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Age: 37
Sworn To: CROW'S EYE
Location: Pyke
Title: Lord
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My Content
Mar 16 2018, 12:14 PM

Cooked into Theon's loaf of bread, it is only once he's broken open the food and torn out the warm stuffing does he find the small bound scroll inside. The servant girl, the same girl from always, says nothing as she delivers his platter of food to him, completely oblivious to its contents.

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<div style="width: 280px; font-family: 'Nothing You Could Do', cursive; font-size: 25px; color: #000000; line-height: 90%; letter-spacing: 1px;">Theon,</div>
I am ready to come home. I have missed Pyke. I have even missed the food. Above all, I have missed my nephew. The youngest you may be, you are not the weakest. I have heard your siblings have willingly sailed shores far away from home, whereas I was forced, condemned to the seas not our own. Silly fools, they are. You are the only one that remained, a true Greyjoy. The only one I can trust.
I will need you to prepare for my return. Tell no one. No one. I hope to surprise my brothers. Tell me, what are the islands like now that Balon is once more Lord Reaper? What news is there of Rodrik? The sea carries winds and I have heard many words, but I hope perhaps you have the truth of it all. I place my faith in only you.
Look to your left. (There is a dark-skinned man sipping his own ale in the corner, playing cards with another tall, lanky fellow.) He will see to it that your words reach me on time.

<div style="width: 280px; font-family: 'Nothing You Could Do', cursive; font-size: 25px; color: #000000; line-height: 90%; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align:right;">-Crow's Eye</div>

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<h1><iron>lord euron greyjoy</group></h1>
<h2>36 years old. Crow's Eye. Iron Islands. Tom Ellis.</h2>
<h3>shelbsies. 24. gmt-6. cerebro.</h3>
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<div class="gensmall">lady moyra</div>
<i>I have always said it, and I will say it again, this time in direct writing to you, so that you may never forget it. They waited too long, Euron. Your father and mother, for all their strengths, were weak when you were pulled from Gwynesse's legs. It had been ten years since Lord Quellon welcomed a child, ten years since Balon was born and continued to wreck his own havoc upon your father's household. You came too late, and even worse, your parents waited even longer to hand you over to the Drowned God. They let you grow first, they let you find your own likes, your own dislikes, they let no one but yourself forge you into the little boy you wanted to be. Your dreams and your nightmares, your needs and your wants, they were yours and yours alone.
Until they finally decided to drown you. It was a cruel thing, truly, cruel even for the ironborn. Your father once threatened to pull my tongue out with his own fingers when I said as much, to show me what he believed to be the true definition of cruelty. I would have enjoyed it, if it meant I did not have to watch you die beneath the waves, pinned below the surface by the hands of your own uncle. It was a murder, not a christening. The Drowned God had been kept from you for long enough, and He wasted no time in pulling you into His halls.
He almost did not let you return to us. I could have sworn I even saw the briefest flickers of panic flash across your mother's face, as stone-cold as she was. It was not your uncle that called you back, it was not the other Drowned Men or even myself. It was your father. Never have I seen a lord beat his son as hard as he beat you, willing your heart back to life, forcing the saltwater from your little lungs. </i> What is dead may never die, <i>he'd said, almost smiling when you coughed into his face.</i> But rises again, harder and stronger.<i> Your brother Balon was there to pull you to your feet, and Victarion waited patiently for his own turn. You, however... you were no longer the Euron Greyjoy I had helped birth, had nursed at my breast and raised as my own for the past five years. You were someone else. Some</i>thing<i> else.</i>
<div class="gensmall">urek pyke</div>
Five minutes. The maesters say you cannot go eight, and I think all of us were counting that day. It is never a good omen, a lord, a Greyjoy, no less, losing his son in his very drowning. We can say the Drowned God wanted you for His own army, dubbed you too strong and too good for any mortal world, but none of us truly believe that. Just hollow words to help the grieving. Only the weak do not rise again, harder and stronger. If you did not rise that day, spluttering seawater from your chest, Quellon Greyjoy would have been seen a weak man. He had already brought maesters to the islands, had freed our thralls, spoke against our salt wives... losing you, after losing so many of his young sons in the past, would have only sealed his fate in our eyes.
