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EURON GREYJOY: Circling the Jade Sea
is the dream of every merchant.
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On the other side is
the Golden Empire of Yi Ti,
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which was ancient when the Valyrians
were still fucking goats.
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Even its ruins dwarf every city in Westeros.
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And its princes are said to live
in houses of solid gold
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and feast on meat
powdered with pearls and jade.
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Foolish talk.
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lf it were true, l would have visited long ago.
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But a bold merchant will risk two years
for one voyage
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to fatten his holds
with spices, gems, and silks
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so that he never wants for anything again.
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To be fair,
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many never do
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because my ship, Silence,
finds them on their return.
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Their merchant dreams look so pitiful
poured out on my decks.
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Not enough for any lifetime, but their own.
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Traders from the Summer lslands
make tougher prey.
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Not even the Silence could run down
their swan ships
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on the open sea.
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When we take them by surprise,
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our rams splint and crack against their hulls,
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carved from rare hardwoods
of the Summer lslands
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and fitted together without a single nail.
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Worse, every swan ship
carries a company of archers
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armed with goldenheart bows,
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which can hurl the shaft hard enough
to pierce steel bait.
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After all that trouble, we often find
their holds filled only with maps,
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fruit and wooden trinkets.
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Hardly worth our time and blood,
except for their women.
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To worship their god,
all women of the Summer lslands
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learn to fuck.
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lt's enough to make a man devout.
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lbbenese whalers
are the most worthless of prices.
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The men of lb are short, thick and hairy.
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So are their women.
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Not even tales of their six breasts
can tempt men to take them.
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-(BlRDS CALLlNG)
-But the lbbenese know how to build ships.
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Their great bellied whalers
can weather any storm
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and withstand assaults
of the largest beasts.
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ln battle, the lbbenese are incredibly strong,
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and even their blood reeks of blubber and oil,
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and their holds are rarely worth scrubbing
our decks free of the stench.
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When our holds were full or needed repair,
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we set a course for the greatest safe harbor
on the Summer Sea,
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the Basilisk lsles, Port Plunder,
Sty, Whore's Gash.
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No map can find these towns,
nor can the laws of men.
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The slavers keep their captives in caves
in the lsle of Tears,
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pirates trade their goods on Barter Beach,
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and hire fresh crews
from the murderers filling every inn.
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Great piles of old yellow skulls
line the shores of one deserted island,
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offerings from captains who have fresh heads
pinned to their masts.
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Once every generation, the Free Cities
send fleets to destroy the towns
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and hang every man they find.
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They do, and the towns are abandoned
to rot and sink back into the slime.
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But come the next year,
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another Port Plunder sprouts up
somewhere else in the isles,
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like a toadstool from a new pile of shit.
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For many years,
l brought Silence to the Summer Sea.
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But when l close my eyes,
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l hear the waves breaking
below the bridges of Pyke.
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l hear the kingsmoot
chanting my brother's name.
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Merchants pay the gold price,
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buying their desires with coin.
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Reavers pay the iron price,
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taking what we want
from the corpses of the men who had it.
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But for what l dream,
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no gold can buy and no iron can take.
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l must pay with fire and blood.
5776
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