Hypnos
L'Empereur
Loron Greyjoy
When Loron had been a boy, his father had wasted no time by coddling his son, throwing him upon the topdeck of a ship before he’d even said his first words, and shoving a sword in his hands before he could walk. Now that he was a man, Erich Greyjoy couldn’t help but treat him like a child. He was scorned, chastised, berated, mocked, here in the halls that his family had called home for a thousand years, by the man who had not once shown him a modicum of respect, of love, of compassion; his own father, an old brute who wanted nothing more than to make him suffer. Why did he keep playing these little games? Why did he keep falling for his father’s traps. He never should have come back here, he knew that now, the fact becoming more apparent with every word that poured out his father’s mouth. He should have gone to Lys with Mat, should have gone to King’s Landing, anywhere but this place, but like a dog ordered to heel, Erich Greyjoy called and his son dutifully answered.
His face went red. Was it rage he was feeling now? Embarrassment? His father had insinuated that he still wipe his son’s ass, but they both knew that Erich Greyjoy hadn’t the interest nor nerve to take an active part in properly raising or caring for a child. Such was thrall work, thrall’s like the one whom Lord Greyjoy had just tossed from the window of Pyke. ‘I was six’ he wanted to yell, when his father had lectured him on his lack of naval prowess twenty years past ‘a child!’ but he knew that such an excuse was wasted upon the man who had been born with an axe in one hand, and a far-eye in the other.
Loron opened his mouth, but for once, no words came out. Had he underestimated his father’s capability to orchestrate such a ploy or had he overestimated Lord Erich’s sanity. His father had always been the proverbial strongman, but he had least be somewhat measured, twenty years of peace for the Iron Islands, twenty years of security where Loron was free to do what he liked, but now his father intended to tear it in half. To tie Loron to the mast of his ship and sail headfirst into what could be his final voyage. A final voyage for them both.
‘I want no part in this, father.’ He made clear his point with a flick of the wrist that uncovered the sword upon his hip, an ornate piece too fine to have been made by any Ironborn smith, and a gift from a close friend. ‘You can get yourself killed in this folly. You can even take my brother, God knows I would be thankful to be rid of him, but I will not give my life so that you can paint your vanity red upon the Reach.’ Loron had many things that he wanted to live for. People, we wanted to live for.
‘If you did one honest thing in your life.’ Loron turned to his brother, ‘you’d tell father that this was folly.’ No response. As Loron had expected. Was he stupid, or was this just spite?
‘I’m leaving!’ Loron declared, storming out the room as he had done many times as a petulant child. Perhaps Lord Erich was right about him. Perhaps he was still moody little boy who needed to be punished and disciplined, to be reminded of his place, but Loron didn’t care. This was the last time he’d fall for his father’s tricks. This was the last time he’d come crawling back to Pyke.
Yarrow
