theon succession and hostage logistics tedtalk, and please tell me how wrong i am in the replies/reblogs 🫡

[windriverdelta]

Asha will probably outlive Theon in ASOIAF, and future political development of the Iron Islands

So, as of the released TWOW chapter Asha and Theon are together Stannis' prisoners. They are both POV characters, and Martin has said that the number of POV characters in TWOW will decline - as in, many will die. Given that Asha and Theon are unlikely to be separated in the future (there is no reason for Stannis or Bran to separate the two), one of them is likely on the chopping block.

Unlike many others, I think that Theon is on thinner ice than Asha, however:

Theon's character arc - from jerk to Reek to redemption - is done as soon as Stannis captures Winterfell and Ramsay dies (probably at Theon's hands). At best, we could see a further family reunion with Alannys Harlaw, or a Stark-Greyjoy reunion. Asha's arc however goes from being Balon's heir to making her own claim at the Kingsmoot to learning in captivity why it wasn't sufficient. This is a longer-term arc that probably ends with her becoming the actual leader of the Iron Islands, most likely after the War for the Dawn.

The Theon TWOW chapter is setting up both Theon's execution by Stannis and a probable encounter between Bran/Bloodraven-speaking-through-weirwood-trees and Theon/Stannis. However, even if Stannis and the Northerners are convinced to spare Theon after this conference, his bad health isn't going to go away.

Asha has probably spoiled the "Theon Latecomer" plan by spelling it out in detail. There is no dramatic tension if she discusses a precedent and then recreates it exactly. And while Aeron in his TWOW chapter thinks that only Theon and not Asha and Victarion can overthrow Euron, he also thinks that no godless man can sit the Seastone Chair and yet Euron did.

In my assessment this translates in Asha and not Theon surviving and ruling the Iron Islands.

Importantly, events in AFFC and ADWD have set up a scenario where Euron's viceroy in the Iron Islands (Erik Ironmaker) might be overthrown by Asha through force:

Euron and Victarion have withdrawn armed forces and supporters from the Islands and going by Aeron's TWOW chapter Euron probably doesn't care about them anymore.

The Iron Bank's delegate Tycho Nestoris has ransomed Asha's gang for reasons unknown.

Dagmer Cleftjaw's troops in Torrhen's Square are unaccounted for and apparently still around.

Rodrik "The Reader" Harlaw split from Euron at the Shield Islands and might be able to negotiate a withdrawal of his forces with the Reach.

Stannis and Justin Massey have discussed Asha's marriage probably as a prelude to advancing a claim to the Iron Islands.

If Euron is Bloodraven's rogue pupil Brynden might ask Bran/the North/Stannis for an intervention.

And oh yeah the "smoking tower" vision in Dany's House of the Undying is foreshadowing Euron's demise at Dany's hands.

I find it quite likely that in TWOW or ADOS Asha will assemble a coalition that will take the Iron Islands by force, overthrow Euron's lieutenants and remaining loyalists and install her as ruler.

Credit to @poorquentyn, @turtle-paced and the Redditor every-name-is-taken-2 for some references.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: The Forsaken (Aeron Dam-phair)

It's one of those chapters.

It was always midnight in the belly of the beast. The mutes had robbed him of his of robe and shoes and breechclout. He wore hair and chains and scabs. Saltwater sloshed about his legs whenever the tide came in, rising as high as his genitals only to ebb again when the tide receded. His feet had grown huge and soft and puffy, shapeless things as big as hams. He knew that he was in some dungeon, but not where, or for how long.

Believe it or not, this is not Theon Greyjoy.

Quick note, this chapter is going to span several months, so it might be a bit tricky following the timeline. I'll do my best to make things easy to understand, but just know this chapter covers the following:

The aftermath of the Kingsmoot on Old Wyck

The attack of the Shield Islands

The initial stages of the Arbor attack

+.+.+

The night they moved him, he had seen the moon floating on a black wine sea with a leering face that reminded him of Euron.

Moon imagery for squid and dragon, love that for them.

+.+.+

When he slept, the darkness would rise up and swallow him and then the dream would come … and Urri and the scream of a rusted hinge.

You ever notice that of all the recurrent POV characters, it's the two religious fanatics, Melisandre and Dam-phair, who have had the most traumatic childhoods?

(Please pretend Areo Hotah doesn't exist for the sake of my interesting observation.)

+.+.+

Sometimes, Euron came himself. Aeron would wake from sleep to find his brother standing over him, lantern in hand. Once, aboard the Silence, he hung the lantern from a post and poured them cups of wine. "Drink with me, brother," he said. That night he wore a shirt of iron scales and a cloak of blood red silk. His eyepatch was red leather, his lips blue. 

Did you know the way we dress can greatly influence how others perceive us? First impressions are often based on appearance, and dressing in line with expectations can help create a positive image.

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"What can you offer me that I have not had before?" Euron smiled. "I left the islands in the hands of old Erik Ironmaker, and sealed his loyalty with the hand of our sweet Asha. I would not have you preaching against his rule, so I took you with us."

The man's got brains, what can I say?

He may be a total fraud, but he dodged the dumb Greyjoy genes.

+.+.+

Euron grabbed a handful of the priest's tangled black hair, pulled his head back, and lifted the wine cup to his lips. But what flowed into his mouth was not wine. It was thick and viscous, with a taste that seemed to change with every swallow. Now bitter, now sour, now sweet. When Aeron tried to spit it out, his brother tightened his grip and forced more down his throat. "That's it, priest. Gulp it down. The wine of the warlocks, sweeter than your seawater, with more truth in it than all the gods of earth."

[...]

Aeron hawked and spat. The spittle struck his brother's cheek and hung there, blue-black, glistening. Euron flicked it off his face with a forefinger, then licked the finger clean.

+.+.+

And when the Damphair slept, sagging in his chains, he heard the creak of a rusted hinge. "Urri!" he cried. There is no hinge here, no door, no Urri. His brother Urrigon was long dead, yet there he stood. One arm was black and swollen, stinking with maggots, but he was still Urri, still a boy, no older than the day he died.

Hey, Victarion's got one of those too.

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"You know what waits below the sea, brother?" "The Drowned God," Aeron said, "the watery halls." Urri shook his head. "Worms … worms await you, Aeron."

You might also find Euron and Victarion down there.

+.+.+

When he laughed his face sloughed off and the priest saw that it was not Urri but Euron, the smiling eye hidden. He showed the world his blood eye now, dark and terrible. Clad head to heel in scale as dark as onyx, he sat upon a mound of blackened skulls as dwarfs capered round his feet and a forest burned behind him.

"The bleeding star bespoke the end," he said to Aeron. "These are the last days, when the world shall be broken and remade. A new god shall be born from the graves and charnel pits." Then Euron lifted a great horn to his lips and blew, and dragons and krakens and sphinxes came at his command and bowed before him. "Kneel, brother," the Crow's Eye commanded. "I am your king, I am your god. Worship me, and I will raise you up to be my priest."

"Never. No godless man may sit the Seastone Chair!"

"Why would I want that hard black rock? Brother, look again and see where I am seated."

Aeron Damphair looked. The mound of skulls was gone. Now it was metal underneath the Crow's Eye: a great, tall, twisted seat of razor sharp iron, barbs and blades and broken swords, all dripping blood.

Impaled upon the longer spikes were the bodies of the gods. The Maiden was there and the Father and the Mother, the Warrior and Crone and Smith … even the Stranger. They hung side by side with all manner of queer foreign gods: the Great Shepherd and the Black Goat, three-headed Trios and the Pale Child Bakkalon, the Lord of Light and the butterfly god of Naath.

And there, swollen and green, half-devoured by crabs, the Drowned God festered with the rest, seawater still dripping from his hair. Then, Euron Crow's Eye laughed again, and the priest woke screaming in the bowels of Silence, as piss ran down his leg. It was only a dream, a vision born of foul black wine.

God, I don't know. I'm so tired.

He showed the world his blood eye now, dark and terrible. Clad head to heel in scale as dark as onyx, he sat upon a mound of blackened skulls as dwarfs capered round his feet and a forest burned behind him.

Not sure why it's called his blood eye, when it's black. That's a great way of tricking your fanbase into writing hundreds of Euron x Bloodraven metas.

The scale as dark as onyx might be the Valyrian steel armour he'll rock later in this chapter.

Euron Crow's Eye stood upon the deck of Silence, clad in a suit of black scale armor like nothing Aeron had ever seen before. Dark as smoke it was [...]

As for the mound of blackened skulls, I'm going to go out out on a limb and say they represent a significant loss of life on a large scale, caused by fire.

The dwarves are similar to Daenerys' dwarves from the House of the Undying.

In one room, a beautiful woman sprawled naked on the floor while four little men crawled over her. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

Most people believe those dwarves symbolize the four kings tearing through Westeros in pursuit of the Iron Throne, and it wouldn't be a bad guess to assume they represent the same thing here.

These dwarves will pop up again later in this chapter,

Dwarves capered for their amusement, male and female, naked and misshapen, locked in carnal embrace, biting and tearing at each other as Euron and his mate laughed and laughed and laughed …

and all signs are pointing towards Daenerys and Aegon, two new claimants of the Iron Throne.

That leaves the burning forest behind him. I've seen people speculate it's the Kingswood, Horn Hill, and a few other locations, among other guesses.

I personally believe it's one of two options: 1) The forest represents the Old Gods - in this same vision we see the death of all deities, or 2) It's symbolizing the Citadel (Oldtown) - books, books are burning.

"The bleeding star bespoke the end," he said to Aeron. "These are the last days, when the world shall be broken and remade. A new god shall be born from the graves and charnel pits."

Daenerys aka Azor Ahai aka Fate's Fumbler aka Destiny's Dud.

The Volantene waved a hand. "In Volantis, thousands of slaves and freedmen crowd the temple plaza every night to hear Benerro shriek of bleeding stars and a sword of fire that will cleanse the world. [...]" - Tyrion VI, ADWD 

What I especially love about this is that Dam-phair's learning that the comet's meaning is the opposite of what he initially believed. Initially, it was a promising sign, he interpreted it as a harbinger of triumph and glory for House Greyjoy and the ironborn.

The priest had dreamed the same dream, when first he'd seen the red comet in the sky. We shall sweep over the green lands with fire and sword - The Drowned Man, AFFC

Now, he is confronted with the revelation that the comet actually points towards an apocalyptic end.

Isn't that fascinating? Isn't that super interesting? I wonder if other priests are going to be forced to come to terms with the fact that they misconstrued certain prophecies.

Then Euron lifted a great horn to his lips and blew, and dragons and krakens and sphinxes came at his command and bowed before him.

Christ, more horn. There is a horn that some claim can command krakens.