When you were finally on your feet, dripping with saltwater, it was Victarion you went after first. To this day I do not know what it was that found you when you were drowned, but it was nearly rabid. Mad. I had to tear you off of your younger brother myself, lest you claw his throat out in whatever blind rage you had succumbed to. You screamed and kicked and flailed, I thought you were going to try and claw my throat out, too. But you were still just a boy, and a hard fist to the head made you fall limp in my own arms. You were a stupid boy.
Lord Quellon took four of my fingers for that, and knocked loose six of my teeth with his own fist. For the next fortnight, you were so very ill, cold and pale, your lungs making such terrible noises that I wondered if a boy could drown even without the sea. Your father let no one see you but his precious little maester. Many doubted you would survive, and many rumored I was the one who felled you. No doubt it was me being your father's cousin that stayed his hand from taking my head. Still, we all thought you dead, and when you rose from your sickbed that stormy grey morning, gone was the lively second son of Pyke and in his place, this quiet, almost cruel-looking creature risen from the black depths of the sea itself. Sure, you remained just a boy... but if I still had all of my fingers, I would have thought to hit you again at the sight of you.
<div class="gensmall">victarion greyjoy</div>
I hate him! I want to kill him! Why does he have to ruin everything? Father always turns the other way and pretends not to notice, even Mother will not scold him! Balon is the only one I can trust, but he is a captain now and I am stuck here in Pyke with Euron. He keeps telling me he will cut my tongue out as I sleep, so I will be mute and mutes can never captain their own ship. Sometimes I think I could suffocate him with my pillow. He is my brother, though, and Father has said kinslaying is the greatest sin. But what is wrong with him? He is not even ten and three and I heard him try and rape one of Mother's servants in the kitchens. He said he would pry my eyes out with his fingers if I ever came upon him like that again. And he said it all while smiling.
He's showed me no quarter since then. I hate those stupid shortswords he wields, he tries to cut my guts out any time we are in the yards together. And he is always laughing! I can't stand it. Our master-at-arms says he is a cunning warrior, but I think he's just a cheat, a cruel, smirking cheat, and anyone will say anything to please Father. The only friends he has are the lowborn boys that live near the shore, and they are as strange and as mean as Euron is. I hear them talking about manning a great ship with him one day, where they will reave, raid and rape their way across the known world. Good. I want him gone.

<div class="gensmall">the first of many</div>
To My Beloved Son,
Pray this letter finds you well, my sweet boy, and your precious wife and children. Gods, how I miss them. I see you every time I close my eyes. I wish I could have known them better, beautiful Sara and your little ones. I like to think I would have been a good grandmother to them, as I was a good mother to you, wasn't I? Your father always said as much, gods rest his pure soul. I miss him, too. More and more as of late. Pyke is cold, barren, wet and moldy, a place for rotting demons with no taste for the warm or living. Many of the other women have died from abuse or illness. How I found a way to get this letter to you is another matter entirely, and though I may not be alive when you finally read this, please know I take my love for you wherever I go.
You must find a way, my son, to kill him. Euron Greyjoy. He is a beast in man's clothing, a monster with the face of a human but eyes of a fiend. They say their Drowned God spat him back out with barely an inch of his life when he was a child, I say they should have let him die. I cannot tell you here what he has done, or how many times he has done it, but know that I feel myself fading with every fortnight. I have tried to kill him, I have tried to slit his throat as he sleeps, but there is something about him. Something dark. Like there are ghosts whispering in his ear, keeping him aware of everything. Everyone. He laughed when he slew your father all that time ago, and still he laughs when he threatens to kill me, as well. I wonder, will he laugh when I tell him my belly swells with his seed?
