Obligatory Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I don't own ASOIAF or anything.

Summary:

AU. Sequel to "Second Sword of Braavos." This has been edited slightly for the story to make sense as a trilogy. ((A/N: Don't worry, I'll publish each one chapter by chapter, so it'll be fun to read along with!))

Braavos is an ancient and beautiful city of ships, wealth, and purple hulls. The world-renowned Courtesans of Braavos have their own barges and servants to attend them. With The Veiled Lady, the most-mysterious of these Courtesans, Syrio Forel had a lovely daughter, who would someday become the Queen of the Iron Islands.

Aeron

Aeron was treading water with his new niece, Lady-Princess Cadenzsa Forel-Greyjoy...it was a lot to remember. He sometimes wondered why they had names at all, and what the point of it all was. But Niece she was to him, and Princess she was now, thanks to his brother, who never seemed to tire of warfare, no matter the toll it took on the islands and its people.

The Iron Islands were a sacred and holy place, and its people were the rightful reapers of the world. The Andals and their Seven could not wash away the Drowned God, nor the Storm God with their light of the weak. The strong are the Gods here, and theirs was the way of strength, and salt, and iron. Theirs was the way of might, for the Drowned God created them to be so. The fact that the Drowned God reigned supreme on the Iron Islands now should be a testament Him, and the Age of Heroes, when the Grey King took a mermaid to wife and waged war against the Sea Dragon, Nagga, and used his bones to build-

"Uncle Aeron," called his niece, who was veritably frolicking against the foamy sea waves, holding onto her thin twin braids like a child holding onto a skipping rope. They were thin braids taken from the nape of her neck, two fingers thick, inlaid with a golden ribbon, and the rest of her wild mop of long hair was flowing about and whipping in the sea wind like wild grass. Today, she was under his tutelage, learning the ways of the Drowned and Storm God, and though Aeron had served the Drowned God in Drowning many babes, and tutoring many maids and boys, he had never been so exhausted as he was to teach now, with his new niece, who should have been a Salt Wife at best. "Why did the Drowned God make the Iron Islands?"

"Perhaps if you would stop frolicking, I could tell you," he said, sternly, and quite annoyed that he had been reduced to the role of nursemaid.

"I'm not frolicking, I'm just playing a little," replied she with a smile. She swept the hem of her blue sea-washed gown over the foam, the gold studs glittering in what faint light there was on this stormy-looking day. "Besides, I don't think you can frolic when it's not sunny out." His nephew seemed to have chosen her for a wife for one reason: she reminded him of himself, with his clowning and preposterous questions. Theon was always a little clown, and with a precocious gift for annoyingly questioning 'why', all the time. "Did the Drowned God make the Ironborn so we couldn't frolic?"

"Do you mock the Drowned God, child?"

She stopped dancing about and stood still to say: "No, I was simply questioning why give us free will if we can't use it? Or did he not make people? Did he just make the islands and we showed up, somehow?"

He shot her a look. "The Drowned God made the Ironborn to reave and sack and pillage, and keep our ways alive through blood and song. I suppose you were baptized in the light of the Seven? A pretty chain that the First Men wore as a gift from the Andals?" Cadenzsa shrugged, twirling her curls through her fingers. "The Drowned God is Father, Warrior, and Stranger. He takes Maiden, Mother, and Crone as he likes. He found the Smith in thrall. Do you understand, you indignant little girl?" She nodded with a shrug of her shoulders silently. He snorted through his nose. "Shall we continue our lessons?" She nodded silently with an amiable enough smile.

She walked along the shore with him as he treaded water. She held her skirts up to her shins, revealing the boiled leather boots that scraped against the sand. "So, the Drowned God made the Ironborn to be warriors, et cetera, et cetera," said Cadenzsa. "What of your afterlife? What happens when you die?"

"What is dead may never die, child," said Aeron. "We do not fear battle, nor drowning, for the Drowned God taught us long ago of that. What is dead may never die. When an Ironborn falls in battle, we say that the Drowned God needed a strong Oarsman for his Hall. We were raised from the Sea in the Dawn Age, child, and it is to the sea we return. We live on forever in the bottom of the Sea, where you feast in the God's watery Halls, and make merry, and mermaids will attend to you and sing you songs of your glory. And there, you will wait, until the Drowned God raises you up again, harder and stronger."

