When Asha Greyjoy found her uncle, Aeron "Damphair" Greyjoy, he was at the shore, performing a drowning ritual.
The young initiate struggling in the water was clearly unsteady in his faith, thrashing wildly while Aeron held his head under the waves.
"Be brave!" Aeron shouted. "We come from the sea and shall return to the sea! Open your mouth, drink deep of the god's blessing. Let the waters fill your lungs. What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger!"
Yet, despite the call, the boy kept struggling, clinging to survival by instinct.
Asha stepped forward to help. Finally, the boy's struggles ceased, and no more bubbles rose from his lips.
Only then did Aeron and Asha drag his limp body back to shore. There, Aeron knelt by the boy, praying as he pressed down firmly on his chest, forcing seawater from his lungs. Leaning over him, Aeron continued the ritual by breathing into the boy's mouth, delivering the "kiss of life."
Kiss after kiss, until the boy's chest shuddered, and he began to cough and vomit, breathing again at last.
"Another reborn!" Aeron proclaimed loudly. "This is the Drowned God's blessing made clear!" Draping the boy in a rough robe woven in shades of gray, blue, and green, Aeron handed him a driftwood staff and said:
"From this day forward, you belong to the sea, to the Drowned God. He will guide you across the waves, fearless and bold!"
Though fear lingered in the boy's eyes, it was overwhelmed by an expression of newfound fervor. Raising his driftwood staff, he shouted, "What is dead may never die!"
With the ritual complete, Aeron sent the boy away. Turning to his niece, he asked, "Are you here to be drowned, Asha?"
Asha quickly shook her head. "I've already been drowned, Uncle."
"There's no limit to the blessings of the sea. Each time we drown, it is another chance to return to the Drowned God's embrace. When you emerge again from His watery halls, you will be stronger, more devout." Aeron's eyes glimmered with zeal. "So, how about it? I've never failed in a drowning ritual."
Indeed, other priests of the Drowned God sometimes faltered, but not Aeron Damphair.
Asha, however, had no desire to relive the experience. The memory of her own drowning ritual still brought a bone-deep terror.
To change the subject, she said, "I'm actually here to tell you that Father is gathering everyone in the Hall of Nagga."
Aeron's expression darkened with understanding.
Ten years ago, his brother Balon Greyjoy had accepted his coronation as King of the Iron Islands in that very hall. But soon after, the Iron Throne had crushed Balon's ambitions, killing two of his sons, while his last son was taken as a hostage to Winterfell by the Starks.
"Is he planning to try again?" There was unease in Aeron's voice.
"Rest assured, Uncle. This time, the Iron Throne is otherwise occupied," Asha replied with a smile. "The green lands have two kings now. They'll be busy fighting each other."
"But once they've chosen a victor, they'll come to crush us, just as Robert Baratheon did."
"By then, Uncle, we'll have already seized enough gold, food, and castles to secure ourselves. Come, speak to my father directly if you have concerns. I still have others to notify. Goodbye."
With that, she hurried away, dreading that her uncle might try to drown her again.
Sighing with disappointment, Aeron made his way to his longship. By the time he reached Old Wyk, he saw countless longships stretched out along the shore, row upon row as far as the eye could see.
In their midst, towering over the rest, stood Balon Greyjoy's great warship, the Great Kraken. Beside it floated the Iron Victory, flagship of the Iron Fleet, commanded by Aeron's other brother, Victarion Greyjoy.
Victarion, the third son in the Greyjoy family, was a hulking, powerful man, clad in heavy iron armor and crowned with a helm in the shape of a kraken. Armed with a massive axe, he looked every bit ready for battle.
"Brother." Aeron approached, nodding in greeting. "What is dead may never die."
"But rises again, harder and stronger," Victarion replied, removing his helm and dropping to one knee in the sand.
Aeron took a saltwater-filled flask from his robe and poured it over Victarion's head. When their prayers were finished, they walked side by side to the rocky hills.
The path led them up a steep incline to a stony plateau. There, rising from the ground, were forty-four great white ribs of stone, towering like ancient trees.
The brothers' hearts beat faster as they approached these massive bones. They were the legendary remains of Nagga, the first sea dragon.
