lord of the sea chap 3

It took five months before we could control our muscles enough to start crawling.

And in those five months, revelations were made, we shared stories. It was much joy and laughter at the beginning. Like you're making a new friend, and you tell them all the cool stories about you.

Well, I told him how one of my dogs had bitten a guy in the ass. He had hit me with an ice cube after I had called his poker bluff, and the german shepherd hadn't liked it.

Chrysaor told me how he had humiliated a pack of boars dressed as men - his way of addressing sons of Ares.

After a couple of days where I exhausted most of my stories and a couple more when Chrysaor was too mind-tired to share more of his, we had a few hours of silence.

There came the point when Chrysaor mused about what happened with Percy, and after I finished the tale, with all the information I had at least, it was an awkward few days.

And then, the lamentation of the past life followed. There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth. Another few weeks, and we got over that as well.

Seriously, with a dude watching everything you do for a few days, it slowly gets to the point that you don't care anymore. This, in and of itself, sets a dangerous precedent. For, after some time, we will have to be mindful of others around us. Already, the wetnurses and our mother took our random facial expressions in stride. While we were having the conversations, the emotions we experienced showed on our face.

A few months passed, and then we started crawling.

Let me tell you; it probably wouldn't have worked out if we did not have the entire five months to talk to each other about almost everything possible. The amount of trust we built up was vital for what we were required to do. We made a plan, then. I would carry out the daily physical activities, and I will also take all the lessons and training. We decided that it would be best to portray a slightly intelligent front and save the oomph for when it was required.

Of course, that meant that Chrysaor would be taking control once in a while to keep himself familiarized with the quickly growing body, and that would need to be done in absolute secrecy. And we will not be telling anyone of this.

All our plans quickly came to a halt, though.

Pyke is, as a matter of fact, one of the most defensible fortresses in Westeros. Three towers on three islands, connected by rope bridges, while the only entrance is guarded by a curtain wall and a gatehouse between two cliffs. The issue with it being such a defensible castle is that it is the least suitable place for growing children.

Though I would rather not crawl off of one of the swaying bridges, never being allowed out of our room without supervision was the most annoying part of that phase of our lives. The most I could do is go to my parents' room, and even that was only allowed when Balon was out raiding or whatever.

I could swear that the amount of time I spent going circles inside the stone room made the floor a touch brighter - as if fucking polished. I finally built up enough strength in the lower body and enough stiffness in the spine to stand and start walking around when we were close to seven months old.

And fun times followed. I swear that sharing a body with a monster son of Poseidon was a luxury you never knew you needed. Impeccable balance - be it on the ground or the sea, along with instant stamina boost the moment we stepped in water. Taking a bath never felt as ecstatic before, trust me.

As the months quickly passed, Rodrik Greyjoy became well known as the Running Greyjoy. For that was all we would do in our free time - which was all the time we were awake.

The fun had to come to an end, though, and that was when we turned one. All of Quellon Greyjoy's sons had arrived at Lordsport and then rode to Castle Pyke for the first time in a while. And our turning one was supposed to be celebrated along with the birth of Urrigon Greyjoy a few months ago. We didn't have feasts here on the Iron Islands - just family gatherings.

Speak what you will about medieval societies, but having many uncles younger than you make for a bizarre family dynamic. The Damphair hadn't even been born yet!

We were found by the only other children our age. Victarion and Marwyn. Victarion was about seven name days old - if we speak in Westerosi terms, while Marwyn was the six-year-old son of an Ibbenese whaler and the sister of Quellon's quartermaster. The whaler had been lost at sea when Marwyn was four. Since then, Marwyn had joined Grandpa Quellon's crew and sailed with them from Ibben to Volantis.

Quellon had taken him on as a ward, for the child had an uncanny ability with languages. At six, he could fluently speak four different languages! If this were who I suspected he was, then he would be one to keep an eye on.

They came to the crib, and Victarion went to pick up the young Urrigon. At four months old, he was a happy child. How long that would last is to be seen, but I won't expect it to be for too long.

Marwyn tried to pick us up from the ground where we were sitting, staring at a wooden carving of a longship in the bucket in front of us.

He probably expected the longship to suddenly be in our fist, aiming straight for his nose - looking at the way he dodged it.

He swore loudly, and Urrigon giggled.

Victarion just stood there with the baby in his arms and shook his head before making his way towards the lord's chambers.

It was a quick walk there, even on our tiny one-year-old limbs. Winter was about to set in, and the seas would be getting choppier soon, so most of the longships were already docked at Lordsport. Another reason for all the Greyjoys to be in Pyke together.

The first one we encountered was Euron. The one I was most keen on keeping an eye on and eliminating soon. When I realized that Balon was only fifteen when I was born, it had been a bit of a shock, but then it made sense as well. Euron, only ten as of now, was already a very disturbed child.

The Maester who Quellon had brought to Pyke around six years ago certainly knew that the best - with his odd obsession with ravens and crazy talk.

When he saw us, he greeted Victarion and Marwyn with his usual smirk before locking his eyes in mine - as the smirk widened.

I felt a nudge in the back of my head - Chrysaor had a few choice words for him.