"What is dead may never die," she repeated quietly to herself. "Harsh, yet comforting," she commented, this time audible enough to make it clear that it was intended to be heard.

"Even in Death, an Ironborn is a Warrior, and your sons will be warriors, too. The dead wage a constant War against the Storm God, who lives in a castle on the clouds, where ravens are his messengers, and he sends the winds and rain and lightning and thunder to lure the Ironborn off-course. It was the Storm God who first blew the Andals to the Iron Islands, those many centuries ago."

"Why would He do that?" It seemed innocent enough of a question, but Aeron found great offense in it. No Ironborn would ever question it.

"The Storm God did it to subdue us, and turn us away from our Faith of the Drowned God."

"If we don't have Faith in the Drowned God," asked Cadenzsa, "does that mean he will cease to exist?"

"You are a rather indignant child, aren't you?" grumbled Aeron.

His little niece snorted through her flat nose. "You're not as fun as Theon said you were," she shot back. "Theon told me all about his jolly Uncle Aeron and how he always had a waterskin pouch of wine and a song to sing and a wonderful laugh to share. Theon told me that you used to carry him about on your shoulders and run up and down the shore together."

"That was ages ago!" snapped the priest. "And I was a foolish man. I am better off, here, since the Drowned God raised me up from the sea. The Storm God meant to smite me away, but I was risen up, and now I serve. Now, I am Damphair, and one of the most-respected of the Drowned Men on all of the Iron Islands. Does that satisfy your curiosities?" And then Cadenzsa gave him a rather indignant look, and shrugged her shoulders again. "And stop shrugging; it's a non-committal gesture."

Cadenzsa then laughed. "I'm sorry, Uncle," she said. "Let's continue. How best can a Rock Wife serve the Drowned God?"

"A Rock Wife," he began, "like any Ironborn, best serves the Drowned God when she protects her home. While the Ironborn raid, the Rock Wife keeps the home, protects and raises her children, teaches them the ways of the Drowned God, to be a warrior-"

"-The Rock Wife teaches the children to be warriors?" she suddenly interrupted.

"When her husband is away, somebody has to do it," said he. "Unless she has a brother, or someone else to do it for her. A Rock Wife's duties are many. It is her responsibility to be the beacon for her man to come back by. She is the guiding light, it is said." She seemed satisfied enough with it, but, in truth, Aeron was simply annoyed that he had to tell these things to a woman-grown. "You might enjoy being a Rock Wife," he then said. "It is the Rock Wife who proudly keeps the home, and wears the jewels that her husband brings back. It is she that proudly shows his capabilities as a warrior, for her own might. And when he returns, she sings for him, and they feast, and make merry, and give thanks by the sea. And she watches, and is steadfast."

And then when he looked, he saw her smile quietly, secretly, to herself and put her hand on her small, flat belly. She then moved her hand across and then wrapped her arms around herself, around her front, so it would only look like she was shielding her body from the wind. She had that look about her, that kind of look he had seen on many a woman. He might have been joyous about it, were he not him.

"Have you told him, yet?" She then quickly looked at him with a wide-eyed glance. "Does my nephew know he will be a father?"

She smiled and shook her head with a shy, knowing smile.

"And why not?"

"I didn't think it was the kind of thing you wrote someone about, Uncle," she admitted. "I'll tell him in-person."

"It might be a year, maybe more, before you see him in-person again." Cadenzsa frowned. "Write him tonight about it."

After some time to consider this, she then asked: "Uncle, do the Rock Wives ever go to War, too? Do the Ironborn women ever fight?"

"If you're thinking of going to War to tell Theon, I will tell you: absolutely not. The Rock Wife's job is to stay here, on the Iron Islands, and as a Rock Wife, will stay here." His tone was stern and unyielding. He would have been more joyous, more considerate of her, were she not a Bravosi. She would never be a true Rock Wife, for the Rock Wives were Ironborn. She would never be Ironborn, nor would any children she gave House Greyjoy ever be. Aeron's best hope for any true Ironborn Greyjoys ever again were going to have to be from either Asha or Victarion. He didn't want to think of children from Euron, though he had probably fathered bastards as mad as he is, now living all over the world.

