The sky was bright blue, lighter then any gemstone. King Halvard watched as his shadow shrank to almost nothing. On a clear day such as this, even with the sun high, it could be cold this far north and the wind threatened to steal the heat from beneath his sealskin coat. The creature in front of him didn’t seem concerned, beached on this uninhabitable stretch of rock. The merrow had the oily green skin of an eel and the spines fins of the kind of deep sea fish that got thrown back. It - for even Halvard Seascorn didn’t know if the merrow had genders like man and woman - propped itself up on a two-pronged spear of Knarrling make and peered at him with unblinking eyes. Sea slime dropped from around its toothy jaw as it regarded the man with its abyssal eyes. 

Eventually it touched an earring that pierced a fin on the top of its head, and gestured forward. A subordinate with less golden jewellery crawled forward and opened a wet sack between Halvard and the merrow chief, revealing rings and coins of silver and gold. Halvard nodded, and gestured one of his own men forward, revealing a bundle of forked spears. The chief looked down at the bundle, bubbling deep in its throat, before snatching half the pile of treasure in its webbed hand.

“Aye, there’ll be less weapons for your ilk,” spoke the Fisher King, never sure if they understood. “We have our own wars to fight.”

The merrow nodded towards the spears and its subordinate snatched them up and quickly scuttled into the cold sea. The chief regarded Halvard for a moment then followed at a more confident pace until it was gone beneath the waves.

“Gold for the master, silver for the maid
Copper for the craftsman, skilled in his trade.
Good, said the King, sitting in his hall
For iron, cold iron will be master of them all...”

King Halvard Storstrand smiled, looking to the south.