I do not have much time, my boy. I will not be a mother to his demon child, nor will I stand to see it brought into this world against my will. The cliffs of Pyke are the only promise I have in this ugly wasteland. Perhaps your father may still be waiting for me, wherever the gods have taken him.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
<div class="gensmall">gormund codd</div>
<i>I was there when Lord Quellon summoned his banners, calling himself King, promising a new era for those so long scorned in the Iron Islands. I was Euron's first mate, back when I still had my tongue, back when he still accepted my advice when none other would. Codds are not well-liked, you see. My ancestors are thralls and salt-wives, cowards and thieves, but not Gormund. Not me. Euron was fierce, all at six and ten, and when Quellon died and Balon became our lord, I never left his shadow. We were broken but the Iron Fleet remained as strong as ever... though short-lived, Balon's Rebellion was glorious. Lannisport burned because of Euron's genius, with Victarion himself being the first to throw a torch onto Tywin's flagship.
Euron tore my tongue out from its root for that. Though his brother's feat be true, to hear it spoken was like treason to him. With my tongue gone, so, too, was my status as first mate, demoted to the ranks of those that mop his decks and load the canons. Our lord had been taken as a royal hostage and now our islands were left in the hands of Balon's pregnant wife... Euron became even more lawless, even more spiteful of me. He even had me wash one of his salt wives once, after he'd ripped her from her husband's bed near the Banefort. She still had his blood on him from when Euron cut his throat beside her, and her screams as he took her once she was finally clean should have made any man deaf. As far as I can tell, my captain can still hear, and he had me toss her lifeless body from his ship once he was finished. I do not know what he does to his women, there have been so many, some live weeks, others months, some are still alive and reportedly pregnant on the island somewhere, utterly forgotten by him... but whatever he does... it is not something even a Codd would do.
His cruel tastes are exactly why I am here now, bereft in my uncle's home as my cousin Lucas takes my place beside him. Euron <b>hates</b> his brother, and perhaps he hated him even more for the credit he received in Balon's failed rebellion. He hated me, too, and never let me forget it. Though he never took much spoils for himself on our raids, something his men always enjoyed, I was to take even less. Do even less. Menial tasks and duties meant for a lowly thrall, not a true ironborn, not a first-mate to a Greyjoy. But I was no longer his first mate, and for years I pillaged only when he allowed me to.
But then he finally had a duty for me. One he said only I could be trusted with. At that moment, I did not care what it was, I could not care, I wanted only back in in his good graces. And then he told me. I was to bring Victarion's wife to him. For an entire moon I had watched Euron maneuver his way to her, getting closer with each effort, using such tricks on her that, to this day, I still cannot explain. His brother was often away from Pyke, as Captain of the Iron Fleet, his position called him away from her... but Euron was always there, whispering into her ear, caressing the top of her knee at the high table. How could someone who I knew would kill a woman while he was still inside of her, suddenly seem so... charming? So utterly persuasive and undeniably charismatic? </i>
<div class="gensmall">lady thrall</div>
"Stop crying. They'll hear you." A septa's voice pierces the stench of piss and shit, locked away in a privy closet, clutching a young girl to her breast. "They're coming." The smoke comes first, heralding fire that eats away at every floorboard and every beam. Like rats, they are herded out from the house and into the open. Their captors are waiting for them. "Run!" The old woman is killed where she stands, deemed too old, too tainted by false gods, and too ugly besides. The young girl cannot run. She cannot even hear the screams of other sisters and mothers that are being carried away to the ships in the distance. In moments, she becomes one of them.
* * *
"She will be mine, Victarion." The lady speaks like the very iron of her islands. Her husband is like a blade before her, though, hard, sharp, even cruel. He does not waiver. But she does. "Please..." she is hard to hear, even harder to refuse, and she is granted what she wants in the end. A girl is spared from the clutches of he and his men, though she is not sure which fate is worse; her family remains slaughtered on the mainland, and now she owes a life of servitude to the killer's wife. Perhaps death at her husband's hand is more desirable, but she is a thrall now. Barely more than a slave.