"You don't like me because I'm not Ironborn, do you?" she said then with a smile. Aeron shot her a bit of a dagger-filled glance, for she had seen clearly the truth, but it didn't matter at all. "It's alright," she said. "I understand. You haven't seen Theon in ten years and he comes back with a betrothed in-tow, and you surely are rightly suspicious of my loyalties or my intentions. I know that your plans for everything may have changed because of me, and if I've caused you any kind of grief, I'm sorry." There was a long moment between them. "I was hoping to confide in you, Uncle. I don't think that His Majesty or Uncle Victarion are the kind to confide in, and Theon told me that..." She then paused, and said shyly "Well, he told me that you were his favorite uncle. And this is my home, now. And I want to do something for the people."

"That frivolous little Masque of yours isn't enough for you?"

"The Masque isn't a frivolity, Uncle, it's just a for me to get to know the nobility of the Iron Islands. If I'm to be their Queen someday, I need to know recognize over whom I am ruling. And, besides, in times of War, a distraction from it all is a good thing, every so often."

"Then why not simply get on a horse and travel to their keeps, and leave me to do more important things?"

"Assimilating your good-niece into the Ironborn culture isn't important? What do you do, anyhow? What does a Drowned Man do?" A harsh breeze came, an omen from the Storm God, perhaps, blowing through her wild black hair.

"A Drowned Man is armored by the Sea, and communes with the Drowned God, and serves the Sea."

"But how? What do you do? How do you pray? Do you do care for orphans? Heal the sick? What do you do?"

Aeron was growing tired of this little girl and her questions, so he quickly dismissed her to go on with his brother Victarion, who was going to be with her for the rest of the afternoon, touring around Lordsport and visiting the ships of the Iron Fleet. Aeron didn't mind so much that he was the King's brother again, but he did mind what came with it.

He lead a Holy life, living as a hermit on the shores, communing with the Sea, carrying always a waterskin of sea water to bless those who would ask him to. He lived the life a Drowned Man should have, and he lived as best he could, through example. His was not a Warrior's way, anymore, but he was glad to serve the Warriors. He was glad to serve his brother, for he loved his brother. And when his brother died, he would be glad to see Victarion on the Seastone Chair, but Theon? He knew not. The boy had only spent a short while on the Iron Islands before heading off to war.

He loved the boy, quite dearly, when he was here, but the trouble was that he loved the boy, not the man he had become. In truth, nobody on the islands knew the man he had become, which was the trouble. Aeron would have been glad to reach out to the boy, and again show him the ways of the Drowned God, as befitting of any Prince and ruler to the Iron Islands. He hadn't been born a Prince, though, but nobody had told him that. The boy was nine when the rebellion took its worst turn, and his castle was torn down. Aeron feared for Theon the most, and far more than his father had feared, he thought, for he knew what was going to happen to the boy should Balon rise in rebellion again.

Theon would have turned out better were he on the Islands. It wasn't the boy's fault that the Starks had made him theirs. The boy was always quite codependent, always trying to tag along with his brothers but being spurned, his sister there to wipe his tears. The boy and Asha had been inseparable, absolutely inseparable, as children. He was teased, and he hid behind his mother's skirt, but he was a child, and that's what children did. Theon didn't have a chance to become an Ironman like his father. He was born to be one, but couldn't grow to be one. It was a grave tragedy, but what could one do about it? Each breath was a gift, and there was no use in wasting breath for what could have been.

The next day, Aeron came to court, as bid by the King of the Iron Islands, his brother, and stood by the ancient Seastone Chair that was once the Grey King's. The Crown of the Grey King was ancient, and heavy, and had tendrils of petrified driftwood swirling up from a thick band of black Iron. There were no jewels in the Iron King's crown, that was saved for his Queen, Alannys, who now had her own crown of iron and black diamonds. Princess Cadnezsa, who stood, not sat, nearby had a crown herself, which was a thin band of iron, no thicker than her dainty thumb, with a single black diamond there in the brow, round and exquisitely cut. She wore it proudly on her black, curly head, and her hair was pulled back gently, and those twin braids from the nape of her neck draped over the front of her black gown. Alannys had gladly made a pet of her, it seemed. And there was Victarion, too, who stood nearby, who was not only the Commander of the Iron Fleet, but now the Hand of the King, and he wore that badge of office melded onto his armor.