Lord Celtigar had many fine wines that now I am not tasting, a sea eagle he had trained to fly from the wrist, and a magic horn to summon krakens from the deep. - Davos V, ASOS

I have no clue if it matters at all, or if any of these bloody horns actually serve any real purpose.

As for the sphinxes, I associate that with the Citadel.

The gates of the Citadel were flanked by a pair of towering green sphinxes with the bodies of lions, the wings of eagles, and the tails of serpents. - Samwell V, AFFC

The sphinx is the riddle!

Now it was metal underneath the Crow's Eye: a great, tall, twisted seat of razor sharp iron, barbs and blades and broken swords, all dripping blood.

Iron Throne!

You're welcome.

Impaled upon the longer spikes were the bodies of the gods. The Maiden was there and the Father and the Mother, the Warrior and Crone and Smith … even the Stranger. They hung side by side with all manner of queer foreign gods: the Great Shepherd and the Black Goat, three-headed Trios and the Pale Child Bakkalon, the Lord of Light and the butterfly god of Naath. And there, swollen and green, half-devoured by crabs, the Drowned God festered with the rest, seawater still dripping from his hair.

Euron pushing his separation of church and state agenda.

Later in this chapter we'll learn he's collecting holy men who represent some of these faiths. Fun!

+.+.+

Mingled with the distant roar of song and celebration coming up from the beach, he'd heard the faint creak of longships settling on the strand. He heard the keening of the wind and now whines. He heard the pounding of the waves, the hammer of his god calling him to battle. And there and then, the Drowned God had come to him once more, his voice welling up from the depths of the sea. "Aeron, my good and faithful servant, you must tell the Ironborn that the Crow's Eye is no true king, that the Seastone Chair by rights belongs to … to … to …" Not Victarion. Victarion had offered himself to the captains and kings but they had spurned him.

Aeron is now recalling the moments that followed the Kingsmoot.

Notice that stutter? Notice how both the Drowned God and Dam-phair struggle to arrive at a definitive answer? It's almost as if this God merely reinforces Dam-phair's own beliefs.

+.+.+

Not Asha. In his heart, Aeron had always loved Asha best of all his brother Balon's children. The Drowned God had blessed her with a warrior's spirit and the wisdom of a king – but he had cursed her with a woman's body, too. No woman had ever ruled the Iron Islands. She should never have made a claim. She should have spoken for Victarion, added her own strength to his.

She tried. Unfortunately, she's surrounded by idiots.

"Then let my nuncle sit," Asha said. "I will stand behind you, to guard your back and whisper in your ear. No king can rule alone. Even when the dragons sat the Iron Throne, they had men to help them. The King's Hands. Let me be your Hand, Nuncle."

No King of the Isles had ever needed a Hand, much less one who was a woman. The captains and the kings would mock me in their cups. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

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It was not too late, Aeron had decided as he shivered in the sea. If Victarion took Asha for his wife, they could yet rule together, king and queen. In ancient days, each isle had its Salt King and its Rock King. Let the Old Way return.

Oh my god. Hahahaha.

Well, I'll say this, that has more chance of happening than Daenerys with Aegon/Jon, or Sansa with her uncle by marriage.

+.+.+

Aeron Damphair had struggled back to shore, full of fierce resolve. He would bring down Euron, not with sword or axe but with the power of his faith.

I think you're probably going to need the axe.

+.+.+

"And who are you, child?"

"Falia Flowers, Lord Hewett's natural daughter. I am to be King Euron's salt wife. You and I will be kin, then." Aeron Damphair raised his eyes to hers. His scabbed lips were crusted with wet porridge. "Woman." His chains clinked when he moved. "Run. He will hurt you. He will kill you."

She laughed. "Silly, he won't. I'm his love, his lady. He gives me gifts, so many gifts. Silks and furs and jewels. Rags and rocks, he calls them."

"The Crow's Eye puts no value in such things." That was one of the things that drew men to his service. Most captains kept the lion's share of their plunder but Euron took almost nothing for himself.

"He gives me any gown I want," the girl was prattling happily. "My sisters used to make me wait on them at table, but Euron made them serve the whole hall naked! Why should he do that, except for love of me?" She put a hand on her belly and smoothed down the fabric of her gown.

"I'm going to give him sons. So many sons …"

[...]

"Gone?" That was the cruelest blow of all. "Gone where?"

"East," she said, "with all his ships. He's to bring the dragon queen to Westeros. I'm to be Euron's salt wife, but he must have a rock wife too, a queen to rule all Westeros at his side. They say she's the most beautiful woman in the world, and she has dragons. The two of us will be as close as sisters!"

Sisters?

I don't have the strength or desire to properly comment on any of this.

+.+.+

That night, when the tide came rushing back into the prison cell, he prayed that it might rise all night, enough to end his torment. I have been your true and leal servant, he prayed, twisting in his chains. Now snatch me from my brother's hand, and take me down beneath the waves, to be seated at your side.

Very on brand for a Greyjoy to be wishing for his own death.

This is how I know Victarion murder-suicides.

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"It was me who taught you how to pray, little brother. Have you forgotten? I would visit your bed chamber at night when I had too much to drink. You shared a room with Urrigon high up in the seatower. I could hear you praying from outside the door. I always wondered: Were you praying that I would choose you or that I would pass you by?" Euron pressed the knife to Aeron's throat.

There's no reason for me to include this, but it's necessary if you want to get the full Euron experience.

+.+.+

"Not even you would dare," said the Damphair. "I am your brother. No man is more accursed than the kinslayer."

Somewhere in the world, Victarion's ears are ringing.

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"And yet I wear a crown and you rot in chains. How is it that your Drowned God allows that when I have killed three brothers?" Aeron could only gape at him. "Three?" "Well, if you count half-brothers. Do you remember little Robin? Wretched creature. Do you remember that big head of his, how soft it was? All he could do was mewl and shit. He was my second. Harlon was my first. All I had to do was pinch his nose shut. The greyscale had turned his mouth to stone so he could not cry out. But his eyes grew frantic as he died. They begged me. When the life went out of them, I went out and pissed into the sea, waiting for the god to strike me down. None did. Oh, and Balon was the third, but you knew that. I could not do the deed myself, but it was my hand that pushed him off the bridge."

Am I supposed to be thinking about Sweetrobin?

Take a second to compare the above with whoever the hell this is:

Wild, right? Of all the characters they fucked up, Euron has to be the worst.

Anyway, Euron's gotta meet his end at the hands of a brother. It's just the way it has to be, plain and simple.

+.+.+

He stepped back and sheathed his dagger. "No, I'll not kill you tonight. A holy man with holy blood. I may have need of that that blood … later. For now, you are condemned to live."

Ouu a sacrifice! Do holy men have special blood?

Good thing Melisandre is at the other end of the continent. We wouldn't want her to get a taste of sweet, poetic justice.

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It was in the second dungeon that the other holy men began to appear to share his torments. Three wore the robes of septons of the green lands, and one the red raiment of a priest of R'hllor. The last was hardly recognizable as a man. Both his hands had been burned down to the bone, and his face was a charred and blackened horror where two blind eyes moved sightlessly above the cracked cheeks dripping pus. He was dead within hours of being shackled to the wall, but the mutes left his body there to ripen for three days afterwards.

Last were two warlocks of the east, with flesh as white as mushrooms, and lips the purplish-blue of a bad bruise, all so gaunt and starved that only skin and bones remained. One had lost his legs. The mutes hung him from a rafter. "Pree," he cried as he swung back and forth. "Pree, Pree!”

Perhaps that was the name of the demon that he worships. The Drowned God protects me, the priest told himself. He is stronger than the false gods these other worship, stronger than their black sorceries. The Drowned God will set me free.

In his saner moments, Aeron questioned why the Crow's Eye was collecting priests, but he did not think that he would like the answer.

Some people collect coins and stamps, and then there's Euron Greyjoy.

Yes, that would be Pyat Pree's little band of warlocks.

Euron drank deep from his own cup, and smiled. "Shade-of-the-evening, the wine of the warlocks. I came upon a cask of it when I captured a certain galleas out of Qarth, along with some cloves and nutmeg, forty bolts of green silk, and four warlocks who told a curious tale. One presumed to threaten me, so I killed him and fed him to the other three. They refused to eat of their friend's flesh at first, but when they grew hungry enough they had a change of heart. Men are meat." - The Reaver, AFFC

x

"Not all your enemies are in the Yellow City. Beware men with cold hearts and blue lips. You had not been gone from Qarth a fortnight when Pyat Pree set out with three of his fellow warlocks, to seek for you in Pentos." - Daenerys III, ADWD

It's so sweet how he kills all her enemies for her.

Side note, it's a bit interesting that Euron had access to a red priest from R'hllor, when the horn he gave Victarion feels like it might have a connection to that faith.

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When Euron came again, his hair was swept straight back from his brow, and his lips were so blue that they were almost black. He had put aside his driftwood crown. In its place, he wore an iron crown whose points were made from the teeth of sharks.

That's kind of cool.

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"Your victories are hollow. You cannot hold the Shields."

"Why should I want to hold them?" His brother's smiling eye glittered in the lantern light, blue and bold and full of malice. "The Shields have served my purpose. I took them with one hand, and gave them away with the other. A great king is open-handed, brother. It is up to the new lords to hold them now. The glory of winning those rocks will be mine forever. When they are lost, the defeat will belong to the four fools who so eagerly accepted my gifts."

My poor Vicky. Please throw your toy in the sea.

+.+.+

Euron pulled his head back by the hair and forced the vile liquor into his mouth again. Though Aeron clamped his mouth shut, twisting his head from side to side he fought as best he could, but in the end he had to choke or swallow.

The dreams were even worse the second time. He saw the longships of the Ironborn adrift and burning on a boiling blood-red sea. He saw his brother on the Iron Throne again, but Euron was no longer human. He seemed more squid than man, a monster fathered by a kraken of the deep, his face a mass of writhing tentacles. Beside him stood a shadow in woman's form, long and tall and terrible, her hands alive with pale white fire. Dwarves capered for their amusement, male and female, naked and misshapen, locked in carnal embrace, biting and tearing at each other as Euron and his mate laughed and laughed and laughed …

He saw the longships of the Ironborn adrift and burning on a boiling blood-red sea.

Wouldn't be Euron if he wasn't sailing on a sea of blood.

"Only their shadows," Moqorro said. "One most of all. A tall and twisted thing with one black eye and ten long arms, sailing on a sea of blood." - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

In a previous chapter, Melisandre also had visions of a blood-red sea, which seemed to hint at the imminent destruction of Oldtown.

Then the towers by the sea, crumbling as the dark tide came sweeping over them, rising from the depths. - Melisandre I, ADWD

x

I saw towers by the sea, submerged beneath a black and bloody tide. - Melisandre I, ADWD

I'm sure I don't have to point out the Arbor is right beside Oldtown.

