Chapter IV: Yara – The Driftwood Crown

Yara Greyjoy sat at the foot of the Seastone Chair and cursed. In her lap lay various bits of driftwood and a spool of silver wire. All that fuss just to satisfy the priests and their love of tradition. She’d been ruling the Iron Islands for months now, and none had dared to challenge her claim. That was enough for the people, but not for the priests and their fucking tradition.

And so she sat in her empty home and tried to weave a crown out of wire and wood as the iron kings of old had done since time immemorial, even though she hadn’t done so much as knitted a scarf since her mother gave up trying to force her.

At least it didn’t need to be pretty to be a driftwood crown. Yara still remembered her father’s crowns – ugly and badly made, both of them. A metaphor for his rule, she supposed. She’d never seen Euron’s, if he’d ever made one, but she doubted he’d managed to come up with something better. He’d been as shitty a king as his brother, too. She wanted to be different, and yet she still twisted the same plain wire around ugly bits of wood.

“Fuck this,” she muttered, discarding the mess.

“Lannis!” she called to her servant. “Get me some golden wire too, will you?”

The girl peeked into the throne room and nodded curiously, then left. And for the first time that day, Yara felt better about her task. It wouldn’t be the crown that the priest expected, but it would be a crown for a new age, and if they didn’t like it, Yara knew how to silence their protests.

Fin

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