276 AC
The salty, cold wind of Ironman's Bay was now thick with the scorching scent of gold coins and power. The docks of Pyke had never been so clamorous. Masts of merchant ships from the Seven Kingdoms and across the Narrow Sea stood like a forest, their sails blotting out the sun. The thud of planks hitting stone piers, the chanties of sailors, the bargaining of merchants, and the crisp clinking of gold and silver wove a symphony of wealth unprecedented for House Greyjoy. The air smelled of spices, whale oil, rust, and a new, heart-racing scent—the smell of gold.
In just one year, the once-empty port had changed completely.
Inside the massive study of Pyke's central keep, overlooking the busy harbor and the deep Seastone Hall, a silent storm had settled. Quellon Greyjoy, the Seastone King, like an ancient reef receding from the eye of the storm, placed two heavy seals symbolizing core power—one depicting a roaring kraken encircling salt crystals, the other a bloodstained axe wrapped in chains—onto the wide black stone desk with his own hands.
"Take them." Quellon's voice was low, carrying a complex tone of unburdening and entrusting the future. His gaze, deep as the sea, fell on his youngest son across the desk. "The grace of salt, the Old Way of the sea. You steer the future course of the Iron Islands."
Across the desk, Euron Greyjoy, only six years old, stood straight as a young cedar in his well-fitted dark green kraken robe. He didn't immediately reach for the seals that would drive any lord mad. He simply nodded slightly, his mismatched eyes calm as still water, as if accepting two ordinary pebbles. That calmness beyond his years made Maester Qalen in the corner nervously twist his chain again, and a glint of imperceptible light flashed in Lysa's silent emerald eyes.
A year ago, when this five-year-old boy proposed the "White Gold Sand" strategy amidst a storm of doubt, no one believed him. "Give me a year to try!" Now, with irrefutable results, he had turned all voices into submission and awe.
Salt Power as the Base, Invisible Chains.
The holy aura of "White Gold Sand" didn't intoxicate Euron with illusory grace. Clear-headed as a blade on a reef, he forged divine grace into the coldest scepter of commerce and chain of rule.
The First Iron Rule: The Anchor of Bundling.
Any lord or merchant guild wishing to purchase "White Gold Sand" must first purchase several times its quota in ordinary Pyke sea salt! This ordinary salt, though processed and far superior to the bitter coarse salt of other islands, was still grey-white and cheap. Bundling, like a heavy anchor, locked "White Gold Sand" buyers tightly to Pyke's most basic, bulk salt production. Lord Gymond Botley of Saltcliffe had tried to resist; possessing the largest salt pans, how could he tolerate Pyke's dumping? He hoarded his own coarse salt and refused Pyke's. The result? He lost not only the qualification to buy "White Gold Sand" but also the channel to exchange it for mainland gold and grain. He watched his warehouses fill with unwanted bitter salt while wealth slipped through his fingers like sand. The resentment of his salt workers and the poverty of his domain finally forced him to lower his proud head. Bundling ensured Pyke's salt pans never stagnated and tied the economic lifeline of all islands to Pyke—glory together, loss together.
The Second Iron Rule: The Price Barrier.
Coarse grey salt flowed cheaply to the pots and pickling barrels of Ironborn commoners, sustaining basic livelihoods. "White Gold Sand" was crafted into a luxury item solely for princes, wealthy merchants, and septs. Snow-white crystals were packed into exquisite crystal vials or carved wooden boxes branded with the Drowned God's holy emblem and the Greyjoy kraken. Euron intended to make it a luxury—something one looked at and knew they couldn't afford; only those of high status and wealth could taste it.
Price? Ten times that of coarse salt was just the starting point! In King's Landing, Oldtown, and Braavos, a small vial of "White Gold Sand" was worth its weight in silver! This was naked wealth harvesting, leveraging the halo of faith and absolute quality monopoly to extract staggering profits from noble tables across the Seven Kingdoms, Prince Doran's vaults, and the Iron Bank's ledgers. Gold flowed like tamed tides into Pyke's treasury.
The Third Iron Rule: The Blade of Monopoly.
