The Iron Captain

He wondered briefly if he should make the Great Kraken his flag ship for the Iron Fleet. It would be a distinct declarative statement: I am Balon Greyjoy's heir. He stepped off the deck of the Iron Victory and onto the dock at Blacktyde. If it were up to him, they'd keep fighting, pressing on to Pyke, or Harlaw, or maybe all the way to Lonely Light and take the Crow's Eye from the west flank.

No. He wouldn't think about the war right now. His men needed a rest. They'd been at sea for far too long. Going reaving in the Narrow Sea was one thing, fighting other Ironborn in your homeland was another entirely. Victarion could keep fighting until the Drowned God needed a strong oarsmen in his watery halls, but he knew they'd all fight better, harder, and stronger if they rested.

Let them have a drink, dance with their fingers, and have a wench. Death came on the morrow. Lord Baelor Blacktyde opened his hall to Victarion and let him sleep in the crown bedroom. Lord Baelor and Victarion didn't share a faith, but he was a friend to the Iron Fleet and a pious man in his own way. The Drowned God worked in mysterious ways.

When he entered the room with a candle in hand he immediately heard a familiar voice.

"Hello, nuncle."

Victarion dropped the candle and immediately drew the dagger at his belt. Asha was sitting on the edge of the bed with an axe lying on the floor leaning against the side of the bed. There was no other light in the room except a few embers still alive in the hearth and the blue evening streaming through the window.

"Don't look so nervous," his niece said, "If I didn't bring a weapon you would have town me to pieces."

"You think bringing an axe will make me more receptive?"

"I do, in fact." She stood and walked over to the hearth, putting a few logs on the embers along with a set of kindling. In a matter of minutes, the fire began to crackle and the room was alight with a soft orange glow. When the light began to fill the room Victarion saw that there was no one in the room. No men from Asha's ships, no Harlaws ready to cast him into the sea. He was alone in the room with his niece. Curious. She left the axe leaning against the bed. If Victarion was quick he could grab the axe and gut Asha with it. Half of her men would go to him, some to Euron, some to Aeron, most would just go home and leave the war to the Greyjoys. But no man was as accursed as the kinslayer.

"Why are you here?" Victarion broke the silence.

"Same reason you are: to sit the Seastone Chair."

"Why are you here?" Victarion repeated with emphasis. He and Asha had been fighting for control of the Chair but hadn't come to blows quite yet. So far, both of them were fighting the Crow's Eye first, the Drowned Men second, and had only given each other far off glances through their far-eyes.

Asha turned to him and smiled, "The real enemy is Euron." She declared. Victarion remembered Euron coming to him and letting him know about his adultery, "I say we work together."

"To what end?"

"To oust the Crow's Eye. We can decide who sits the Seastone Chair after we take it." Asha walked over to the table by the window and poured a flagon of ale.

Before she could turn around and offer it to Victarion he said, "No we can't." Asha handed him the flagon. Which he took in hand and poured on the floor, "The Ironborn will never accept a Queen."

"No, but they'll accept an axe."

"Not when they have axes of their own."

"Fair enough," Asha confessed, "Who said I was that dedicated to the Chair to begin with?" he made eye contact with his niece who had a wicked smile as if she knew a horrific joke, "Combine our strength. I'll support your claim to the Driftwood Crown," and then the joke came, "on one condition: you make me your Hand."

"My Hand?" Victarion repeated, "You think the Ironborn will care that you're standing behind the Chair rather than sitting in it?"

"I do," she protested, "They will see it as a wartime necessity at first and grow to accept it after the fact." Asha poured herself a flagon of ale and drank heartily.

Victarion wanted to laugh, but it wasn't very funny, "So were you my Hand what would you tell me to do with the Drowned Men in Old Wyk? Or the Mallister army at Seagard? Our alliance can face one army. Not three."

"You're right. I say, defeat Euron, and then kneel to the Greenlanders. There's just too many of them."

Victarion scoffed at that, "Surrender? That's your advice after we've come so far?"

"We tried this once before, need I remind you?"

"You need not." Victarion understood and remembered Balon's first Rebellion all too well.

"Then you'll realize that the only reason we succeeded this time was because the Seven Kingdoms were divided four ways. We could have had any chunk we wanted, but the Twice-Crowned wanted the North."

"No one could have expected the enemy kings to steal our own history. It was… unexpected. And so is Baelish's choosing. Any word on who's commanding the Mallister army, yet?"

"My sources tell me that King Littlefinger is handing control of the invasion over to the Valemen. My bet says it will be the Blackfish controlling the swords and the Lords of the Vale controlling the victories."

"You think an old River knight and a few Valemen can best the might of the Ironborn?"

"You know what they say," Asha began, "One Ironborn is worth ten Greenlanders. And they have ten times our number. If we fight each other, nuncle, when the Mallisters and Tullys and Tyrells wash over us, do you think Euron will balk at kneeling? And when Euron is the Lord of the Iron Islands, you and I are rebels. If we can defeat Euron and retain our honor, we're the victorious and Euron's the rebel. Not only that, by the time that Baelish's army lands, we can kneel right away under one condition."

"You think Petyr Baelish will let you be his Hand?"

"Not me. And not his Hand. You. As his Master of Ships."

"And you think King Petyr will accept that?"

"I do. Just grovel a bit and tell him after Baelor was killed and the Kingsmoot ended you wanted nothing more than to deliver the might of the Iron Fleet to the King on the Iron Throne."

Victarion hated that plan. The thought of fighting so hard and bleeding through two wars and still bowing to the men of the Greenlands just made him sick. Unfortunately, Asha was right. On the chance this Baelish took after Tywin Lannister, House Greyjoy didn't stand a chance. Not against the whole of Westeros. Harren the Black was only successful because of the Vale, the West, and the Stormlands were all at war with one another.

Aegon came with his dragons. Robert came with Westeros. And now Petyr was here with Robert's strategy and Baelon's shattered Realm.

All of a sudden, Victarion saw the wheels in Asha's head turn. If Victarion was in King's Landing organizing and feeding the King's navy, he'd be in the perfect position to begin funneling all the wealth of Gulltown and White Harbor, Lannisport and Oldtown, into Pyke and control of the seas would be Ironborn once again. Victarion Greyjoy would also be in the perfect (or as any since Harren) to drive the Seven Kingdoms apart. And you know what they say about three times.

"We have to capture Euron first," Asha understood that neither of them could actually kill their own blood, but they could take him and throw him in a Black Cell beneath the Red Keep. Let him die alone. In the dark. And far from the sea.