Dont forget to Vote and Review if you like story...
your comment make me motivate posting here
read full story in patreon : CaveLeather
The Serpent Isles welcomed a "spectacle" unseen in a century.
Every harbor tavern overflowed with idle pirates. Heavy malt stench and sweat permeated the air perpetually. These brigands, once formidable and feared, now resembled caged beasts—whiling away time through drinking, gambling, women, and brawling. For an entire month, not a single pirate ship dared raise sail.
Ever since the Iron Islands' fleet stretched across the waters surrounding the Summer Islands like iron chains, these once-free waters transformed into a line between life and death.
"No sailing out. No sailing in."—The decree carried by that golden kraken banner was simple and brutal.
A few defiant brigands always existed. Under cover of night, they'd raise sail attempting to break through the invisible blockade. Yet the charred planks occasionally drifting across the sea surface, along with tattered sails washing ashore with the tide, silently told the same story: attempting meant perishing.
So these volatile pirates could only languish day after day in taverns, swilling inferior rum while gazing at the sealed waters beyond the windows.
Everyone waited. Waited for that distant southern war to end.
Three days ago, news escaped its cage like a seabird finally spreading wings.
Messenger ships sailed with full canvas, nailing gilt documents to tavern doors in every port.
Word that Jaraba Solgar had been crowned King of the Summer Islands carried on the salty sea breeze into every sailor's ears. Word that Tessaya Greyjoy had become queen fell like salt crystals into wine glasses, sparking complex flavors across every whispering tongue.
Greyjoy!?
Sailors on the masts circulated salt-soaked parchment. Tavern gamblers finally discarded moldy dice. Harbor slavers quietly began packing crates—the moment the golden kraken flag flew from the Summer Islands' palace spire, all understood: the rules of this sea had been rewritten.
Merchant fleets began polishing corroded anchors. Pirates studied the tides calculating departure.
But three subsequent proclamations made those preparing to sail stop dead. Brows furrowed like knots.
The first message fell like ice, instantly freezing every stirring heart.
All Summer Islands now flew the golden kraken flag. The Iron Islands declared themselves permanent protectors of these prosperous isles. The "Fire and Ice Trading Company," established solely by the Iron Islands, became the exclusive channel for commerce with the Summer Islands. The proclamation's conclusion carried steel-cold severity: "Whosoever dares harm the Summer Islands' interests becomes enemy to all the Iron Islands."
The second message sent chills down every spine.
The Iron fleet, having just concluded the Summer Islands unification war, didn't sail home as expected. Instead, it continued southward. Steel-bowed ships pointed toward distant, unknown waters. This tireless armada resembled a sea beast never satisfied.
The final declaration carried chilling personal will.
Beast-Lord, Bone-Crown, Ruler of the Stone Steps, Duke Euron Greyjoy of Westeros personally proclaimed he would shelter Nas Island beneath his wing. From the moment the golden kraken flag planted in that beach, anyone continuing to set foot on Nas Island—capturing its people into slavery—would become his unceasing enemy. Those four characters—"unceasing enemy"—carried the rusty scent of blood.
In the taverns, hands reaching for weapons quietly released. Ship captains exchanged uncertain glances.
They realized: the blockade might end, but a greater iron curtain—engulfing the entire sea—had just fallen.
Upon the great sea.
Command hall of the Telltale.
Sea wind carrying brine gusted through, billowing the hanging golden kraken flag.
Lord Barron's knuckles struck the oak table heavily. Wine glasses trembled.
"Why wasn't the third proclamation issued in the Iron Islands' name?"
He exchanged confused looks with several island lords. Silent questioning permeated the air.
Euron stood before the nautical charts, a pearl shell lightly pressing Nas Island's location.
When he turned, his heterochromatic eyes appeared especially deep in the dim light. "Because Nas Island offers the Iron Islands neither gold nor harbors," Euron explained calmly. "I cannot let Iron men bleed for my personal will."
Euron walked to the window, gazing at the longship masts upon the sea. He sighed, "Those Nas people who cannot even grip a blade properly need someone building a wall between them and slavers. But this wall—" his fingertip tapped the windowpane, "shouldn't be constructed from Iron Islander bones."
Gull cries drifted distantly, accompanying his final whisper: "What I wish to protect shouldn't become a burden for all the Iron Islands."
Lord Barron's fist slammed the oak table. Rum splashed from cups. Potent alcohol scent suddenly flooded the entire war room.
"What do you mean by that!?" Barron's roar resembled crashing waves, making the command hall resonate. "You are the supreme commander of this Iron Islands expedition! You are Euron Greyjoy of House Greyjoy! What distinction between your matters and Iron matters? Your matters are Iron Islands matters!"
A scar-faced island lord suddenly stood. "Exactly! Do we Iron men fear complications?"
"The Nas Island situation is clear to all," added a graying Harlow family lord, stroking his beard. He sighed, "Those poor souls who cannot grip blades... Euron, this matter shouldn't exclude our participation."
A young island lord seated in the corner slammed the table, rising. "Besides, insulting you insults the entire Iron Islands! Just as you defend our interests, we'll uphold your oath!"
The final lord spoke gravely: "Once the golden kraken flag plants on that land, it represents Nas Island as an Iron Islands vassal state. Anyone daring to ignore our flag challenges the entire Iron Islands! This isn't just your matter alone, Euron!"
Euron's gaze slowly swept each indignant face. Those visages weathered by sea wind displayed undeniable loyalty written clear. He nodded slightly, offering a light laugh. "My oversight. Henceforth, any such decisions shall be reported to all of you first."
The men's expressions eased somewhat.
Euron pivoted sharply, pointing at the Serpent Isles' range on the chart. "Now," his voice turned cold, "time to crack this hard bone."
All eyes focused on that sea region drawn with skulls and tentacles—the slavers' nest, pirates' haven, blood mages' laboratories, the sewage pit where the world's filth congregated.
Euron's heterochromatic eyes gleamed with bloodlust. His voice turned glacial: "Send word to every lair in the Serpent Isles. Tell them the Iron Islands shall be the sole ruler here. They possess only two choices—"
"Kneel beneath the golden kraken flag and submit, or..."
"Sink forever into these depths they've desecrated."
Lord Barron suddenly erupted in thunderous laughter, seizing an ale skin and tilting his head back for a long draught.
Liquid cascaded down his beard, dripping onto the deck—like premature blood sacrifice.