"Announcing Serrah Fiyero of the House Forel, of Braavos, from the Iron Bank of Braavos. Your Majesty, please," bowed the fat Herald, who had a great booming voice, fitting for those who had that kind of job.

In came the Bravosi, all garbed in purple silks and velvet robe which went down to his shapely calves, with a top of curly black hair, looking like a thistle plant. He wore supple gloves of black suede, and boots(if you could call them that) of elaborate fashion, wrapping up to his knees. His trousers ballooned in black, looking like two sealskins filled with water, and back up to his small waist, at which he held a skinny sword, much like the one that his niece held with her at all times, even at court. In his arms he held a brown-and-red leather-bound book, a ledger, no doubt, and on his bearded face was a grand smile. He bowed low, and oddly, with one foot stepping behind the other. To Aeron and the rest of the Ironborn, the Bravosi looked very much like a Fool. He looked to Cadenzsa, who looked very much like she wanted to bound up and jump into her uncle's arms, like the little girl she was.

"You may speak," said Balon.

"Your Majesty, the King! Your Majesty, the Queen!" He bowed to each. "And, your Grace, the Princess, my little starfish!" To Aeron's surprise, he had a good mastery of the Commontongue with excellent diction. Perhaps he had to have that, being a Banker. "I am Fiyero Forel, and I have come with the final paperwork necessary, as per my niece's request, to call to debt the Seven Kingdoms. I have come, as well, with the remaining ledgers of all the accounts in the Forel House name, and Cadenzsa's final accounts with her Father's, Syrio Forel's."

"And what of her father?" inquired the Queen, holding up her finger. "When will he come to Court? We have not yet met the man who has given us his daughter. Highly unusual, don't you think?"

The Bravosi's face seemed calm enough, and kept a smile on it well enough, but Aeron saw the discomfort in his eyes. "My brother is in King's Landing, your Majesty, and we have not heard from him in some time. I am certain, however, that he is alive and well and anxious to meet all of you in person." And then he winked to his little niece with lashes as thick as a battleaxe. "Until then, I am your humble servant."

Balon adjusted himself in the Seastone Chair, the crown looking right at home on his balding head. "Serrah," he began, "the Iron Islands have not known great wealth in some long time, and I can think of nobody better to make the Master of Coin to the Iron Islands than a member of the House Forel."

"Master of Coin, your Majesty?" The Bravosi looked confused.

"If I may, your Majesties?" spoke his niece, the Princess. Balon nodded and motioned for her to come forward. "Uncle, the King of the Iron Islands wishes to honor you, by having you be the accountant and bookkeeper for the Kingdom. I have told them of your skills and prowess with numbers, and since I am now the future Queen, I would have you named Master of Coin. Nobody can balance a budget like you can, Uncle."

"So, I would...?"

"Live here, yes," said Princess Cadenzsa. And then she said some things in Bravosi, or perhaps High Valyrian, and then the Bravosi looked to Balon. He bowed low, with great gesturing of his hands.

"Your Majesties, it would be an honor to serve the Greyjoys, for we are now kin. We are a family, and what does family do? Look out for each other!" He bowed again. "I will send word to Braavos at once, and we shall begin. As they say, the Iron Bank will get its due. And so shall the Iron Islands."

"Your loyalty, Serrah, to your niece..." began the Queen. "It is most touching. And comforting."

"I would do anything for my little starfish. Cadenzsa is our only girl for a whole generation!"

"Is that so?"

"It is, your Majesty, my Queen! My brother, Syrio, has four brothers, and each of those brothers - myself included - have had nothing but sons. And Syrio has had our only girl, our cherished one, our starfish."

"Starfish?" sneered the King.

"A childhood nickname, your Majesty," said Cadenzsa, with a curt smile.

Balon Greyjoy rolled his eyes a bit, and turned back to the Bravosi. "You accept, then? Good. Off to it, then. Heyla and our Steward will see to it that you are made comfortable here, and we shall commence work in the morning."

"At Your Majesties' command!" and with another bow, the Bravosi went to join the crowd at court, and young Lord Tristifer Botley came forward, with his father and brother. They all bowed.