He saw his brother on the Iron Throne again, but Euron was no longer human. He seemed more squid than man, a monster fathered by a kraken of the deep, his face a mass of writhing tentacles.

Greyjoy kraken things.

Beside him stood a shadow in woman's form, long and tall and terrible, her hands alive with pale white fire.

Four popular candidates.

Melisandre:

The mist rose from her pale flesh, and for a moment it seemed as if pale, sorcerous flames were playing about her fingers. - Jon VI, ADWD

Popular theory solely because of that.

I can't understand why. She's at the Wall, and Euron is more likely to sacrifice her than join forces with her. Honestly, what is it about these chapters that is giving people the impression Euron gives a shit about what a red priestess has to say?

Cersei:

Terrible, tall, pale, and often associated with fire. Can't totally dismiss it, because of what transpired on the show. Plus she wants a fleet as badly as Daenerys does, and would be dumb enough to ally with a Greyjoy to get one. We love Cersei and Daenerys parallels!

My problem is, I don't think Euron wants or needs Cersei Lannister.

Daenerys:

Not long or tall, but certainly terrible. Notable fire lady, and the woman Euron is after. Need I say more?

As much as I love Storm x Storm, Daenerys Targaryen is nobody's sidekick, and it's not going to take much time before these two end up in a war.

Viserion:

The shadowy pale white intersex dragon, who breathes pale golden fire.

But as Brown Ben was leaving, Viserion spread his pale white wings and flapped lazily at his head. 

I lied before, Euron's not after Daenerys. This is what Euron truly wants.

If it is Viserion, it would explain why the show felt compelled to give Viserion to a character that doesn't even exist in the books. It would also explain all the foreshadowing that suggests two of Daenerys' dragons will clash.

I'm not completely convinced about this theory, but if any of those dumb horns actually have an effect, my money's on Viserion being the target. And if there's anyone who'd snatch up one of Daenerys' dragons, it's most likely going to be Euron.

Dwarves capered for their amusement, male and female, naked and misshapen, locked in carnal embrace, biting and tearing at each other as Euron and his mate laughed and laughed and laughed …

Tyrion and Penny.

Kidding. Aegon and Daenerys feels like a safe bet.

+.+.+

Aeron dreamed of drowning, too. Not of the bliss that would surely follow down in the Drowned God's watery halls, but of the terror that even the faithful feel as the water fills their mouth and nose and lungs, and they cannot draw a breath. Three times the Damphair woke, and three times it proved no true waking, but only another chapter in a dream. 

Is it Dam-phair who is drowning? Or is he experiencing Euron's death?

I'm a bit lost on the three times he woke.

+.+.+

They dragged him up more steps, down a torchlit gallery, and into a bleak stone hall where a dozen bodies were hanging from the rafters, turning and swaying. A dozen of Euron's captains were gathered in the hall, drinking wine beneath the corpses. Left-Hand Lucas Codd sat in the place of honor, wearing a heavy silken tapestry as a cloak. Beside him was the Red Oarsman, and further down Pinchface Jon Myre, Stonehand, and Rogin Salt-Beard.

"Who are these dead?" Aeron commanded. His tongue was so thick the words came out in a rusty whisper, faint as a mouse breaking wind.

"The lord that held this castle, with his kin." The voice belonged to Torwold Browntooth, one of his brother's captains, a creature near as vile as the Crow's Eye himself. "Pigs," said another vile creature, the one they called the Red Oarsman. "This was their isle. A rock, just off the Arbor. They dared oink threats at us. Redwyne, oink. Hightower, oink. Tyrell, oink oink oink! So we sent them squealing down to hell."

We've now reached the Arbor.

As you can see, people are dead. More will join them.

+.+.+

"Your curses have no power here, priest," said Left-Hand Lucas Codd. "The Crow's Eye has fed your Drowned God well, and he has grown fat with sacrifice. Words are wind, but blood is power. We have given thousands to the sea, and he has given us victories!"

"And krakens off the Broken Arm, pulling under crippled galleys," said Valena. "The blood draws them to the surface, our maester claims. [...] - Arianne I, TWOW

Bruh, is this part of his plan? That's crazy, surely not.

Is it??

A tangle of roots and limbs poked up out of the water as it came, like the reaching arms of a great kraken. - Arya IX, ASOS

x

"In the Seven Kingdoms, there are tales of dragons who grew so huge that they could pluck giant krakens from the seas."

Dany laughed. "That would be a wondrous sight to see." - Daenerys I, ASOS

x

The next storm could sink or scatter us, a kraken could pull us under . . . - Daenerys I, ASOS

x

The eunuch drew a parchment from his sleeve. "A kraken has been seen off the Fingers." He giggled. "Not a Greyjoy, mind you, a true kraken. It attacked an Ibbenese whaler and pulled it under. - Tyrion III, ASOS

x

On the crown of the hill four-and-forty monstrous stone ribs rose from the earth like the trunks of great pale trees. The sight made Aeron's heart beat faster. Nagga had been the first sea dragon, the mightiest ever to rise from the waves. She fed on krakens and leviathans and drowned whole islands in her wrath [...] - The Drowned Man, AFFC

Bruh.

🎨 antoniothailan

PLS GEORGE I NEED IT.

+.+.+

"Count yourself blessed, Damphair," said Stonehand. "We are going back to sea. The Redwyne fleet creeps toward us. The winds have been against them rounding Dorne, but they're finally near enough to have emboldened the old women in Oldtown, so now Leyton Hightower's sons move down the Whispering Sound in hopes of catching us in the rear."

Euron appears to be controlling the wind again.

"Do I command the winds?" the Crow's Eye asked his pets.

"No, Your Grace," said Orkwood of Orkmont.

"No man commands the winds," said Germund Botley.

"Would that you did," the Red Oarsman said. "You would sail wherever you liked and never be becalmed."

"There you have it, from the mouths of three brave men," Euron said. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

I wonder if his red priest had something to do with that.

Euron is fully aware of what the Hightower and Redwyne fleets are planning, so they have no hope at all. Even if he were unaware, they still wouldn't stand a chance. Who the hell is Paxter Redwyne? Exactly.

+.+.+

Euron Crow's Eye stood upon the deck of Silence, clad in a suit of black scale armor like nothing Aeron had ever seen before. Dark as smoke it was, but Euron wore it as easily as if it was the thinnest silk. The scales were edged in red gold, and gleamed and shimmered when they moved. Patterns could be seen within the metal, whorls and glyphs and arcane symbols folded into the steel.

Valyrian steel, the Damphair knew. His armor is Valyrian steel. In all the Seven Kingdoms, no man owned a suit of Valyrian steel. Such things had been known 400 years ago, in the days before the Doom, but even then, they would've cost a kingdom.

Euron did not lie. He has been to Valyria. No wonder he was mad.

I bet he looks better in this armour than any pigment-challenged, scrawny, inbred, mole rat-esque Targaryen ever has. How could she resist? He's Drogon in human form.

I'm still on the Reader's side: I don't believe Euron has set foot in Valyria. No clue where he got that snazzy outfit, though. Although, someone ought to let him know that wearing armour on a ship is asking for trouble.

+.+.+

"Your Grace," said Torwold Browntooth. "I have the priests. What do you want done with them?"

"Bind them to the prows," Euron commanded. "My brother on the Silence. Take one for yourself. Let them dice for the others, one to a ship. Let them feel the spray, the kiss of the Drowned God, wet and salty."

[...]

They bound Aeron Damphair tight with strips of leather that would shrink when wet, clad only in his beard and breechclout. The Crow's Eye spoke a command; a black sail was raised, lines were cast off, and the Silence backed away from shore to the slow beat of the oarmaster's drum, her oars rising and dipping and rising again, churning the water. Above them, the castle was burning, flames licking from the open windows.

When they were well out to sea, Euron returned to him. "Brother," he said, "you look forlorn. I have a gift for you."

He beckoned, and two of his bastard sons dragged the woman forward and bound her to the prow on the other side of the figurehead. Naked as the mouthless maiden, her smooth belly just beginning to swell with the child she was carrying, her cheeks red with tears, she did not struggle as the boys tightened her bonds. Her hair hung down in front of her face, but Aeron knew her all the same.

"Falia Flowers," he called. "Have courage, girl! All this will be over soon, and we will feast together in the Drowned God's watery halls."

The girl raised up her head, but made no answer. She has no tongue to answer with, the Damphair knew. He licked his lips, and tasted salt.

I continue to have no words for Falia Flowers. Sad stuff.

Looks like Euron is planning a massive blood sacrifice featuring a pregnant woman, and a bunch of priests.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't Daenerys sacrifice an unborn child, and a priestess of the Great Shepherd of Lhazar to wake the dragons? Just saying.

Final thoughts:

I'm not convinced anyone on the brink of death could survive being tied to the prow of a ship, but given there wasn't a speck of blood in sight, my guess is we'll be seeing Aeron Dam-phair again.

Next chapter: Theon I

-> return to menu <-

[aegor-bamfsteel]

Do you think that Jeyne marriage with Ramsey is valid? Considering the marriage is taken out in name of Arya Stark.

Nothing about that marriage is valid, considering the Lannisters gave the Boltons a girl who knew Winterfell well in order to have a shadow of a claim on the north. But yes, the old gods wedding ceremony requires the bride and groom to identify themselves in front of witnesses; and since Jeyne can’t be truthful, it’s not valid. The proxy marriage between Asha and Erik Ironmaker is considered valid despite Asha’s non-consent/nonpresence, but that’s a Drowned God ceremony, and the formal conversation in the old gods ceremony seems to indicate the bride must be there and explain who she is.

[daenystheedreamer]

omgg for the ask game: asha and theon and stannis and arianne 🫶🫶🫶

ok this is gonna be FOUR posts THANK YOU MINA FOR FEEDING ME♡

asha my weed smoking girlfriend:

SEXUALITY unlabelled bisexual and mostly guys... she’s like it’s so gay to be like “i’m gay” “i’m straight” bro just fuck 🤨 dont be an adjective fuckin virgin lmao

OTP don’t have much of an otp for asha i like her with lots of people 🫶 i like qarl and asha i think tris and asha is funny. LOVE alysane and asha and arianne and asha is my secret guilty pleasure i think it’s hot and fun!! i also like show danyara that was fun

BROTP does a brotp count if its her actual brother if so theon i love their relationship SOOO much.... if not i think qarl and asha are so fun they’re the most normal relationship in westeros istg. bros being hoes!

NOTP don’t have one! i don’t mind most asha ships. there’s probbaly some freak ones i would hate. ok asha x erik ironmaker HATE ASS EVIL the seal thing is kinda funny

HEADCANON i think she would like ska music🫶

FAV QUOTE she has so many.... “a little brother may live to be a hundred but he will still be a little brother” she’s so right! i like the lord husband axe and sweet suckling blade dagger quote too i think it establishes her character well. also the sad ones abt theon in the TWOW sample chapters

RELATABILITY proud man-hater!

SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT god the esgred bit. i know it serves a purpose i know it establishes her character God it is gross oof. like yeah the ironborn sorta have this ritually abusive culture around masculinity which is interesting and i like but the sexual aspects especially regarding asha’s genderbending can be gross to read. did she need to grope him...

CINNAMON ROLL/PROBLEMATIC FAV i don’t think she’s all that problematic...oh right the piracy and killing and oft times playing into patriarchy and yeah she’s my problematic fav♡

[thaliajoy-blog]

Hopefully this drawing spree ends with Asha of House Greyjoy, either Queen of the Iron Islands or Lady of the Iron Islands or wife of Erik Ironmaker depending on who you're asking.

[eonweheraldodemanwe]

Greyjoy artworks for the wargame of A Son of Ive & Fire.

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

[dyannawynnedayne]

Terros' Next Top DILF: Round 1

Hello Friends and welcome to our next poll, Terros' Next Top DILF!

Here we will vote to determine who is, in fact, the hottest dilf in all of Terros/Planetos/etc.

As you'll be able to tell, the definition of DILF got looser as I worked to reach the coveted 64. So, the actual definition of father may be looser, and they may be younger than what we would consider a 'DILF' but they all are, at a minimum, someone who is considered a father by someone. The seed here was based off AO3 stats (ie, I searched every character and ordered them based on how many fics they featured in, then seeded from that).

Poll will probably open tomorrow, June 26th. Unsure on what time for now!

If you have any questions or comments, feel free to drop in. <3

Much love,

August

Erik Ironmaker vs. Eddard Stark

Alaric Stark vs. Corlys Velaryon

Samwell Tarly vs. Unwin Peake

Cregan Stark vs. Daemon I Blackfyre

Greatjon Umber vs. Bronze Yohn Royce

Jon Connington vs. Orys Baratheon

Jason Mallister vs. Rickard Stark

Garth Greenhand vs. Rhaegar Targaryen

Aenys Frey vs. Robert Baratheon

Laenor Velaryon vs. Maron Nymeros Martell

Styr of Thenn vs. Tormund Giantsbane

Duncan the Tall vs. Kevan Lannister

Dalton Greyjoy vs. Wyman Manderly

Myles Toyne vs. Steffon Baratheon

Harwin Strong vs. Tygett Lannister

Davos Seaworth vs. Stevron Frey

Tywin Lannister vs. Vickon Greyjoy

Harrold Hardyng vs. Paxter Redwyne

Lothar Frey vs. Viserys I Targaryen

Maester Cressen vs. Hoster Tully

Aegon V Targaryen vs. Jeor Mormont

Doran Nymeros Martell vs. Harren the Black

Borros Baratheon vs. Mace Tyrell

Gerold Lannister vs. Oberyn Nymeros Martell

Stannis Baratheon vs. Orton Merryweather

Howland Reed vs. Tytos Blackwood

Roose Bolton vs. Jonos Bracken

Mance Rayder vs. Rodrik Cassel

Balon Greyjoy vs. Randyll Tarly

Otto Hightower vs. Rogar Baratheon

Selwyn Tarth vs. Robett Glover

Daemon Targaryen vs. Jon Arryn

[goodqueenaly]

I was reading your bastard legitimization answer and ofc I agree, but then in the same TWOW chapter Stannis kind of recognize that Asha is married to Erik Ironmaker. This also brings me an old thought about Sansa-Tyrion marriage and whether it could be annulled on basis it was forced by an usurper and not by the King in the North or the true king of Westeres. Could have Robb even married Sansa to someone else to pre-emp the Lannisters? Etc. Thanks for your blog!

Stannis does recognize that Asha is wed, but he is also willing to hear Justin Massey’s argument for annulment:

“One day Your Grace will need to take the Iron Islands.  That will go much easier with Balon Greyjoy’s daughter as a catspaw, with one of your own leal men as her lord husband.”

“You?”  The king scowled.  "The woman is wed, Justin.”

“A proxy marriage, never consummated.  Easily set aside.  The groom is old besides.  Like to die soon.”

From a sword through his belly if you have your way, ser worm.  Theon knew how these knights thought.

Stannis pressed his lips together.  “Serve me well in this matter of the sellswords, and you may have what you desire.”

Beyond the legal dubiousness in Westeros of a marriage by proxy  (Asha and Erik’s is the only known one, even if it was more common as a matter of protocol in real-world history), Justin Massey has made a well-grounded legal point here. He knows - as does Stannis - that the marriage of Erik and Asha has to be unconsummated, by the very fact of Erik’s having a proxy wedding to her. If there is one certain legal ground by which a Westerosi marriage, seemingly of any cultural tradition, can be put aside, it is non-consummation, and while there would be some question as to who precisely would be annulling this marriage (since the priests of the Drowned God obviously think such a marriage is binding, or at least gave the appearance of such for this wedding), there is at least a not-insignificant argument for its annulment.

Robb, by contrast, would have been on the opposite side of such a scenario. He might have declared that only he, as the head of Sansa’s family and her liege lord, had the power to make a marriage for her, and he may have even had an arguable point; both Rodrik Cassel and Donella Hornwood, when discussing the question of the latter’s remarriage, point out that it would be Robb’s decision as King in the North. Even so, if Robb had arranged a proxy marriage for Sansa, he would still face the very real problem of not being able to effect consummation of this union. The old gods worshipers among his followers would still have believed consummation to be necessary to make a marriage binding, and as for the worshipers of the Seven … well, there would be a snowball’s chance in hell of the High Septon (who, of course, was put forward by Tyrion after the riot in King’s Landing) holding up the validity of a marriage decreed by an attainted traitor to the Iron Throne and performed without consummation. That argument, of course, would only have gotten stronger once Sansa was married to Tyrion; Robb and his court could not know that Tyrion would not insist on consummation, and between a proxy marriage performed without the bride and a (supposedly) consummated one where the bride gave the appearance of assent (even if she had been privately forced against her will into it), the weight of legal favor is clear. 

Ultimately, what I think is going to end Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion is not any question of the authority of the Iron Throne to dispense her marriage, but the fact that it was never consummated. Littlefinger (and everyone else who was at court at the time) knows it, the precedent is solid, and his plans necessitate breaking from the Iron Throne anyway.

[haltraveler]

I had to 

(yes, I know the photoshop is bad)

[nocheiraia]

Mujeres en ASOIAF/GOT que merecen mejores maridos/ Women in ASOIAF/GOT who deserved better husband

-Elia Nymeros Martell

-Donella Manderly

-Bethany Ryswell

-Sansa Stark

-Margaery Tyrell

-Cersei Lannister

-Alannys Harlaw

-Lysa Tully 

-Rhaella Targaryen

-Daenerys Targaryen

-Asha Greyjoy 

-Jeyne Poole

-Walda Frey 

-All the wifes of Walder Frey

*Perra Royce

*Cyrenna Swann

*Amarei Crakehall

*Alyssa Blackwood

*Sarya Whent

*Bethany Rosby

*Annara Farring

*Joyeuse Erenford

-The mayority of the Targaryen women

-The poor Victarion’wife without name

-Craster’daugthers

-Ceryse Hightower

-Alys Harroway

-Tyanna of the Tower

-Elinor Costayne

-Jeyne Westerling (Maegor’s wife, Robb is a good husband)

-Rhaena Targaryen

[aegor-bamfsteel]

the Valyrian marriage is legal in westeros right? just like the marriage done in front of the Weirwood Tree for the Old Gods. and do inter-faith marriage exist?

We have few examples of Valyrian marriage to begin with in the books, just Maegor’s wedding to Alys Harroway, and Aegon’s marriages to his sisters Rhaenys and Visenya. While Aegon’s marriages were tolerated (possibly because he’d just conquered 6 kingdoms and agreed to convert) the marriage to Alys caused a rebellion by the Faith Militant, and the High Septon denounced the marriage as “fornication” aka no real marriage. Apparently even Maegor realized this wasn’t going to be accepted by his subjects, because all of his subsequent marriages—to Tyanna of Pentos as well as the “Black Brides”—were done under the supervision of a pliant Septon. I’m going to say due to Maegor’s actions, the majority of Westerosi don’t recognize Valyrian weddings as legal. Weddings at the weirwood are recognized, but that’s a majority religion in Westeros, as are weddings under the faith of the Drowned God (Asha and Stannis recognize her “marriage” by proxy to Erik Ironmaker as legitimate)

Interfaith marriages exist, and aren’t uncommon. We know of no Essosi woman converting to her husband’s religion, and as worship of the Seven is rare outside of Westeros, those marriages (Larra/Viserys II, Tyanna/Maegor, Serala/Denys Darklyn, Rohanne/Daemon Blackfyre, Taena/Orton Merryweather) are interfaith by default. Seven/Old Gods marriages are the most common interfaith marriage type. Considering Houses Blackwood and Manderly hold a minority religion in their area, most of their marriages are interfaith (any of the Stark/Manderly or Blackwood/Targaryen marriages). There are some examples of an interfaith marriage among the Ironborn by those following the New Way (Quellon Greyjoy/Lady Piper, Harlaw/Lady Serrett, Harmund II Hoare/Lelia Lannister though that didn’t work out in the end), usually to someone who follows the Seven.

[poorquentyn]

Bestie! So yesterday I was thinking a lot about "The Drowned Man" as a chapter, and considering whether I would rank it among the best of AFFC (certainly)/ASOIAF (probs?). But since you're infinitely better at themes and ironborn stuff than I am, I wanted to hear you wax about it 😊

Hey Nina The Stand summed it up nicely in this description of Euron’s true identity forerunner Randall Flagg:

When he walked into a meeting, the hysterical babble ceased–the backbiting, recriminations, accusations, the ideological rhetoric. For a moment there would be dead silence and they would start to turn to him and then turn away, as if he had come to them with some old and terrible engine of destruction cradled in his arms, something a thousand times worse than the plastic explosive made in the basement labs of renegade chemistry students or the black market arms obtained from some greedy army post supply sergeant. It seemed that he had come to them with a device gone rusty with blood and packed for centuries in the Cosmoline of screams but now ready again, carried to their meeting like some infernal gift, a birthday cake with nitroglycerine candles. 

I’d probably call “The Drowned Man” the central chapter of AFFC, as Attewell argued RE Catelyn III ACOK. All the moods and ideas of the book are as one here: the comprehensive expression of the feast, the crows, and how we got ourselves to the point of watching the worst of said crows descending on said feast. That element of playing witness is very central to the chapter, because for all the political and metaphysical implications at play, “The Drowned Man” is ultimately rooted in our POV character.

