[b][u]Dalton Greyjoy[/u][/b]

Dalton stood on one of the many docks of Lordsport's harbor, where he observed one of the freshly built ships setting sail for the first time. Another addition his personal fleet. The other Lords were expanding their fleets as well, under his orders. Despite this excellent progress, his expression was one of boredom. He would much rather be out reaving, and so would the other Lords, but if his prediction came true then the wait would be well worth it in the end.

He was clad in a simple set of light steel armor in the Ironborn style, with a black cape with the Kraken emblem of House Greyjoy on it. But instead of the usual gold, it was red. His sword, Nightfall was sheathed at his left hip.

There were four men accompanying him. Two of them were simple guards. The third was the Drowned Man, Edron, priest of the Drowned God, in his robes of green, grey, and blue. He was an elderly man, and it was he who personally baptized Dalton. Edron had just finished the customary blessings that were required before a brand new ship could set sail. He had long brown hair that was beginning to grey, and his face was lined and creased with age.

"When was the last time the any of the Isles boasted a fleet this large?" Dalton questioned, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a smile. 

Before Edron could answer, another man approached, accompanied by another guard. He too wore robes, but they were of a different style. He was no Drowned Man. He was a maester. The chain around his neck was proof enough of that. He was completely bald, and had only a short dark beard. He looked to be in his early thirties.

"Maester Doric." Dalton acknowledged. He had noticed him in the corner of his vision but had not turned to face him. While he understood the necessity of a maester, he had very little respect for them. Men who would put down a blade and give up the thrill of battle so they could pick up a book and spend their days stuffed away in a library. It was one thing for a Mainlander to do it, as their culture was not built around battle, but Doric was an Ironborn.

"My Lord." Doric greeted him, a roll of paper clutched in his hand. "A raven came from King's Landing. It brings dire news."

"Yes yes, dark wings, dark words and all that. Let's have it." Dalton extended a hand to the side, eyes still fixed on the freshly built ship that was growing further and further away. When Doric handed over the scroll, Dalton unrolled it and looked down to read it.

[i]King Viserys of House Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, is dead.[/i]

Dalton smirked.

[i]In accordance with the decree of the Great Council of 101AC and the laws of Gods and Men, his crown has passed to Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen, the Second of his name, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.[/i]

Dalton smiled.

[i]May their reign be long and peaceful.[/i]

Dalton snorted in amusement.

Then he crumpled the letter and tossed it into the sea.

"What news, my Lord?" Edron asked.

"King Viserys, titles titles titles, is dead. He has been succeeded by Prince Aegon, titles titles titles. Of course, we all know that Viserys had already named the girl Rhaenyra as heir. She is not without friends of her own, and the Targaryens have never been without ambition." Then he turned back to Doric, finally looking at him for the first time. "Send ravens to the Iron Lords. Tell them the news. Let them know that the storm is almost here, and they are to finish up whatever ships they are currently building with all haste. We're witnessing a succession crisis in the making."