"Announcing Lord-"

"Oh, shut it, we know who they are!" snapped Balon. The Queen laughed a little, then stood up. Tristifer came foward and knelt.

"You sent for me, Your Majesty?" he asked.

"We did. Or, rather, the Princess did." Alannys motioned to Cadenzsa, who then came forward, and put her hand on her sword.

"Lord Tristifer Botley," she began, her head high. "You have done me many a great service since my time on the Iron Islands. Not only have you been my personal chaperone at court, but you have been my companion throughout my travels of these glorious islands. It is you who had introduced me to all whom I may need to know, and it is you who has been loyal and dutiful to me, even though you knew nothing of me nor my House before my coming here. I must ask, why?"

Aeron inwardly frowned. Why? Why?

"I am loyal to you, my Princess-"

"I know you are, Lord Tristifer, but I must ask why you are loyal to me. The loyalty you have given is the kind only given to those whom have known each other for their life's span. And you give yours to me so willingly, so openly. I hope you will forgive my impertinence, but it is merely question of why, out of curiosity."

Tristifer looked between the King and Queen with those large eyes of his, and then to Victarion before looking to Aeron. His black brows tilted up in question, and it took a nod of the head from the High Drowned Man for him to finally answer. "I am loyal to you, my Princess, because you are worthy of it. In truth, I can think of no woman in this world that deserves more loyalty than you. I am loyal to you because you are fearless, for that was shown at Saltcliffe. And for your strength, which was shown on Great Wyk when you were presented to the Iron Fleet. And there is no person in this world that can match your prowess and skill with a sword. And there is no person in this world that is more just, or generous, or beautiful than you, Princess Cadenzsa, for no one else would have build House Botley a new castle like you did. And when you are the Queen of the Iron Islands, I will gladly follow you the same, and my brothers and myself will keep the great castle of Silverscale for generations to come. House Botley is, of course, in eternal debt to you."

The Princess smiled with white pearls of teeth. She plucked one of the white jasmine flowers from the boxes she kept at the windows now, and held it to the boy. "Do you know what this is?"

"The Princess's favorite jasmine flowers, your Grace?"

"And do you know what they mean?" He shook his head. The Princess began to pluck its petals and sprinkle them on the floor at her feet. "In the Summer Isles, they say that jasmine is a flower of sensuality, of deep love. In Braavos, they are said to represent a divine sort of hope, as well as a certain kind of amiability. You can also brew it in a tea, and it is said when worn, you bring wealth and good fortune your way." The flower ran out of petals, and they were all over the floor, and in Tristifer's hair. "Will you swear yourself to me?" The Botleys all looked confused. "I hear the Iron Islands have no Knights. I would change that. I would make you, Tristifer Botley, the First Knight of the Jasmine Order, an order of Knights sworn to me and to advise me in times of war, famine, prosperity and poverty, and to protecting the good, and divine hope of all the people of the Iron Islands."

He bowed his head low. "I-I am not worthy of the honor, your Grace."

"I say you are," said the Queen just then, who went and sat. "Go on, then, draw your sword if you will say the words to vow yourself to your future Queen."

And Tristifer Botley then drew his sword and held it on his knee. "My sword is yours, Princess Cadenzsa Greyjoy. My sword is yours, my House is yours, my ships are yours, my heart is yours. From this day until my last day." And then Cadenzsa drew her own sword, a skinny slit of a blade that shone brighter than a quick and slippery silverfish in the water.

"Then, with the power vested in my by the grace of the Drowned God, and the people of the Iron Islands, and House Greyjoy, I hereby dub you Ser Tristifer Botley, First Knight of the Jasmine Order." And she tapped him on each shoulder, and then quickly slit him across his right cheek with her sword, his blood running in a trickle down his face. "Wear that scar with honor, now, for you and I are bound in blood. Rise, Ser Tristifer Botley of the Jasmine Order, and be recognized." Applause erupted like a crashing wave in the Great Keep's Hall, and the Ironborn loved her all the more. She was rich, and she was beautiful, and she made everyone love her with ease (in truth, it was almost too much ease). Today, she truly was the heir to the Iron Islands, and truly she would be an excellent queen, beloved by all who saw her face. And that made Aeron all the more nervous, for not knowing who she was.