I kept him in the sides of my vision and decided to focus on Marwyn and Victarion's reactions instead. Victarion had stiffened and did not seem to be happy to see Euron. In contrast, Marwyn had a look of barely concealed contempt directed at the yet-to-be-named Crow's Eye.

Well, good to know that most people saw him as someone up to no good.

The doors to the somewhat large family hall opened, and out walked our mother, with Lady Sunderly. Though Urrigon was barely four, her stomach was already showing signs of another pregnancy.

Damphair would be coming soon, I guess.

People exchanged greetings, and I found myself in Lady Alannys' arms as we took our seats at the table.

"How was the trip to Volantis, Father?" Victarion opened the conversation at the table with barely suppressed curiosity.

"Gold, boy! It was worth a lot of gold. I could barely feel my legs by the end of the ride to the manse of my old friend. You see, his son, not much older than Balon, is vying for the Triarchy. And to get there, as an Elephant, he needs to show how well he can do trade. Thirty ships full of well-made Westerosi produce, and he was the happiest man. I have returned with thirty ships more than half-filled with gold and silver."

He smiled towards the end while looking Balon in the eye.

I felt a sudden jerk in my head and suddenly felt like I slipped.

"Gold!" I heard a muffled voice say.

"Yes, little one, gold. That's why I like doing it the gold way. No need for precious Ironborn to shed their blood for some measly plunder, when they could get it five times over with honest trade!" sounded like Quellon.

The sudden pain in my head was subsiding slowly, but I still felt weird.

"Gold!" I heard again as I felt my arms flailing.

"The little one wants gold? Marwyn, boy! Get him a dozen dragons!" He boomed.

Wait, 'the little one'…?

Really, Chrysaor? One hint of gold, and you're pushing me out?

My vision cleared, and while I didn't have control, the stimuli were still there. I could see a very amused Marwyn and a few somewhat agitated family members (Balon) staring at us.

Chrysaor snatched a gold dragon quickly and looked at it with a face devoid of all emotion.

The tension rose for a few seconds before the gold coin lost the stare-down.

And it went straight into our mouth, as barely developed teeth seemed to try to bite it.

"Bwahahahahahaha!" came from our grandfather as he slammed down his goblet of ale.

Then the coin was out of our mouth, and I could feel our face contort into a wide grin. I could hear Chrysaor squealing in the back of our shared headspace. Wow, he was that excited over some gold?

"So, young Roddy, satisfied with the quality of the gold?" Euron, of course, asked.

"Mine!" I felt my arms move as Chrysaor tried to gather the twelve scattered gold dragons into our hands.

I felt like I would die from embarrassment. So might have some others on the table - notably Balon, who cleared his throat loudly.

But grandfather did not let him speak. "So, what will you do with the gold, little Rodrik? Buy a castle forged sword? Or a fishing boat?" he asked with an alarming amount of amusement.

"Horsey!" Chrysaor answered immediately.

"OH! The young heir would buy a horse! And where would you ride the horse? On the sea, perhaps?"

The glare Chrysaor directed at him made the condescending stare even deeper. Euron was a dick.

"You're a bit too young for a horse Roddy, but I will ensure you get one for your fifth name-day!" proclaimed grandmother.

"Bah! A horse? You could have asked for a ship, and I would have taken you for your first sea journey! Horse, he says." Quellon looked slightly disheartened by our response. Well, that wouldn't do. I liked Quellon, and Chrysaor wouldn't spoil our relationship - whatever stage it is in now.

I wrestled control back from him, and hopped off my mother's lap, and waddled over to the head of the table.

"Mary-n! Ship!" was spoken as a command. A hush fell over the table before Victarion snorted.

Marwyn walked to us, and from his pocket came out the small wooden model longship that was our current favorite toy.

"Ship!" I proudly declared as I presented it to Quellon. The gold dragons and thoughts about the horse left undisturbed on the table and the back of my mind undisturbed.

The way he lifted us and sat us on the table, with eyes making contact at the same level, made me feel giddy inside.

A proud smile came to his face before he loudly proclaimed, "Our future! One name day old and bloody smart to boot. Belas! Young Rodrik here will be taking lessons from you starting on the morrow. And Marwyn! Teach him all the tongues you know as well. He will be greater than that pissant Velaryon, and the seas will know the name Greyjoy again!"

And throughout that, he looked into our eyes. Neither of us blinked. The intent, the desperate belief, was clear. We would be his heir. Not Balon with his incompetent and uncaring tendencies. Not Euron and his psychopathic ways.

Quellon couldn't hope to teach them his ideology, and though Victarion was young still, I think the thought of Rodrik Greyjoy continuing in his footsteps gave him hope.

The hope that there was someone he could mold into his ideology. That he could teach them all he knew, and the hope that someone would understand why he did all that he did and acknowledge that it was right. He still cherished that hope.

Of something greater for the Iron Islands. Of something greater for his legacy.

His thoughts were broken when Urrigon thought that the silence was too much and he had eaten enough. The toddler shit himself, and grandmother quickly stood, swearing, and made her way to her rooms.

All in all, a decent family dinner.