As the debate in the hall hit a stalemate, with the "War Hawks" and the "Looters" digging in their heels, a figure who had been silent until now slowly rose from the shadows.
Euron Greyjoy.
He didn't move quickly, but his rise carried an invisible, heart-stopping pressure. When he stood fully upright and swept his gaze across the room, an indescribable, massive, and icy aura exploded outward like a physical tsunami, engulfing the entire Great Hall!
This wasn't magic, yet it was more terrifying than any spell. It was the manifestation of pure, absolute will that placed itself above all living things—a kingly majesty originating from the depths of his soul. In an instant, every shout, every roar of excitement, even the sound of heavy breathing, was strangled by an invisible giant hand!
Conqueror's Haki!
The lords felt the air turn thick and heavy, pressing against their chests. Some of the weaker captains or those with lesser will actually went pale, unconsciously taking half a step back, afraid to look directly into Euron's mismatched eyes, which now seemed to swirl with both a storm and an abyss.
Euron spoke slowly. "If we choose long-term occupation, it means fully integrating the Arbor—one of the richest islands in Westeros—into the Iron Islands' territory. We would leave fleets and armies here, establish rule, and turn the wealth of this place—especially the wine trade and taxes—into a sustainable blood supply for the Iron Islands."
"This would maximize the gains from the Battle of the Arbor. It's highly sustainable. It would permanently weaken or even eliminate the threat of House Redwyne, expanding the Iron Islands' sphere of influence southward like never before, truly making us a maritime superpower equal to the great kingdoms."
"However—"
Everything said before 'however' is bullshit. Euron suddenly remembered that saying, and the corners of his mouth lifted in an unconscious smile. "Occupation isn't just raiding; it is conquest and governance. Are we Ironborn good at ruling a region after we take it?"
Balon glared at his brother. "If we don't know how, we can learn!"
"That is secondary. Yes, we can learn, and even if we don't, fear and violence can achieve rule just the same." Euron smiled faintly. "Actually, the most troublesome problem is that by occupying the Arbor, we will face immense pressure from two directions."
"We must consider: What will be the attitude of King Aerys II in King's Landing, and the Tyrells of Highgarden, the liege lords of the Arbor? How will they react to us occupying this island?"
Euron held up one finger. "First, King's Landing. The Mad King Aerys might be displeased with House Redwyne for their 'incompetence'—failing to steal the grain and getting burned in the process. Even knowing their current misery, he might not send immediate aid, perhaps even feeling a twisted sense of pleasure."
"But, if the Iron Islands occupy the Arbor long-term, the nature of the event changes completely. This becomes an open tearing of the Kingdom's territory, an ultimate provocation to the authority of the Iron Throne. Even a Mad King won't sit by and watch that happen. Once he reacts, he will likely order other lords—like the Lannisters of the West or the forces of the Crownlands—to crush the rebellion. He might even lead the campaign himself. At that point, the Iron Islands will face the risk of being enemies with the entire realm."
"Of course, it's highly likely Tywin Lannister would ignore the Mad King's orders, given their strained relationship. But we cannot rule out any possibility—like the Mad King compromising with Tywin, or reinstating him as Hand of the King. We must calculate for the worst-case scenario! Right now, all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms are watching the show. But that doesn't mean they'll stay in the audience. The moment they smell an advantage, they can turn into hungry wolves and pounce on us."
"Furthermore, before the battle, we sent letters to every noble house in the Seven Kingdoms stating that this was a private feud between Redwyne and the Iron Islands. So, fighting the battle is one thing. But occupying the Arbor elevates simple revenge to the Iron Islands seizing Kingdom territory. It makes us enemies of the King of the Seven Kingdoms!"
Euron held up a second finger. "The Arbor has always been one of House Tyrell's most important vassals. It is a pillar of their naval power and a major source of their wealth. House Redwyne and House Tyrell are also closely bound by blood. The Queen of Thorns, Olenna Redwyne, is the widow of the late Lord Luthor Tyrell, the mother of the current Lord Mace Tyrell, and the sister of our captive, Lord Adrian Redwyne. Paxter Redwyne, the heir, is betrothed to Mina Tyrell. Attacking the Arbor is stabbing Highgarden directly in the heart."