* * *
"You cannot say a word... he will kill us both." She is pressed against a cold, damp wall, with the iron lady staring into her very soul. "Rather, I will kill you first. And then he will kill me." The young girl says nothing, like most days. There are little words to enjoy here in the Iron Islands. But she is sworn to silence, silence she knows, silence she is comfortable with. She is not comfortable with him, though. Euron Greyjoy. She thinks he smells like salt, maybe iron, or maybe it's blood, but despite all of the vows and promises, he keeps returning, and she still has to help wipe his seed from the lady's legs and have her linens washed before morning comes.
* * *
There is one morning where he looks at her, almost stares. Too long, she thinks. There are terrible things lurking in that dark and evil gaze. He continues into the lady's bedchambers and does not leave until hours later, and he glares at the young girl again as he departs. It is as if he knows what she still does not. But she has to tell him, Victarion, he has to know. Perhaps he will put an end to it, perhaps he will spare them from the poison that is his brother. He has to understand, he will have to see his wife as the poor victim that she is. For once since being taken from the mainland, the young girl feels alive.
<div class="gensmall">iron <s>victory</s> loss</div>
"Did you ever see them together?"<br>
"I say again, and only once more. Did you ever see them together?"<br>
"You are lying." (A fist comes sailing through the air, colliding hard into the other man's temple.)<br>
Of course I saw them together! Everyone did! Even you! They spoke at nearly every feast in the great hall.<br>
"Try again." (Another fist, this time crushing against his nose. Blood splatters.)<br>
"Do you fear him, more than you fear me?"<br>
(Through the blood) ...He is a madman.<br>
"And what am I?"<br>
Just... a man...<br> (His eye socket is shattered by another blow to the face.)<br>
And your wife... she is just a sad, sorry whore...<br>
(The sound of a neck snapping ends the conversation.)

"Calm yourself, my lord. The Drowned God has her now. She is at peace." (Aeron Greyjoy sits before Lord Harlaw of the Ten Towers.)<br><br>
I doubt He would recognize her, Damphair. I heard what was done to her.<br><br>
"My brother did what he thought was necessary to retain his honor."<br><br>
(Lord Harlaw stirs uncomfortably, clearly upset.) He beat her to death! He murdered a noblewoman and her unborn child!<br><br>
"An unfortunate tragedy, indeed... the rivalry between my two brothers precedes even my birth. Euron has spent his livelihood making Victarion suffer at his hand. This-" (Aeron is interrupted.)<br><br>
THIS IS MURDER! You are all bloody savages, you Greyjoys. No doubt this is what the King intended when he took Balon. (Lord Harlaw stands from his chair, red in the face.) I will have no part in this! Your brother must leave the Iron Islands at once. You came for my council, that is my council. Alannys needs to banish him from these waters if she must. There is no place, even here, for something like him.<br><br>
(Aeron pauses to contemplate.) "And what of Victarion?"<br><br>
The Drowned God will make His judgement on him one day... but even with her blood on his hands, the Iron Fleet has need of him. If Balon is ever to be released, Euron must not be here. He has to go. Now.
<div class="gensmall">prayers of the known world</div>
Perhaps we were fools to place our faith in a Blind God. For so long we set aside our vanity, even our names, in service to you. We held no riches for those to plunder or covet, we lived in willing darkness only to better see your world. But you let us burn. In the war of a Drowned God against the Blind, we lost almost everything. You could not see what was happening to us, what those men without tongues were doing to our lands and our families. You are called Blind but are you deaf, as well? Could you not hear the screams of my poor wife as they dragged her away to that ship with the black sails? How could you let this happen?
O, Great Shepherd, hear our plight. Grace us with your protection, bless us with your salvation, for we are but a poor, broken flock, innocent sheep surrounded by wolves. They took our hides, they took our young lambs, they poisoned our waters and salted our soil... not even the mighty horselords have done so horribly. Though he tore down your temple, we seek not revenge. We seek only your light, only your healing staff, your guiding hand. Please, Great Shepherd. Help us.