Nagga had been a monstrous creature, birthed from the depths of the ocean. It fed on sea monsters, devoured whole islands in its fury, and had terrorized the seas for centuries. But one day, the Grey King defeated Nagga, and the Drowned God turned its bones to stone, so that the Ironborn would never forget the Grey King's deeds.
Nagga's ribs formed the beams and pillars of the Hall of Nagga, her skull the Grey King's throne.
The two brothers climbed the nine broad stone steps to the top of the hill, where their eldest brother, Balon, stood before the Sea Stone Chair, Nagga's throne.
Aeron and Victarion approached and saluted their brother. "What is dead may never die."
"But rises again, harder and stronger," Balon replied.
"Brother, have you truly decided?" Aeron's voice was tinged with concern.
"It's time, brother! Let's reclaim what we lost!" Victarion, ever the staunch supporter, declared fervently.
"Yes. The time has come," Balon said firmly, his voice carrying the strength of his convictions. He spoke the words of House Greyjoy, "We Do Not Sow. Ironborn cannot live like the green land's sheep, tending fields and fishing nets. Blood and plunder flow through our veins. We are born raiders. We shall embrace the 'Old Way' once more, and bring fear and ruin to Westeros!"
Victarion howled in excitement, raising his axe in the air.
Aeron, however, remained calm, asking, "Where will we raid first? There are two kings now. We shouldn't make enemies of both."
"The North," Balon replied, his tone decisive.
"The North?" Aeron frowned. "But Theon is still a hostage with the Starks."
Balon's voice was cold. "Aeron, if someone had you by the balls, forcing you to kneel, what would you do?"
Aeron's eyes hardened. "I'd let them crush me before I ever knelt."
"As would I," Balon replied icily. "Eddard Stark thinks he can keep us subdued by holding my son. But I'd lose every son if it meant severing his head from his shoulders."
"Sever the heads of the Northerners!" Victarion roared, raising his axe high.
Balon gave a satisfied nod. "Then it's time to call them forth."
Descending from the hill, Aeron began to beat his driftwood staff in rhythm.
The sound of the staff echoed across the shore, soon joined by the beat of hundreds of other staffs as Ironborn came forth, hammering their staffs against the rocks in unison.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Victarion took a deep breath and blew a mighty blast on his war horn.
Oooo—oooo—oooooo—
Ironborn left their ships, the beaches, and their bonfires, all converging upon the Hall of Nagga. Among them were captains, oarsmen, shipwrights, axemen, fishermen, thralls, and salt wives, as well as green-land converts—knights, minstrels, maesters—all gathering like ants, like ravens to a feast of blood.
Thousands upon thousands swarmed the hill, a black sea of men drawn to the call of their king.
Aeron spread his arms wide, calling for silence.
When all were quiet, the only sound was the crashing of waves against the shore.
"We come from the sea, and to the sea we shall return!" Aeron's voice echoed within the ribs of Nagga. "The great Drowned God has spoken! My brother has answered the call! He is Balon the Brave, Balon the Blessed, Balon who sacrifices all to restore the Old Way! Hail him, the new King of the Iron Islands!"
"Balon! Balon! Balon!"
The crowd's roar mingled with the waves, rolling up the hill and filling the sky.
Balon Greyjoy, cloaked in a mantle adorned with a golden kraken, approached the Sea Stone Chair. Aeron placed the driftwood crown upon his head, sealing his coronation.
"Ten years ago, we tried to restore the Old Way, but the Iron Throne crushed our ambitions, forcing us to live like slaves!" Balon's voice rang out over the crowd. "But we have not abandoned our ways! Today, we rise once more, and we will reclaim all that was taken from us! What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger"
"What is dead will never die!"
"What is dead will never die!"
"What is dead will never die!"
…
The cheers of the Ironborn were like thunder, shaking the bones of Naga .
The frenzied air currents swept up, as if the power of the Drowned God was dispersing the dark clouds in the sky.
Amidst the expectations of everyone, Balon Greyjoy finally sat on the Throne again.
At this moment, the sea seemed to sense the birth of a new king, and a surging tide arose, sweeping eastward.
They will bring with them the anger and brutality that have been suppressed in the Iron Islands for ten years, to sweep across the Lands of Green, destroy the Seven Sacred Septs, uproot the bleeding White Trees, flood the sturdy castles, and bring death and destruction.
(End of Chapter)