If the battle displayed the martial prowess of the Ironborn, what followed was a masterclass in the other core skill passed down through the "Old Way": efficient, thorough, and merciless looting.
As Euron put it: "When it comes to moving house, nobody does it like the Ironborn."
King Quellon and Euron's orders were carried out to the letter. The entire Arbor—especially the heartland of House Redwyne—was instantly transformed into a massive, highly organized "relocation" site. The Ironborn warriors acted like a swarm of tireless worker ants. With clear division of labor and specific roles, they executed a cold, calculated transfer of wealth.
This wasn't a riotous smash-and-grab. Under the direction of their captains, the sacking became a model of efficiency: sorting, packing, transporting, logging, and loading. Every step was orderly.
The Vaults: The generations of wealth accumulated by House Redwyne were the primary target. Vault doors were smashed open with sledges and axes. Chests of gold dragons, silver moons, gem-encrusted goblets, jewelry, and plate were rapidly counted (rudely), registered (in their own rough way), and hauled onto the ships by the strongest men. Every coin represented more longships, better steel, and richer rewards.
The Cellars: These received special care. It wasn't just the vintage stock House Redwyne was famous for; even the wine still aging in barrels was carefully rolled out. Human chains passed them one by one to the longships. They treated this "liquid gold" with surprising tenderness—far better than they treated the prisoners—especially since they knew this loot would likely end up in their own bellies.
The Armory: The armories were stripped bare. Brand new swords and plate, well-maintained crossbows, heavy throwing spears, shields—if the Ironborn could use it or sell it, it was packed. This not only armed them but disarmed any future resistance. Even broken gear wasn't wasted; the Ironborn now had their own smiths, and scrap metal could be melted down to forge new axes.
General Goods: The looting went far beyond traditional treasure. Granaries, textile warehouses, and spice stores were emptied. It was jaw-dropping to watch them strip the kitchens—pots, pans, carving knives, anything metal or valuable was taken. The Iron Islands were poor, so everything had value. Furniture, carpets, even intricate door handles and window latches were unscrewed and hauled away.
"Stripped bare" was not an exaggeration. After the Ironborn passed through, the castles and strongholds of House Redwyne looked like locusts had descended upon them. All that remained were the hollow shells of buildings and a mess of trash. Centuries of accumulated wealth were extracted in a matter of hours.
This disaster wasn't limited to the Redwynes. With Euron's "invitation" and Quellon's silent approval, the Ironborn extended their grasping hands to every noble house on the Arbor. Their castles and manors received the same "professional" visit.
The lives of these family members were spared—the Iron Islands needed hostages for ransom and didn't want to trigger a fight-to-the-death scenario before they left. But every coin, every tapestry, and every bottle of wine they owned was confiscated. Vaults, cellars, storerooms—nothing was spared.
When the last batch of longships, riding dangerously low in the water, slowly pulled out of Starfish Harbor, the Arbor was a hollowed-out husk. Wealth, wine, artisans, and tools were all gone. This "relocation" wasn't just a military victory; it was a devastating economic and cultural skinning. The damage inflicted would last far longer and cut far deeper than a simple massacre.
They had truly achieved their goal: The people could stay, but other than their lives, they kept nothing.
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The Ironborn had far more experience looting treasure than Euron did, so he didn't micromanage that part. Instead, he turned his attention to a more unique and precious kind of "loot."
Euron issued an order that seemed bizarre to the rough Ironborn, yet fit perfectly with his grand strategy.
"Take all the books," he emphasized to the captains clearing the castle. "Every scroll of parchment, every bound volume. History, geography, agriculture, poetry, novels, even ledgers and letters. If it has writing on it, crate it up. Do not leave a single page behind."
He paused, scanning the confused faces of his warriors, and added a cold, insightful explanation. "Knowledge is also power. And often, it is a power more lasting and lethal than swords."
"Furthermore," he continued, "find every Maester serving House Redwyne, and any craftsman on the island with specialized skills—especially those who know shipbuilding, winemaking, or farming. Find them, and invite them to board our ships."
He used the word "invite," but the threat was implicit. He looked at the leaders responsible for this task, teaching them a new philosophy of plunder.
"A Maester's brain holds things more valuable than a map of the treasury—the climate patterns of the Arbor, the secrets of grape cultivation, unique brewing techniques, and the connections to trade guilds across the world. This knowledge is the true foundation of the Redwyne fortune. If we steal their gold, they can earn it back. But if we steal the brains that hold their heritage, we cut off their roots."
Not far away, Rodrik "The Reader" Harlaw was supervising the inventory. He was perhaps the only man in the Iron Islands who truly understood the depth of Euron's move. He stopped writing.
He watched as heavy crates filled with books were carefully (though still somewhat roughly) carried out by warriors. His eyes burned with unconcealed envy. To a man who loved books more than life, the accumulated library of House Redwyne was worth more than the chest of glittering gold sitting next to it. He stared obsessively as the books were hauled away, as if watching a lover leave.
Euron noticed Rodrik's gaze. He walked over, a knowing smirk on his lips.
"You want them?" he asked casually.
Rodrik took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure, but the hunger in his eyes gave him away. "No true reader could resist such a treasure, Lord Euron."
Euron chuckled low in his throat. "Rest easy, Lord Rodrik. Once these books are back at Pyke, they will be properly stored. I give you permission... to come and read them whenever you wish."
It was a promise, but it felt more like a bestowal of grace—an exchange. "And, once I have finished studying the interesting parts, perhaps we can exchange notes. Maybe even swap a few volumes from our personal collections."
For Rodrik, this was the best news he could have heard. He bowed immediately, his voice trembling with excitement. "I am infinitely grateful, Lord Euron! This... this is a reward more precious than any amount of gold dragons!"
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