[Chapter Size: 1300 Words.]
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Early in the morning, Seagard's harbor lay beneath a veil of white mist.
Carriages rattled and dockworkers bustled along the wharves, a living testament to the port city's prosperity.
"Your Grace, we've found what you asked for!" came a voice, eager and flattering.
The man carried a cage draped in black cloth.
"So soon? What's the quality like?" Theon asked quickly.
Farsid pulled back the cloth, revealing a fledgling no larger than a man's palm. Its feathers were pure white, save for claws the color of pale. Even so young, it radiated majesty.
"This bird is barely a month old, yet already the size of a hand. Its appearance is truly extraordinary," Farsid said.
Theon studied the creature with clear delight. "Where did you get it?"
"From Pentos, Your Grace. It cost five hundred bars of soap. They say only one pure-white eagle is born for every hundred thousand steppe hawks."
Soap from the Riverlands had already found a market in Essos. Though trade was limited to a few Free Cities in the west, Theon was certain it would eventually spread further east.
He extended a finger toward the chick, meaning only to tease it. At first, the bird seemed drowsy, but the moment Theon's hand neared, its eyes sharpened and it snapped at him with startling speed. Its beak pierced his skin. The wound healed almost instantly, yet Theon was astonished, a bird so young could bite through human flesh with ease. Fully grown, it would be formidable indeed.
"Excellent. The next soap factory will be built in Stone Hedge," Theon declared.
Farsid bowed deeply in gratitude. To obtain the white eagle, he had begged Tom and Bill for five hundred bars of soap, scraped together coin, and pleaded with merchants until he secured the fledgling. Now, his reward was permission to open a soap factory, a venture that would accelerate the growth of Stone Hedge.
Since Theon had introduced the system of city defenses, Farsid had lost his old autonomy. Yet he understood that only through continued achievements could he rise higher.
Indeed, Theon's city-defense system had greatly strengthened central authority. With every town under his control, even nobles who still possessed nominal autonomy in their villages could no longer create serious trouble. Siege warfare was no longer a realistic strategy in Westeros.
…
A week later, in Theon's courtyard.
Theon whistled, and Zeus, his eagle, soared down from the skies to land on his arm. Nearby, Max rolled his eyes and went back to sleep.
Looking at Zeus perched proudly, Theon felt more satisfied by the day. As the saying went, there were two necessities for a proper gentleman of leisure: walking a dog and training a bird. Theon had thrown himself into falconry with zeal. Using training methods he had once seen on a strange platform of knowledge, he had made surprising progress.
Of course, Zeus's high intelligence played a part, he was far keener than any "stupid dog" that survived by stealing spirit grain. Theon fed the eagle a strip of meat and mused whether he should share the leftover grain that Max had trampled.
With the Riverlands stabilized, Theon resolved to return to the Iron Islands, the den of the sea monster.
He took Myrcella and Selena aboard the great ship long prepared for the journey and sailed across Ironman's Bay toward Pyke.
…
Days later.
With Zeus perched proudly on his shoulder, Theon disembarked like a lord returning in triumph.
He gazed at King's Port, the largest harbor on Pyke, now far more prosperous than when he had left. Satisfaction touched his face. When trade first reopened, most of the ironborn had resisted fiercely.
But gold was always persuasive. When one man bled for a hundred coins, only to see his neighbor sail a short voyage and return with two hundred from selling spices and food, resistance quickly crumbled.
The harsh isles had never been suited to farming, and one by one the ironborn turned to trade.
Mounted on Max's back, Myrcella looked curiously at the place her mother had always described as barren and harsh.
Her first impression was one of bustling prosperity, utterly unlike the desolate Iron Islands Cersei had spoken of.
Yet the truth was harsher. The Isles remained poor. Only Pyke itself had begun to thrive, for it lay under the direct rule of Pyke Castle. Its people were the first to understand the lesson: "Better to trade than toil, better caravans than raids."
Beyond Pyke, many nobles grumbled that Theon had betrayed the Drowned God, betrayed the ironborn, and insulted their honor.
The loudest among them was House Harlaw. Even Rodrik Harlaw himself had openly mocked Theon on several occasions, an open secret across the isles. Everyone knew the Harlaws were deeply dissatisfied with the reforms on Pyke, though open conflict had yet to break out.
"Look at that hound. If we killed it, we could feast for days, couldn't we?"
"They say the girl riding on its back is a true princess, Myrcella Baratheon. She's beautiful!"
"And that bird on His Grace's shoulder, what a magnificent creature."
"His Grace has already secured the Seagard region. Perhaps we should see if there's profit to be made there as well?"
So the talk went. In truth, most ironborn had already adapted to their new lives. When they saw Theon return, they showed him uncommon respect. Their standard of living was higher than ever before; at the very least, they could now count on two full meals a day.
As for the slanders from the other islands, few paid them any mind. Doing business did not mean abandoning the Drowned God, nor did it mean they could never raid again. It only changed the manner in which they lived.
Theon returned to Pyke, where Andrik had long been waiting.
"Your Grace, at last you've come back. If you hadn't, House Harlaw would already be running rampant!"
Theon raised an eyebrow at the complaint. "Didn't I leave you a thousand men? How many fighters does House Harlaw even command?"
Andrik shook his head helplessly. "I don't know what price they paid, but the Harlaws have bound together several of the great houses of Isle. They've gathered at least twenty-five hundred men, united as one."
"Hm. Perhaps we should never have let those lords return home. Better if we'd kept them in the Riverlands, under tight control." Theon stroked his chin, frowning in thought.
Leaning close, Andrik whispered, "Your Grace, House Harlaw has been exploiting the changes on Pyke. They've grown close to the lords of Oakmont and Blacktyde. I advise striking first, mobilize forces from the Riverlands and crush House Harlaw before they grow stronger."
Theon shook his head. "No. We won't strip the Riverlands of troops. The realm is unsettled enough as it is, and the Riverlands are both our fortress and our granary in Westeros. Their levies must remain intact. Besides, the new recruits there are still untrained. They aren't ready for battle."
At this, Andrik looked troubled. "But Your Grace, if House Harlaw manages to sway the nobles of the other two great isles, the threat will be far more dangerous."
Theon smiled coldly. "Let them try. If they succeed, all the better. Once they gather together, we'll sweep them away in a single stroke. That will make it easier to implement reforms afterward."
Andrik fell silent at his king's confident tone. If His Grace was not worried, then surely he had some hidden card to play.
But in truth, Theon had no such card. His only plan was to let House Harlaw gather a coalition of malcontents, and then destroy them by force.
If the rebels could raise three or four thousand men, so much the better. For Theon still had four thousand elite warriors of the Iron Islands stationed firmly in the Riverlands.
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