Asha Greyjoy was sitting astride the iron figurehead of the Black Wind, staring hard into the horizon. She couldn't see it, yet she knew it was right in front of her, no more than a day ahead. The Red Keep.
Around her, a thousand ships were racing towards it, led by the seastone-colored sails of her ship.
She had the numbers, she had the steel, she had the iron. She would take it, or drown.
She closed her eyes, and as she breathed in the salty wind, pictured herself sitting on the iron throne, Cersei on her knees before her, draped in silky rags that were remnants of her past, glorious days.
What a salty sight, to watch a fallen queen from above. And a beautiful one, too. She could see her nipples through the thinned and worn silk covering her chest. They were a deep crimson, from all the biting and sucking Asha had done.
Freshly fucked, Cersei was looking up to her with her green eyes, her stern and authoritarian face not having lost any of its greatness, yet a flush of shame mixed with post coital exhaustion was shading it.
Asha smiled. The Greyjoys made their own laws.