Euron established the Ice and Fire Trading Company (its tentacles quietly extending to major ports on both sides of the Narrow Sea), declaring to all potential buyers: Want Iron Islands' "White Gold Sand"? Fine! But you must buy salt produced in the Iron Islands simultaneously! Whether Pyke's "Grace Salt" or coarse salt from other islands, as long as it's Ironborn-made! Any attempt to buy salt from other origins to replace Iron salt would result in permanent disqualification from purchasing "White Gold Sand"! Monopoly allowed pricing power; it was the ultimate money-maker.
These three directives hung like swords over heads, forcing all merchants and lords coveting "White Gold Sand" to lock their procurement eyes on the Iron Islands. This not only solidified Pyke's absolute pricing power over Iron salt but also tied the entire archipelago's salt output to the Greyjoy war chariot, vastly raising the bargaining power and overall value of all Iron salt. Even Saltcliffe's coarse salt rose in price just by riding the coattails of "Iron Islands Production." Lord Gymond, though having mixed feelings, got a share of the pie, and his will to resist melted before real gold and silver.
New Power of the Old Way, Blade in Hand.
The other power granted by King Quellon—the allocation of "New Rules of the Old Way" raiding permissions—was used by Euron like a precise scalpel. He divided the "New Rules" into different levels of sea zones and routes. Based on each island's loyalty, contribution (especially salt tax and bundling policy execution), and past raiding "discipline" (strictly no touching Seven Kingdoms ships), he issued "Raiding Licenses" of different values. Loyal, high-contributing islands, like Great Wyk's Dunstan Drumm (closely attached via marriage and salt quotas), often received "Golden Routes" pointing to Lysene merchant ships full of spices and silk or slaver fleets. Those who wavered or executed poorly, like Blacktyde's Baelor (who once feigned compliance), might only get high-risk, low-reward marginal routes, or even just harass poor fishing villages. The distribution of licenses came through Euron, for only he knew all the route intelligence from his sleeper agents.
This information acted as an invisible bridle, directing the Iron Islands' raiding power, transforming its destructiveness into a tool for targeted wealth extraction, firmly serving Pyke's overall strategy. Plunder had to be tithed to Pyke as a "management fee." Meanwhile, the Ice and Fire Trading Company became the largest hub for fencing stolen goods and resupplying—collecting money with one hand, selling goods with the other, bringing the flow of black gold under control.
A Song of Ice and Fire, Symphony of Black and White.
The flag of the "Ice and Fire Trading Company"—one side an ice-formed kraken, the other a flame-wrapped battle axe—had become a formidable new power on both sides of the Narrow Sea.
On the surface, it ran "legitimate" business: shipping Iron Islands salt (especially bundled ordinary salt), ironware, and salted fish to the mainland in exchange for grain, timber, cloth, and luxuries; then distributing mainland goods back to the islands. But its true profit core lay hidden beneath the undercurrents: efficiently fencing the "spoils" raided by various islands—from Braavosi gold ingots to Dornish strongwine, from Myrish lace to Summer Islands ivory. Simultaneously, it provided the Ironborn fleet with precise intelligence (partly from "eyes" controlled by poison and blades), safe resupply ports, and urgent repairs and armaments. Washing black gold with the left hand, supplying the butcher's knife with the right, weaving a giant web covering economy and violence. In just one year, the wealth it amassed—according to parchment scrolls Maester Qalen tremblingly tallied by candlelight—far exceeded the sum of all Greyjoy raiding and trade income of the past decade! Gold coins flooded Pyke's once-empty cellar vaults as if summoned by magic.
King Quellon stood before the massive stone window of his study, watching the harbor teeming with sails, the mountains of cargo crates beneath the castle, and listening to the faint crisp sound of clinking gold. His rough fingers unconsciously rubbed the cold stone sill. The five-year-old son who had thrown out a shocking salt strategy in the stormy Council Chamber a year ago, facing doubt, now sat rock-solid at the center of the power board. He gagged the mouths of faith with "Drowned God's Grace," locked the feet of economy with bundling anchor chains, built walls of wealth with monopoly barriers, held the reins of violence with precise raid allocation, and played a symphony of black and white with the Ice and Fire Trading Company. Every step precise, cold, effective. Doubts had long shattered into foam before the tide of gold coins and absolute control.
There were even many lords proposing: Name Euron as the heir!