Aeron Greyjoy’s story is a religiously-inflected gauntlet of nightmares, designed to pierce his external performance (the Voice of God) and his inner defenses (the fog of repression surrounding his abuser, rendered as desperate mantras and flashes of imagery). The chapter opens with Damphair acknowledging, well before Dragonbinder and Euron’s triumph, that his armor is down:

Only when his arms and legs were numb from the cold did Aeron Greyjoy struggle back to shore and don his robes again.

He had run before the Crow’s Eye as if he were still the weak thing he had been, but when the waves broke over his head they reminded once more that that man was dead. I was reborn from the sea, a harder man and stronger.

This follows directly not only on him fleeing the feast tent in “The Iron Captain,” but also on his solo ruminations in “The Prophet,” in which Euron functioned as an offstage catalyst to Aeron’s fearful inner journey, helping us understand them both. That earlier chapter is at heart about measuring the gap between Aeron’s public persona and his inner demons, come home to roost. He starts off as secure as he can be (on the surface, which is all he allows himself to access), sure in his god, sure in himself, sure that CPR constitutes a miracle; he’s demanding imperiously of nobles if they’ve been drowned properly, aware of his cultural cachet and seeking to increase it.

And then, his “mighty pillars” come crashing down, and he is a child again, listening to his bedroom door squeak open.

Aeron was almost at the door when the maester cleared his throat, and said, “Euron Crow’s Eye sits the Seastone Chair.”

The Damphair turned. The hall had suddenly grown colder. The Crow’s Eye is half a world away. Balon sent him off two years ago, and swore that it would be his life if he returned. “Tell me,” he said hoarsely.

So as with Arianne’s queenmaking in Dorne, while the kingsmoot is at one level a collective expression of cultural defiance and a self-conception as separate from mainland Westeros, it’s also a deeply personal, intra-familial maneuver. Arianne’s rebelling against what she believes to be her father’s betrayal, and Aeron’s taking refuge in tradition as a defense against his abuser’s return. The Dornish plot, for all its many aspects and resonances, boils down to Doran and Arianne facing each other down across a cyvasse board, and the Ironborn plot, while also a social and cultural interrogation, takes as its engine Aeron’s fear and hatred of Euron.

Perhaps consequently, the peace and strength Aeron finds in the sea is the fragile, flickering heart of his character (more than ever in “The Forsaken”). It is genuine and moving, despite the lack of actual divine communication. 

No mortal man could frighten him, no more than the darkness could, nor the bones of his soul, the grey and grisly bones of his soul.

Memories are the bones of the soul: such a lovely weaving-together of the ethereal and the concrete! By repeatedly using the bones of Nagga’s Hill to symbolize Aeron’s internal struggle, GRRM links the overarching political ramifications of the Ironborn plot to the one-on-one confrontation of Aeron and Euron. His eye for the personal inside the large-scale movements of the plot is for me what makes all the new POVs in the Feastdance work so well; Cersei, Brienne, Asha, Arianne, Quentyn, and Jon Connington also have this kind of searingly intimate moment that draws you in so close it’s as if they’ve been POVs since book one.

And so the politics can begin, GRRM setting the scene in patient, exquisite fashion.

Dark clouds ran before the wind as the first light stole into the world. The black sky went grey as slate; the black sea turned grey-green; the black mountains of Great Wyk across the bay put on the blue-green hues of soldier pines. As color stole back into the world, a hundred banners lifted and began to flap. Aeron beheld the silver fish of Botley, the bloody moon of Wynch, the dark green trees of Orkwood. He saw warhorns and leviathans and scythes, and everywhere the krakens great and golden. Beneath them, thralls and salt wives begin to move about, stirring coals into new life and gutting fish for the captains and the kings to break their fasts. The dawnlight touched the stony strand, and he watched men wake from sleep, throwing aside their sealskin blankets as they called for their first horn of ale. Drink deep, he thought, for we have god’s work to do today.

The sea was stirring too. The waves grew larger as the wind rose, sending plumes of spray to crash against the longships. The Drowned God wakes, thought Aeron. He could hear his voice welling from the depths of the sea. I shall be with you here this day, my strong and faithful servant, the voice said. No godless man will sit my Seastone Chair.

It was there beneath the arch of Nagga’s ribs that his drowned men found him, standing tall and stern with his long black hair blowing in the wind. “Is it time?” Rus asked. Aeron gave a nod, and said, “It is. Go forth and sound the summons.”

In ASOS (oh man spoilers), a lot of powerful people died. AFFC is about the aftermath, examining how the survivors deal with death politically and personally, how the dead are both omnipresent and yet powerless to determine their legacy, and how all of this ultimately amounts to a rolled-out red carpet for the Others. In the specific case of the Ironborn, what we’re dealing with is the reckoning–or lack thereof–with the costs of Balon’s Old Way in the wake of the king’s death. We’ve already seen that dynamic at work in the first three chapters of this storyline, all of which comes to a head here…but before the Greyjoys, we get the other contestants, starting with our favorite candidate:

“The ironborn must have a king,” the priest insisted, after a long silence. “I ask again. Who shall be king over us?”

“I will,” came the answer from below.

At once a ragged cry of “Gylbert! Gylbert King!” went up. The captains gave way to let the claimant and his champions ascend the hill to stand at Aeron’s side beneath the ribs of Nagga. This would-be king was a tall spare lord with a melancholy visage, his lantern jaw shaved clean. His three champions took up their position two steps below him, bearing his sword and shield and banner. They shared a certain look with the tall lord, and Aeron took them for his sons. One unfurled his banner, a great black longship against a setting sun. “I am Gylbert Farwynd, Lord of the Lonely Light,” the lord told the kingsmoot.

Aeron knew some Farwynds, a queer folk who held lands on the westernmost shores of Great Wyk and the scattered isles beyond, rocks so small that most could support but a single household. Of those, the Lonely Light was the most distant, eight days’ sail to the northwest amongst rookeries of seals and sea lions and the boundless grey oceans. The Farwynds there were even queerer than the rest. Some said they were skinchangers, unholy creatures who could take on the forms of sea lions, walruses, even spotted whales, the wolves of the wild sea.

Lord Gylbert began to speak. He told of a wondrous land beyond the Sunset Sea, a land without winter or want, where death had no dominion. “Make me your king, and I shall lead you there,” he cried. “We will build ten thousand ships as Nymeria once did and take sail with all our people to the land beyond the sunset. There every man shall be a king and every wife a queen.”

His eyes, Aeron saw, were now grey, now blue, as changeable as the seas. Mad eyes, he thought, fool’s eyes. The vision he spoke of was doubtless a snare set by the Storm God to lure the ironborn to destruction. The offerings that his men spilled out before the kingsmoot included sealskins and walrus tusks, arm rings made of whalebone, warhorns banded in bronze. The captains looked and turned away, leaving lesser men to help themselves to the gifts. When the fool was done talking and his champions began to shout his name, only the Farwynds took up the cry, and not even all of them. Soon enough the cries of “Gylbert! Gylbert King!” faded away to silence. The gull screamed loudly above them, and landed atop one of Nagga’s ribs as the Lord of the Lonely Light made his way back down the hill.

Y’all know in your hearts he was telling the truth, too. But srsly, we said our piece on Gylbert Farwynd: he’s Good Euron, down to the eyes, creating a mirroring effect. The kingsmoot ends as it begins, with someone promising to elevate the Ironborn above this “dry and dismal vale.” But GRRM knows how to use contrasts as well as parallels—just look how he follows up Gylbert’s vision.

Aeron Damphair stepped forward once more. “I ask again. Who shall be king over us?”

“Me!” a deep voice boomed, and once more the crowd parted.

The speaker was borne up the hill in a carved driftwood chair carried on the shoulders of his grandsons. A great ruin of a man, twenty stones heavy and ninety years old, he was cloaked in a white bearskin. His own hair was snow white as well, and his huge beard covered him like a blanket from cheeks to thighs, so it was hard to tell where the beard ended and the pelt began. Though his grandsons were great strapping men, they struggled with his weight on the steep stone steps. Before the Grey King’s Hall they set him down, and three remained below him as his champions.

Sixty years ago, this one might well have won the favor of the moot, Aeron thought, but his hour is long past.

“Aye, me!” the man roared from where he sat, in a voice as huge as he was. “Why not? Who better? I am Erik Ironmaker, for them who’s blind. Erik the Just. Erik Anvil-Breaker. Show them my hammer, Thormor.” One of his champions lifted it up for all to see; a monstrous thing it was, its haft wrapped in old leather, its head a brick of steel as large as a loaf of bread. “I can’t count how many hands I’ve smashed to pulp with that hammer,” Erik said, “but might be some thief could tell you. I can’t say how many heads I’ve crushed against my anvil neither, but there’s some widows could. I could tell you all the deeds I’ve done in battle, but I’m eight-and-eighty and won’t live long enough to finish. If old is wise, no one is wiser than me. If big is strong, no one’s stronger. You want a king with heirs? I’ve more’n I can count. King Erik, aye, I like the sound o’ that. Come, say it with me. ERIK! ERIK ANVIL-BREAKER! ERIK KING!”

Erik Ironmaker, clearly the Tormund of the Ironborn, is thoroughly grounded in the “dry and dismal vale.” His platform is that he represents the masculine ideal of the Ironborn, full stop. But Asha spots the same problem as Aeron, and gives it voice:

“Erik!” Men moved aside to let her through. With one foot on the lowest step, she said, “Erik, stand up.”

A hush fell. The wind blew, waves broke against the shore, men murmured in each other’s ears.

Erik Ironmaker stared down at Asha Greyjoy. “Girl. Thrice-damned girl. What did you say?”

“Stand up, Erik,” she called. “Stand up and I’ll shout your name with all the rest. Stand up and I’ll be the first to follow you. You want a crown, aye. Stand up and take it.”

The aforementioned masculine ideal is past its sell-by date. Erik wants the crown as a symbol of a life well lived (by his standards), but Asha’s implicitly arguing that this is a debate about the future, not the past. (Of course, her platform has its own blind spots. More in a bit!)

Next up is Dunstan Drumm.

He climbed the hill on his own two legs, and on his hip rode Red Rain, his famous sword, forged of Valyrian steel in the days before the Doom. His champions were men of note: his sons Denys and Donnel, both stout fighters, and between them Andrik the Unsmiling, a giant of a man with arms as thick as trees. It spoke well of the Drumm that such a man would stand for him.

“Where is it written that our king must be a kraken?” Drumm began. “What right has Pyke to rule us? Great Wyk is the largest isle, Harlaw the richest, Old Wyk the most holy. When the black line was consumed by dragonfire, the ironborn gave the primacy to Vickon Greyjoy, aye … but as lord, not king.”

