Greyjoy

Jon breathed in, unsure of the choice but at least ready to explain his reasons. “I think...perhaps it might serve to at least approach the Greyjoys for an alliance.”

Rhaegar blinked at his son. First he snorted to himself in a brief burst of laughter, but that quickly gave way once he saw that his son was not joking. “You’re not serious ...are you?”

“You say that we have enemies in the Free Cities and you suspect that there may even be enemies hiding here in Westeros,” Jon gestured to the map, “The Ironborn despise foreigners and would be unlikely to align themselves with any Pretender group and the most of the mainland hates the Ironborn...the way I see it, they are unlikely to be a party to either, and could be a potential weapon against both.”

The King sighed. “Yes, but Jon there is a good reason they are hated. They are savages, they have terrorised the Seven Kingdoms since time began and Balon Greyjoy himself tried to attack the realm in our lifetime!” He shook his head, “this isn’t like Robert Baratheon and his Rebellion. On that part I can take some of the blame and admit that my own father was a monster who needed to be removed...but Balon waited until our realm was at its most **** and set fire to the entire western coast. We had to kill half his family and smash his home before we could get him to bend the knee,” he ran a hand through his silver locks, “this is not a man who you could ever trust to not slit your throat.”

“Father, Balon’s son and heir is a hostage living with my Stark kin. What if...at the very least, we broached the matter of making an alliance more formal?” Jon endeavoured, “His daughter Asha is unwed and by reports the apple of his eye, what if we make a proposal of marriage and a return of his son?”

Rhaegar made a dismissive gesture. “He would still betray us the first moment it presented itself, even if you were married to his daughter. But that’s irrelevant, because he would never make the deal.”

“Well...what if I agreed to meet with his daughter and another of their kinsmen in neutral territory?” Jon suggested, “would that not at least make him consider it?”

The King exhaled again, and cast his gaze out of his window towards the Blackwater. He watched the waves chop away, the ships dot the dark waters as they ventured out into the sea. Finally he threw his hands, “fine, I shall send a message to Rodrik Harlaw, brother to Balon’s wife and about the only sane person on those damned rocks,” his purple orbs narrowed on Jon, “but make no mistake lad, there is no certainty, and even if he does agree to this meeting, there will still be danger. This whole notion will be dangerous every step of the way and if I think it goes too far I _will _put a stop to it, do you understand?”

“I understand,” Jon bowed, “I’m just grateful that you might be willing to consider it, Father.”

About a week went by after Rhaegar sent the raven and there was nary a word. Not letter of refusal, no sign of mockery, no attacks on the coastline in a show of outrage. There was simply no response of any kind and it was generally assumed that Balon had not even dignified their request with a response.

But then a letter came to them on one stormy night, on the wings of a single, soaked raven that somehow flew through a maelstrom of wind and rain. The seal carrying the golden Kraken, of House Greyjoy.