I cry the same tears as you, Weeping Lady. I cry for my sister, wherever she may be now. I cry for my mother, who still mourns the loss as if it were just yesterday. It has been many moons now, almost a year since she left. Please, goddess, tell me, why would she leave us? You told me he was poison the moment I laid eyes upon him... even mother was not fooled. But she was. If she is still alive, I beseech you to protect her. I will pray to you three times a day. I will never argue with mother ever again. I will be kind to the men who come to my bed at night. Please guide her back home, please make her see the error in her ways. She is in terrible danger every moment she stays with him on that ship. Please, please, please... make her come back home.
Pray you see us, Wayfarer, pray your hood is not worn too low to be blind to our plight. It's said the Blind God could not see his priests burning in Lorath, that The Great Shepherd abandoned His flock when the Silence docked on the riverbanks of Lhazar, and that The Weeping Lady sobbed even harder when Euron Greyjoy turned to rape Lys. The rich in Yi-Ti have been plundered, their chests of jade have been stolen and their women are gone... even the Lion of Night did not rise to protect His people. I know it will be you to end this madness. I beg you, please, save us... we are but poor, lowly men, with nothing to call ours. Why would he come for us, after he is said to walk the very shores of Valyria? What do we have that he could possibly want? We have only our religion, only our devotion to you. I will not be a token for this cruel and false "Drowned God" that follows the Silence wherever it sails.
<div class="gensmall">a tongue for immortality</div>
You come to me a broken man, cracked into the petty pieces that kneel before me now. You have no family. You have no home nor coin. Your own people would not have you. But let that all be undone this very moment. Serve in silence, and you will find the sound of true glory filling your ears. Join me, and you will find yourself whole once more. Your family will be the men standing on my deck beside you. Your home whatever shore we happen to set upon, and the coin of a thousand currencies to fill your cabins. Your people will be whatever ones you wish to have. Together, the world and its riches will bow to our might, its false gods will fall in our wake and its women will be ours for the taking. All of this can and will be yours, if you desire it.<p>
I will ask only one thing from you.

-Euron Greyjoy's Pact of Silence

<div class="gensmall">the one eyed man is king</div>
Day 3:<br>
I cannot remember the last I truly slept. Was it only just a fortnight past that I was sitting near the hearth in our great hall, enjoying a warm supper with my family? I can still feel my husband's hand on mine, and the laughter of our sweet girls as they fancied about which boys would suit them in marriage. I have not seen my husband since that first night, when he was bound to his chair and gagged like a suckling pig... Crow's Eye sits in my lord's chair now. And that evil wench Falia sits on his lap and whispers into his ear, and I can almost see the venom dripping from the man's blue smile with every word she speaks. Does she know how many times his men have raped me, since she first suggested I serve them naked? Does she know how many screams I've heard coming from my daughters' chambers, knowing they do the same to them as they do to me? I told Humfrey to have her smothered in her sleep when she was still young, and look what has become of us now.
Day 7:<br>
My home grows more barren by the day. Euron allows his men to take whatever they wish. At first it was the paintings in the gallery. The jewelry first on our necks and wrists, then those kept away in our rooms. My husband's armory was stripped in minutes. The curtains on the windows, the rugs on the floor, even the very gowns we wore or the sheets we slept on. Nothing is safe from their plunder, not even the books in our library, and Crow's Eye merely watches as Oakenshield dissipates around us. I know he and Falia sleep in the same bed I shared with her father, tainting everything I once loved with their black hearts and blue wine. No matter if I die here of starvation, or even if I go mad from so little sleep, I will kill that freckled face cunt if it is the last damned thing I do.
Day 12:<br>
I am so tired, I cannot write much. He has taken all of our ships, wants the Iron Islands.... must send word to Pyke. How, I do not know, but they must know. Still have not seen my husband. Euron and Falia will be gone before Lord Tyrell's forces reach us. He can see things. I know this now. The patch... over his eye... there is still an eye underneath. Black as night. Sees what we cannot. Sees inside. They say it was black after he emerged from the House of the Undying. Drinks that blue wine ever since. He has taken everything from us. Where are my daughters? I heard him call Falia his queen last night. Must send word to Pyke... to the King... I cannot explain further. So tired...
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