It was a good beginning. Aeron heard shouts of approval, but they dwindled as the old man began to tell of the glory of the Drumms. He spoke of Dale the Dread, Roryn the Reaver, the hundred sons of Gormond Drumm the Oldfather. He drew Red Rain and told them how Hilmar Drumm the Cunning had taken the blade from an armored knight with wits and a wooden cudgel. He spoke of ships long lost and battles eight hundred years forgotten, and the crowd grew restive. He spoke and spoke, and then he spoke still more.

And when Drumm’s chests were thrown open, the captains saw the niggard’s gifts he’d brought them. No throne was ever bought with bronze, the Damphair thought. The truth of that was plain to hear, as the cries of “Drumm! Drumm! Dunstan King!” died away.

On the one hand, he’s absolutely right that the Greyjoys owe their primacy to the very polity against which they’re leading rebellions. On the other, he gets bogged down and fails to offer an affirmative case for something better, reflected in his paltry offerings.

These candidates provide context for the main act: the three Greyjoy candidates. That Victarion has nothing to offer but this…

“You all know me. If you want sweet words, look elsewhere. I have no singer’s tongue. I have an axe, and I have these.” He raised his huge mailed hands up to show them, and Nute the Barber displayed his axe, a fearsome piece of steel. “I was a loyal brother,” Victarion went on. “When Balon was wed, it was me he sent to Harlaw to bring him back his bride. I led his longships into many a battle, and never lost but one. The first time Balon took a crown, it was me sailed into Lannisport to singe the lion’s tail. The second time, it was me he sent to skin the Young Wolf should he come howling home. All you’ll get from me is more of what you got from Balon. That’s all I have to say.”

…resonates with Erik Ironmaker’s pitch. Victarion is the status quo candidate. He’s this guy:

(gif by stevemcqueened.tumblr.com)

Something is rotten in the state of the Iron Islands, and Vic can’t identify it, let alone deal with it. Again, the personal and political are intertwined: deep down, Victarion Greyjoy knows he’s unhappy, but can’t conceive of what to do about it. “Balon 2.0” is enough for many of the captains and kings, but not a majority, because Balon’s failures are becoming harder and harder to ignore.

So how does Balon’s chosen heir respond?

“Nuncle says he’ll give you more of what my father gave you. Well, what was that? Gold and glory, some will say. Freedom, ever sweet. Aye, it’s so, he gave us that … and widows too, as Lord Blacktyde will tell you. How many of you had your homes put to the torch when Robert came? How many had daughters raped and despoiled? Burnt towns and broken castles, my father gave you that. Defeat was what he gave you. Nuncle here will give you more. Not me.”

“What will you give us?” asked Lucas Codd. “Knitting?”

“Aye, Lucas. I’ll knit us all a kingdom.” She tossed her dirk from hand to hand. “We need to take a lesson from the Young Wolf, who won every battle … and lost all.”

“A wolf is not a kraken,” Victarion objected. “What the kraken grasps it does not lose, be it longship or leviathan.”

“And what have we grasped, Nuncle? The north? What is that, but leagues and leagues of leagues and leagues, far from the sound of the sea? We have taken Moat Cailin, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen’s Square, even Winterfell. What do we have to show for it?” She beckoned, and her Black Wind men pushed forward, chests of oak and iron on their shoulders. “I give you the wealth of the Stony Shore,” Asha said as the first was upended. An avalanche of pebbles clattered forth, cascading down the steps; pebbles grey and black and white, worn smooth by the sea. “I give you the riches of Deepwood,” she said, as the second chest was opened. Pinecones came pouring out, to roll and bounce down into the crowd. “And last, the gold of Winterfell.” From the third chest came yellow turnips, round and hard and big as a man’s head. They landed amidst the pebbles and the pinecones. Asha stabbed one with her dirk. “Harmund Sharp,” she shouted, “your son Harrag died at Winterfell, for this.” She pulled the turnip off her blade and tossed it to him. “You have other sons, I think. If you’d trade their lives for turnips, shout my nuncle’s name!”

“And if I shout your name?” Harmund demanded. “What then?”

“Peace,” said Asha. “Land. Victory. I’ll give you Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore, black earth and tall trees and stones enough for every younger son to build a hall. We’ll have the northmen too … as friends, to stand with us against the Iron Throne. Your choice is simple. Crown me, for peace and victory. Or crown my nuncle, for more war and more defeat.” She sheathed her dirk again. “What will you have, ironmen?”

Asha comes the closest to Grandpa Quellon’s reformation, but she’s got a fatal blind spot regarding Balon’s wars and their effect on both the North and the Ironborn. The former are not going to accept the latter’s control of the Stony Shore, let alone forge an active alliance against the Iron Throne, especially after what Theon did at Winterfell. Asha doesn’t even stop to consider the Northern perspective on the Ironborn, the cost and consequences of her family’s actions in Stark territory—she just assumes she can create a lasting peace through hostages. But she can’t. The North wants Theon Turncloak’s people gone, which is why Stannis and the Boltons are both trying to win over Northerners by fighting Ironborn. Asha’s ADWD chapters are all about her facing this:

Asha smiled back. “Mormont women are all fighters too.”

The other woman’s smile faded. “What we are is what you made us. On Bear Island every child learns to fear krakens rising from the sea.”

The Old Way. Asha turned away, chains clinking faintly.

Of course, Asha’s also running up against the patriarchy, and many of the captains and kings associate giving up any conquest with a “craven’s peace.” So I’m not entirely blaming Asha here, as again she’s much closer to a sustainable path than her (kraken) uncles, but she fails to offer a sufficiently powerful counter-narrative, and so leaves the door open for Euron. In the moments before he begins his pitch, chaos reigns.

Men began to shove at one another. Someone flung a pinecone at Asha’s head. When she ducked, her makeshift crown fell off. For a moment it seemed to the priest as if he stood atop a giant anthill, with a thousand ants in a boil at his feet. Shouts of “Asha!” and “Victarion!” surged back and forth, and it seemed as though some savage storm was about to engulf them all.

That is the war; that is the feast; that is everything the Others need. So what better “savage storm” to interrupt this “squabbling over spoils” than the apocalypse?

Sharp as a swordthrust, the sound of a horn split the air.

Bright and baneful was its voice, a shivering hot scream that made a man’s bones seem to thrum within him. The cry lingered in the damp sea air: aaaaRREEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

All eyes turned toward the sound. It was one of Euron’s mongrels winding the call, a monstrous man with a shaved head. Rings of gold and jade and jet glistened on his arms, and on his broad chest was tattooed some bird of prey, talons dripping blood.

aaaaRRREEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

The horn he blew was shiny black and twisted, and taller than a man as he held it with both hands. It was bound about with bands of red gold and dark steel, incised with ancient Valyrian glyphs that seemed to glow redly as the sound swelled.

aaaaaaaRRREEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

It was a terrible sound, a wail of pain and fury that seemed to burn the ears. Aeron Damphair covered his, and prayed for the Drowned God to raise a mighty wave and smash the horn to silence, yet still the shriek went on and on. It is the horn of hell, he wanted to scream, though no man would have heard him. The cheeks of the tattooed man were so puffed out they looked about to burst, and the muscles in his chest twitched in a way that it made it seem as if the bird were about to rip free of hisflesh and take wing. And now the glyphs were burning brightly, every line and letter shimmering with white fire. On and on and on the sound went, echoing amongst the howling hills behind them and across the waters of Nagga’s Cradle to ring against the mountains of Great Wyk, on and on and on until it filled the whole wet world.

Such are the bones of Euron’s soul. This is what the inside of his skull looks like: an LSD-soaked portal to hell, driven by blood sacrifice and a keen understanding of the sweet spot between fear and awe. This horror-tinged passage is supposed to feel jarring, like something out of a completely different genre; Euron’s not really a part of the debate he just interrupted, but is rather out to hijack it for his own apocalyptic ends. (Remember: what is signaled by three horn blasts? “Others.”) Look at what he’s disrupting: a “giant anthill.” Damphair’s kingsmoot was made to be bulldozed; it’s a fragile gathering of fragments against the ruin. The weaknesses were there to be exploited…but of course, Euron has to put on his pirate suit to do so.

The Crow’s Eye stopped atop the steps, at the doors of the Grey King’s Hall, and turned his smiling eye upon the captains and the kings, but Aeron could feel his other eye as well, the one that he kept hidden.

“IRONMEN,” said Euron Greyjoy, “you have heard my horn. Now hear my words. I am Balon’s brother, Quellon’s eldest living son. Lord Vickon’s blood is in my veins, and the blood of the Old Kraken. Yet I have sailed farther than any of them. Only one living kraken has never known defeat Only one has never bent his knee. Only one has sailed to Asshai by the Shadow, and seen wonders and terrors beyond imagining …”

GRRM consistently uses the “smiling eye” as a microcosm of Euron’s public face, and the Crow’s Eye as a microcosm of the self he keeps hidden from his fellow Ironborn (other than Aeron). I’m the ultimate pirate, guys, nothing else to see here—just look at my eyepatch, and don’t worry about what I’m hiding underneath it. Indeed, Euron knows his audience well, constructing his argument patiently; only after establishing his Old Way bona fides can he then take the next step.

“My little brother would finish Balon’s war, and claim the north. My sweet niece would give us peace and pinecones.” His blue lips twisted in a smile. “Asha prefers victory to defeat. Victarion wants a kingdom, not a few scant yards of earth. From me, you shall have both.”

For all Euron’s skills, he only wins because both Vic and Asha’s platforms are riddled with flaws—and not only that, the flaws compound each other, allowing Euron to link them together rhetorically as insufficient. This resonates with the captains and kings because the Balon-Aeron-Victarion agenda has immense cultural appeal but has blatantly failed to deliver on its promises, while Asha’s platform would push the Ironborn in a better direction but isn’t convincing enough (emotionally or pragmatically) to be an effective rallying point. Euron, ever the postmodern magpie, steals the most appealing aspects of both and frames it as the ultimate Ironborn dream of conquest. My brothers’ dream has fallen miserably short in reality, and my niece is telling you stop dreaming. The former cannot defeat the greenlanders, the latter is telling you to admit that—in a way that won’t bring peace anyway! I will be the best of both worlds, doing what the former cannot and the latter wants to give up on. In short: Euron tells the Ironborn that they’re losers but can be winners if they follow and imitate him, whereas Victarion won’t admit they’re losers and Asha won’t let them win. It’s such a potent appeal to cultural self-conception and resentment that it even sways Damphair, if only for a moment:

“We are the ironborn, and once we were conquerors. Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard. My brother would have you be content with the cold and dismal north, my niece with even less … but I shall give you Lannisport. Highgarden. The Arbor. Oldtown. The riverlands and the Reach, the kingswood and the rainwood, Dorne and the marches, the Mountains of the Moon and the Vale of Arryn, Tarth and the Stepstones. I say we take it all! I say, we take Westeros.” He glanced at the priest. “All for the greater glory of our Drowned God, to be sure.”