"The Queen of Thorns will never let this go. House Tyrell commands the massive land armies of the Reach and still possesses a significant fleet. They will be the quickest to react and the fiercest in resistance. If the Iron Islands choose to occupy, we will face the full, frantic counterattack of House Tyrell. Highgarden will spare no cost to pull this poisonous fang out of their backyard."
Euron concluded his analysis of House Tyrell's reaction with an idiom from an ancient eastern land: "How can one allow another to snore beside his own bed?"
Euron's analysis was so logical and sound that even the most fanatical war hawks fell silent, forced to seriously consider the consequences of long-term occupation.
"Then looting and leaving is the only option left!"
Gorold Goodbrother of Hammerhorn growled viciously. "Loot it all! Burn it all! Kill them all! Take everything we can carry, burn what we can't, and kill everyone so they can't fight us again!"
Euron shot him a sideways glance. "I just promised in the square, in the name of the Grey King and House Greyjoy, that those who surrendered would not be killed and the civilians would not be harmed! Are you asking me to break my word?"
"This is the way that fits the Old Way best, and it's what Ironborn know. Empty the vaults, granaries, and wine cellars. Put every valuable item—including the Redwyne father and son and the nobles—onto the longships. Torch the port facilities and the shipwrecks we can't take. Then, before anyone can react, set sail and return to the Iron Islands."
"This action is fast, with minimal risk. We return fully loaded with massive wealth and prestige, enough to pay pensions and reward the army. It follows war traditions and won't excessively provoke the entire Seven Kingdoms."
He paused, his eyes like razor blades slowly scraping across the face of every lord. "But... a one-time profit cannot destroy the Arbor's true potential. Given time, with the support of House Tyrell and the Iron Throne, House Redwyne will rebuild its fleet and become a thorn in our side once again. It would be like a beast biting its prey but retreating before delivering the killing blow. It will inevitably come back to haunt us!"
"So, that alone is not enough to repay the humiliation House Redwyne gave us!"
"And before the war began," Euron spoke slowly, his voice not loud but possessing absolute penetrating power, "I said I would rip up every grapevine of House Redwyne by the roots. Did you..." he asked coldly, with a chilling calmness, "...think I was joking?"
"Let me ask you one more thing." His gaze swept over them like a searchlight. "Do you know why the Arbor is so rich? Why the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms flock to it? What is its true foundation?"
He paused again, letting the question echo in their minds. Then he answered himself, his voice suddenly taking on a cruel edge. "It is the Arbor wine. The best wine in all of Westeros—no, the best wine in the known world."
Euron took a slow step forward, his invisible pressure moving with him. "The founder of House Redwyne was Gilbert of the Vines, legendary son of Garth Greenhand. Their blood, their pride, their sigil, even the air they breathe is filled with the sweet scent of grapes." His tone dripped with mockery. "A cluster of purple grapes. That is everything to them."
"Therefore," Euron's voice turned freezing and final, "the best conquest is not killing them. The ultimate humiliation is not taking their gold."
"It is... destroying the thing they care about most! Their very foundation!"
His words fell like a final judgment.
"Pull up all their vines! Every single one! Leave their land with nothing but barren dirt and broken roots!"
"Then, take every drop of wine in their cellars! Not a drop left behind!"
"When we are done, they won't produce a decent drop of red wine for at least three years! Their vaults can be refilled, their warships can be rebuilt, but vines... vines need time to grow! And time is the most painful punishment we can give them!"
But he wasn't finished. His ambition went far beyond destruction.
"Furthermore," he added, as if stating the obvious, "take all their winemakers. Every master who knows how to grow the best grapes and brew the finest vintages—'invite' them all back to the Iron Islands. Treat them with the best conditions, or threaten them with the cruelest means—I don't care how you do it. I want their people and their craft to belong to House Greyjoy!"
Finally, he painted a shocking picture of the future:
"In the future of Westeros, when people raise a glass, they will no longer praise the vintage of the Arbor! They will praise the red wine of the Iron Islands! It will be the best, the strongest, the most desired!"
"Not just in Westeros," his voice seemed to pierce through space itself, "but in every corner of the world! Everyone who tastes it will remember only one name—Greyjoy!"
"GREYJOY!"
"GREYJOY!"
"GREYJOY!"
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