Post by Iron King Vickon Greyjoy on Dec 26, 2012 7:42:39 GMT -5
Despite his late evening of letter-writing, Vickon was awake before dawn. He had made it something of a habit as of late. Sleeping was a time-wasting exercise, one that he could do without. He sat now, in his solar eating cold fish, bread and a sauce that he would rather not ask questions about. He had swapped his map of the Iron Islands for a larger map of Westeros the previous night with Lord Codd. Chewing on his meal he eyed the city of King's Landing. Too far from Pyke for his liking. In Pyke he was safe, he was a King. But in King's Landing he would be no better than all the other lords. He spat.
The King's Regent had commanded him to bend the knee. The mainlanders loved doing that. Bending knees and swearing oaths were their favourite hobbies. But Vickon had different interests. The only man he meant to bend the knee to was the Dragon Rider, Markar Targaryen. If he bent the knee to him, the Ironborn might still hold some respect for him. Any other, and they would never follow him. He felt his proposition was a fair one. He'd bend the knee and swear the oaths like the mainlanders liked, but he wouldn't have to go all the way to King's Landing. That was assuming that Blackfyre played along. Rumour had it that the King Tyrell had been killed by assassins paid from the Iron Throne's own coffers. A cowardly way to deal with a threat, Vickon had decided. He had doubled his guard as a result.
A knock on the door interrupted his train of thought. t was Daegon. One of his new guards. Young but stern, just the kind of man he needed. "Your Grace, the young Harlaw girl is here to see you." He slid his plate to the side, "Send her in."
The King's Regent had commanded him to bend the knee. The mainlanders loved doing that. Bending knees and swearing oaths were their favourite hobbies. But Vickon had different interests. The only man he meant to bend the knee to was the Dragon Rider, Markar Targaryen. If he bent the knee to him, the Ironborn might still hold some respect for him. Any other, and they would never follow him. He felt his proposition was a fair one. He'd bend the knee and swear the oaths like the mainlanders liked, but he wouldn't have to go all the way to King's Landing. That was assuming that Blackfyre played along. Rumour had it that the King Tyrell had been killed by assassins paid from the Iron Throne's own coffers. A cowardly way to deal with a threat, Vickon had decided. He had doubled his guard as a result.
A knock on the door interrupted his train of thought. t was Daegon. One of his new guards. Young but stern, just the kind of man he needed. "Your Grace, the young Harlaw girl is here to see you." He slid his plate to the side, "Send her in."