For half a heartbeat even Aeron was swept away by the boldness of his words. The priest had dreamed the same dream, when first he’d seen the red comet in the sky. We shall sweep over the green lands with fire and sword, root out the seven gods of the septons and the white trees of the northmen …

But the rest of the crowd, of course, sees only the “smiling eye.” Our POV knows better, and being in Aeron’s head primes us to see the cracks in Euron’s facade, the tears in his pirate suit. Only Aeron recognizes, at chapter’s end, that Euron is out to dethrone the gods.

Even a priest may doubt. Even a prophet may know terror. Aeron Damphair reached within himself for his god and discovered only silence. [Because that’s the name of Euron’s ship, you see] As a thousand voices shouted out his brother’s name, all he could hear was the scream of a rusted iron hinge.

Euron cares not for the Seastone Chair, nor even the Iron Throne, not really. So what is he in this for?

“Crow’s Eye, you call me. Well, who has a keener eye than the crow? After every battle the crows come in their hundreds and their thousands to feast upon the fallen. A crow can espy death from afar. And I say that all of Westeros is dying. Those who follow me will feast until the end of their days.”

There it is, right? AFFC summarized: “all of Westeros is dying.” The war has rendered Westeros a fit meal for Euron…and the Others. And indeed, the “anthill” of the kingsmoot is a perfect microcosm of that political impotence in the face of the abyss. That’s the message “The Drowned Man” communicates: we let Trump Euron happen. As I’ve argued before, the essence of great horror isn’t that the monsters are at the door. It’s that we’re going to let them in.

[jedimaesteryoda]

The Kingsmoot: An Allegory for the War of Five Kings

The kingsmoot in Aeron’s POV in A Feast for Crows shows the Ironborn lords and captains selecting the next king to wear the Driftwood Crown after Balon’s death. Each candidate gives a speech for their pitch and disburses treasure as a way of buying support. There are six candidates total from Greyjoys to more obscure lords. However, look more closely and you can find an allegory for the political situation of Westeros as a whole. 

Lord Gylbert began to speak. He told of a wondrous land beyond the Sunset Sea, a land without winter or want, where death had no dominion. "Make me your king, and I shall lead you there," he cried. "We will build ten thousand ships as Nymeria once did and take sail with all our people to the land beyond the sunset. There every man shall be a king and every wife a queen." 

His eyes, Aeron saw, were now grey, now blue, as changeable as the seas. Mad eyes, he thought, fool's eyes. The vision he spoke of was doubtless a snare set by the Storm God to lure the ironborn to destruction. The offerings that his men spilled out before the kingsmoot included sealskins and walrus tusks, arm rings made of whalebone, warhorns banded in bronze. The captains looked and turned away, leaving lesser men to help themselves to the gifts. When the fool was done talking and his champions began to shout his name, only the Farwynds took up the cry, and not even all of them. Soon enough the cries of "Gylbert! Gylbert King!" faded away to silence. The gull screamed loudly above them, and landed atop one of Nagga's ribs as the Lord of the Lonely Light made his way back down the hill. 

Gylbert Fawynd is clearly mad, as even Aeron notes. His eyes were described “as changeable as the seas.” Gilbert is Mad King Aerys, a madman whose house’s bid by the end is left only supported by itself. 

The speaker was borne up the hill in a carved driftwood chair carried on the shoulders of his grandsons. A great ruin of a man, twenty stones heavy and ninety years old, he was cloaked in a white bearskin. His own hair was snow white as well, and his huge beard covered him like a blanket from cheeks to thighs, so it was hard to tell where the beard ended and the pelt began. Though his grandsons were great strapping men, they struggled with his weight on the steep stone steps. Before the Grey King's Hall they set him down, and three remained below him as his champions.

Sixty years ago, this one might well have won the favor of the moot, Aeron thought, but his hour is long past.          

"Aye, me!" the man roared from where he sat, in a voice as huge as he was. "Why not? Who better? I am Erik Ironmaker, for them who's blind. Erik the Just. Erik Anvil-Breaker. Show them my hammer, Thormor." One of his champions lifted it up for all to see; a monstrous thing it was, its haft wrapped in old leather, its head a brick of steel as large as a loaf of bread. "I can't count how many hands I've smashed to pulp with that hammer," Erik said, "but might be some thief could tell you. I can't say how many heads I've crushed against my anvil neither, but there's some widows could. I could tell you all the deeds I've done in battle, but I'm eight-and-eighty and won't live long enough to finish. If old is wise, no one is wiser than me. If big is strong, no one's stronger. You want a king with heirs? I've more'n I can count. King Erik, aye, I like the sound o' that. Come, say it with me. ERIK! ERIK ANVIL-BREAKER! ERIK KING!"                  

As his grandsons took up the cry, their own sons came forward with chests upon their shoulders. When they upended them at the base of the stone steps, a torrent of silver, bronze, and steel spilled forth; arm rings, collars, daggers, dirks, and throwing axes. A few captains snatched up the choicest items and added their voices to the swelling chant. But no sooner had the cry begun to build than a woman's voice cut through it. "Erik!" Men moved aside to let her through. With one foot on the lowest step, she said, "Erik, stand up."

A hush fell. The wind blew, waves broke against the shore, men murmured in each other's ears. Erik Ironmaker stared down at Asha Greyjoy. "Girl. Thrice-damned girl. What did you say?"     

"Stand up, Erik," she called. "Stand up and I'll shout your name with all the rest. Stand up and I'll be the first to follow you. You want a crown, aye. Stand up and take it." Elsewhere in the press, the Crow's Eye laughed. Erik glared at him. The big man's hands closed tight around the arms of his driftwood throne. His face went red, then purple. His arms trembled with effort. Aeron could see a thick blue vein pulsing in his neck as he struggled to rise. For a moment it seemed as though he might do it, but the breath went out of him all at once, and he groaned and sank back onto his cushion. Euron laughed all the louder. The big man hung his head and grew old, all in the blink of an eye. His grandsons carried him back down the hill.             

Erik Ironmaker is up next, a warrior of great repute on the Iron Isles known for strength and ferocity, his warhammer, and virility, but he clearly is not the man he once was in his youth. Erik Ironmaker is Robert Baratheon, a once powerful warrior and embodiment of society’s ideals of masculinity gone to seed with his glory days far behind him. In the end, House Baratheon couldn’t stand on its own two feet with Renly and Stannis’s attempts to retake the Iron Throne ending in failure. 

The Drumm came next, another old man, though not so old as Erik. He climbed the hill on his own two legs, and on his hip rode Red Rain, his famous sword, forged of Valyrian steel in the days before the Doom. His champions were men of note: his sons Denys and Donnel, both stout fighters, and between them Andrik the Unsmiling, a giant of a man with arms as thick as trees. It spoke well of the Drumm that such a man would stand for him.                 

"Where is it written that our king must be a kraken?" Drumm began. "What right has Pyke to rule us? Great Wyk is the largest isle, Harlaw the richest, Old Wyk the most holy. When the black line was consumed by dragonfire, the ironborn gave the primacy to Vickon Greyjoy, aye . . . but as lord, not king."

It was a good beginning. Aeron heard shouts of approval, but they dwindled as the old man began to tell of the glory of the Drumms. He spoke of Dale the Dread, Roryn the Reaver, the hundred sons of Gormond Drumm the Oldfather. He drew Red Rain and told them how Hilmar Drumm the Cunning had taken the blade from an armored knight with wits and a wooden cudgel. He spoke of ships long lost and battles eight hundred years forgotten, and the crowd grew restive. He spoke and spoke, and then he spoke still more.    

And when Drumm's chests were thrown open, the captains saw the niggard's gifts he'd brought them. No throne was ever bought with bronze, the Damphair thought. The truth of that was plain to hear, as the cries of "Drumm! Drumm! Dunstan King!" died away.

Lord Dunstan Drumm is up next. He is noted to be younger than the previous candidate, and he has a Valyrian steel sword named Red Rain, which likely came from a Reyne. He starts off well, pointing out that there is no historical precedent that says only Greyjoys could only be kings over the Iron Isles. However, he just goes on and on about his ancestors’ accomplishments to bolster his credentials, boring everyone and his gifts are pretty cheap. His candidacy ultimately crashes and burns in the end. 

Drumm is Tywin Lannister. His champion Andrik’s description as a large man with “arms as thick as trees” matches Ned’s description of the Lannister’s champion, Gregor Clegane, and his champion being his stout warrior sons which brings to mind Tywin’s son, Jaime, himself a stout warrior of note. Lannister royal candidates, Cersei’s children, are the youngest candidates for Iron Throne. Tywin prides in his crushing of the Reynes in their rebellion (taking their lands after he exterminated them), with a song made about it that he plays at events, showing his obsession with the glory of his house. His house has a good start holding the Iron Throne after Robert’s death and the Battle of the Blackwater with the backing of Highgarden, only for them to likely lose it all in the end. The Lannisters never really had any bold ideas other than holding onto power, and as Aeron put it “no throne was ever bought with bronze,” or no house can hold onto the throne with the poor offerings they have, and nothing in the way of vision. 

Who shall be king over us?" the priest cried once more, but this time his fierce black eyes found his brother in the crowd. "Nine sons were born from the loins of Quellon Greyjoy. One was mightier than all the rest, and knew no fear."          

Victarion met his eyes, and nodded. The captains parted before him as he climbed the steps. "Brother, give me blessing," he said when he reached the top. He knelt and bowed his head. Aeron uncorked his waterskin and poured a stream of seawater down upon his brow. "What is dead can never die," the priest said, and Victarion replied, "but rises again, harder and stronger."      

When Victarion rose, his champions arrayed themselves beneath him; Ralf the Limper, Red Ralf Stonehouse, and Nute the Barber, noted warriors all. Stonehouse bore the Greyjoy banner; the golden kraken on a field as black as the midnight sea. As soon as it unfurled, the captains and the kings began to shout out the Lord Captain's name. Victarion waited till they quieted, then said, "You all know me. If you want sweet words, look elsewhere. I have no singer's tongue. I have an axe, and I have these." He raised his huge mailed hands up to show them, and Nute the Barber displayed his axe, a fearsome piece of steel. "I was a loyal brother," Victarion went on. "When Balon was wed, it was me he sent to Harlaw to bring him back his bride. I led his longships into many a battle, and never lost but one. The first time Balon took a crown, it was me sailed into Lannisport to singe the lion's tail. The second time, it was me he sent to skin the Young Wolf should he come howling home. All you'll get from me is more of what you got from Balon. That's all I have to say."

With that his champions began to chant: "VICTARION! VICTARION! VICTARION KING!" Below, his men were spilling out his chests, a cascade of silver, gold, and gems, a wealth of plunder. Captains scrambled to seize the richest pieces, shouting as they did so. "VICTARION! VICTARION! VICTARION KING!" Aeron watched the Crow's Eye. Will he speak now, or let the kingsmoot run its course? Orkwood of Orkmont was whispering in Euron's ear.

Victarion Greyjoy is next, the youngest of Balon Greyjoy’s brothers of House Greyjoy that rules over the isles. He has the backing as well as blessing of the priest presiding over the kingsmoot, Aeron. He promotes himself as a traditionalist, offering just a continuation of the old policies and plays up the image of a warrior king. For the moment he stands out from the other candidates with plunder he gives out. 

Victarion is Aegon, the (supposed) scion of the old dynasty that sat the Iron Throne, and youngest known child of Rhaegar who promises just a continuation of the ancien regime of House Targaryen, and will likely be receiving the backing and blessing of the High Septon. He isn’t offering anything new. 

However, he isn’t the only from his house pressing a claim as someone crashes his party. 

But it was not Euron who put an end to the shouting, it was the woman. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, a sharp shrill sound that cut through the tumult like a knife through curds. "Nuncle! Nuncle!" Bending, she snatched up a twisted golden collar and bounded up the steps. Nute seized her by the arm, and for half a heartbeat Aeron was hopeful that his brother's champions would keep her silent, but Asha wrenched free of the Barber's hand and said something to Red Ralf that made him step aside. As she pushed past, the cheering died away. She was Balon Greyjoy's daughter, and the crowd was curious to hear her speak.

"It was good of you to bring such gifts to my queensmoot, Nuncle," she told Victarion, "but you need not have worn so much armor. I promise not to hurt you." Asha turned to face the captains. "There's no one braver than my nuncle, no one stronger, no one fiercer in a fight. And he counts to ten as quick as any man, I have seen him do it . . . though when he needs to go to twenty he does take off his boots." That made them laugh. "He has no sons, though. His wives keep dying. The Crow's Eye is his elder and has a better claim . . ."    

"He does!" the Red Oarsman shouted from below.

“Ah, but my claim is better still." Asha set the collar on her head at a jaunty angle, so the gold gleamed against her dark hair. "Balon's brother cannot come before Balon's son!"                 

"Balon's sons are dead," cried Ralf the Limper. "All I see is Balon's little daughter!"

. . .

"Go home and know your wife," Asha shot back. "Nuncle says he'll give you more of what my father gave you. Well, what was that? Gold and glory, some will say. Freedom, ever sweet. Aye, it's so, he gave us that . . . and widows too, as Lord Blacktyde will tell you. How many of you had your homes put to the torch when Robert came? How many had daughters raped and despoiled? Burnt towns and broken castles, my father gave you that. Defeat was what he gave you. Nuncle here will give you more. Not me." 

. . . 

"And what have we grasped, Nuncle? The north? What is that, but leagues and leagues of leagues and leagues, far from the sound of the sea? We have taken Moat Cailin, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, even Winterfell. What do we have to show for it?" She beckoned, and her Black Wind men pushed forward, chests of oak and iron on their shoulders. "I give you the wealth of the Stony Shore," Asha said as the first was upended. An avalanche of pebbles clattered forth, cascading down the steps; pebbles grey and black and white, worn smooth by the sea. "I give you the riches of Deepwood," she said, as the second chest was opened. Pinecones came pouring out, to roll and bounce down into the crowd. "And last, the gold of Winterfell." From the third chest came yellow turnips, round and hard and big as a man's head. They landed amidst the pebbles and the pinecones. Asha stabbed one with her dirk. "Harmund Sharp," she shouted, "your son Harrag died at Winterfell, for this." She pulled the turnip off her blade and tossed it to him. "You have other sons, I think. If you'd trade their lives for turnips, shout my nuncle's name!"                  

"And if I shout your name?" Harmund demanded. "What then?"

"Peace," said Asha. "Land. Victory. I'll give you Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore, black earth and tall trees and stones enough for every younger son to build a hall. We'll have the northmen too . . . as friends, to stand with us against the Iron Throne. Your choice is simple. Crown me, for peace and victory. Or crown my nuncle, for more war and more defeat." She sheathed her dirk again. "What will you have, ironmen?"         

"VICTORY!" shouted Rodrik the Reader, his hands cupped about his mouth. "Victory, and Asha!"                 

"ASHA!" Lord Baelor Blacktyde echoed. "ASHA QUEEN!"

Asha's own crew took up the cry. "ASHA! ASHA! ASHA QUEEN!" They stamped their feet and shook their fists and yelled, as the Damphair listened in disbelief. She would leave her father's work undone! Yet Tristifer Botley was shouting for her, with many Harlaws, some Goodbrothers, red-faced Lord Merlyn, more men than the priest would ever have believed . . . for a woman!

Victarion is challenged by his niece, Asha. Asha is the daughter of the old king described as mad, and though younger, is smarter than her uncle (although to be fair Victarion doesn’t set the bar too high). Asha has the backing of the Reader, lord of the wealthiest house on the Iron Isles. She points out that what Victarion is offering is a continuation of a failed policy that brought only defeat and disgrace, and promises peace and victory instead. She offers land and allying with the North, of course, missing that their invasion and supposed killing of Ned’s sons by Theon made that impossible. 

Asha is Daenerys who is the daughter of Mad King Aerys, the only female claimant and is backed by a bibliophile who is lord (though not officially) over the wealthiest seat in the land, Tyrion. She will likely be offering a new policy that is in some way a break, but still falls short. 

But others were holding their tongues, or muttering asides to their neighbors. "No craven's peace!" Ralf the Limper roared. Red Ralf Stonehouse swirled the Greyjoy banner and bellowed, "Victarion! VICTARION! VICTARION!" Men began to shove at one another. Someone flung a pinecone at Asha's head. When she ducked, her makeshift crown fell off. For a moment it seemed to the priest as if he stood atop a giant anthill, with a thousand ants in a boil at his feet. Shouts of "Asha!" and "Victarion!" surged back and forth, and it seemed as though some savage storm was about to engulf them all. The Storm God is amongst us, the priest thought, sowing fury and discord.

There seems to be a split among the Ironborn between the two major candidates from House Greyjoy: Asha and Victarion. This likely foreshadows the conflict between Targaryen supporters with Aegon and Dany in the second Dance of Dragons. Of course, just as Asha’s makeshift crown falls from her head, Daenerys likely won’t get to keep her crown in the end as another claimant comes forward. 

Note: it was after a pinecone is thrown at her, which came from the North. 

Sharp as a swordthrust, the sound of a horn split the air.

The squabbling is interrupted by a sorcerous horn. I think the hellhorn as Aeron called it is the Horn of Joramun (or hellhorn as Melisandre described it) that brings down the Wall, and exposes Westeros to the threat of the Long Night. 

Euron Greyjoy climbed the hill slowly, with every eye upon him. Above the gull screamed and screamed again. No godless man may sit the Seastone Chair, Aeron thought, but he knew that he must let his brother speak. His lips moved silently in prayer.                  

Asha's champions stepped aside, and Victarion's as well. The priest took a step backward and put one hand upon the cold rough stone of Nagga's ribs. The Crow's Eye stopped atop the steps, at the doors of the Grey King's Hall, and turned his smiling eye upon the captains and the kings, but Aeron could feel his other eye as well, the one that he kept hidden.

"IRONMEN," said Euron Greyjoy, "you have heard my horn. Now hear my words. I am Balon's brother, Quellon's eldest living son. Lord Vickon's blood is in my veins, and the blood of the Old Kraken. Yet I have sailed farther than any of them. Only one living kraken has never known defeat. Only one has never bent his knee. Only one has sailed to Asshai by the Shadow, and seen wonders and terrors beyond imagining . . ."                  

"If you liked the Shadow so well, go back there," called out pink-cheeked Qarl the Maid, one of Asha's champions.

The Crow's Eye ignored him. "My little brother would finish Balon's war, and claim the north. My sweet niece would give us peace and pinecones." His blue lips twisted in a smile. "Asha prefers victory to defeat. Victarion wants a kingdom, not a few scant yards of earth. From me, you shall have both.  

"Crow's Eye, you call me. Well, who has a keener eye than the crow? After every battle the crows come in their hundreds and their thousands to feast upon the fallen. A crow can espy death from afar. And I say that all of Westeros is dying. Those who follow me will feast until the end of their days.

"We are the ironborn, and once we were conquerors. Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard. My brother would have you be content with the cold and dismal north, my niece with even less . . . but I shall give you Lannisport. Highgarden. The Arbor. Oldtown. The riverlands and the Reach, the kingswood and the rainwood, Dorne and the marches, the Mountains of the Moon and the Vale of Arryn, Tarth and the Stepstones. I say we take it all! I say, we take Westeros." He glanced at the priest. "All for the greater glory of our Drowned God, to be sure."                  

For half a heartbeat even Aeron was swept away by the boldness of his words. The priest had dreamed the same dream, when first he'd seen the red comet in the sky. We shall sweep over the green lands with fire and sword, root out the seven gods of the septons and the white trees of the northmen . . .

"EURON!" shouted Left-Hand Lucas Codd.          

"EURON! CROW'S EYE! EURON!" cried the Red Oarsman.                  

The mutes and mongrels from the Silence threw open Euron's chests and spilled out his gifts before the captains and the kings. Then it was Hotho Harlaw the priest heard, as he filled his hands with gold. Gorold Goodbrother shouted out as well, and Erik Anvil-Breaker. "EURON! EURON! EURON!" The cry swelled, became a roar. "EURON! EURON! CROW'S EYE! EURON KING!" It rolled up Nagga's hill, like the Storm God rattling the clouds. "EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON!"

The final claimant comes forward, Euron “Crow’s Eye” Greyjoy. As he boasts, he has gone further than Greyjoy before, going as far as Asshai by the Shadow and Valyria (which is a lie), and he had been a longtime away from home due to being exiled by Balon for having slept with or rather raped, Victarion’s salt wife. He is the black sheep of the family, captain of the Silence rowed by a crew of mutes. He offers the greatest plunder of all the candidates combined with offering the grandest vision, promising the Ironborn all of Westeros. 

Euron is, I think, Jon Snow, who like Euron is associated with a crow (synonym for member of the Night’s Watch), ventured further than any Targaryen before him going beyond the Wall, will likely be the last person to put their claim forward and will likely offer the grandest vision. Just as Euron has mute supporters, Jon has the mute direwolf, Ghost, as well as people who remained mute about his royal heritage. He was in hiding for a while given he is the son of the man who had taken the arranged wife of Robert and impregnated her. He will likely appear after the Horn of Joramun is likely blown, bringing the Wall down.