That evening was the Masque that Cadenzsa had been planning for the past month. Music and dancing were booming all around, and there were acrobats and tumblers and jugglers from the Free Cities that had come for the event. A mummer's troupe had put on a Braavosi play of Seven Drunken Oarsmen to begin the festivities, all of which the Iron Islanders found most amusing, considering both the content of the play and that it was an actual story, not some silly Greenland farce. They even had pretty girls and young boys painted all in bronze and draped in painted-gold roughspun linens to resemble statues of bronze, all standing and holding candlesticks, giving a fright or a laugh to those too drunk to realize that they were people.

House Botley came in coats of green with hats of silver-looking silks in the shape of fish, and Ser Tristifer's costume was plain, yet made sense for their House. House Blacktyde came in particolored coats and cloaks of sable-and-vert, in the shape of their House's blazon of arms. House Harlaw, of course, came all in black, with flowing robes of silk, and each held a large scythe that gleamed in the candlelight. Ralf Kenning was there, with his sister, Lady Rowena, who wore a gown of grey with gold lightning bolts stitched all down the back and around the front of the skirt. Her hat was of fluffed and stuffed sheeps wool that was fashioned to resemble (what was supposed to be, he reckoned) a great, black storm cloud. House Drumm had a most-interesting costume of red, and bones (whose bones or what kind of bones they were, Aeron did not know), all stitched up and down their fronts, and they had gloves of red sueded leather, with hand-bones attached around like armor. Everyone recognized House Saltcliffe, for they had all fashioned head-dresses to make them like silver sea-serpents were coming out of each of their heads, and all of them garbed in a handsome silvery-grey. Why, even House Weaver had come out for the event, with their gold-and-white feathers to represent the golden weaverbird of their Sigil.

The Queen of the Iron Islands was wearing her House Harlaw colors and costume, too, with an elegant scythe of silver, and a mask of black. The Greyjoy House simply wore long coats of gold striped with black, to represent the ten tentacles of House Krakken. Not Princess Cadenzsa, though, nor her uncle, nor her cousin, it seemed.

Aeron didn't expect the Bravosi to come alone, and it seemed as though he did not. His son, a boy of sixteen, it seemed, had snuck into Pyke with him, both wearing a rather elaborate costume of leather and gold-weaving down the front, and both with head-dresses shaped to be turtle's heads, with great blue jewels for the eyes. On their backs they had gold-leaved tortoise shells, to represent the Forel's sigil, the golden tortoise, holding a jasmine flower, which they signified by holding bouquets of the blooms in their hand. He could see underneath the headdress was a mop of black and thick curly hair, which seemed to be quite the Forel trait. But not Princess Cadenzsa.

She came into the great Hall wearing a gown of immeasurable quality, of thick black and gold velvet and long gloves of gold silk that went up and over her elbows. Gold ran up her bodice to form the Krakken's body, and her great long hair was inlaid with gold ribbons and braids, all flying underneath her mask of gold, that went up high for the Krakken's long head. She had tails of gold silk coming out from behind her at the bustle of her long skirt, and her costume was certainly the highlight of the evening. When she came into the Hall, a great deal of applause erupted, and there were cheers and cheers and cheers. There was a great deal of dancing and feasting, and some great deal of talking, and then some more feasting and drinking again. And the feast was of a decadence that the Iron Islands hadn't seen much of in years, perhaps centuries. The Iron Islanders didn't even know what to do with such beautiful-looking food,but only when the Princess told them to 'dig right in', did they, but not before Cadenzsa had asked Aeron to step up to the head of the feast, and lead them all in prayer. It was then that Cadenzsa took a drink of her wine, asked them all to bow their heads, and they did. They all bowed their heads, including Balon and his Queen, with their crowned heads.

Aeron took a sip of his water to parch his dry throat. "I do not wish to give thanks tonight, for we have nothing yet to be thankful for. Ten years ago, my brother rose our ships and our men in rebellion against the Usurper, Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms. Now, that King is dead, and, if rumors are true, a Lannister Bastard reigns over them all. Now, we have risen again, axes in hand. Have we learned anything from that rebellion, when Princes Rodrik and Maron fell? What is dead may never die. Our last son, Theon Greyjoy, had been made a Greenlander, but with his vows to uphold the Drowned God as his faith, if the Drowned God is with him and chooses to give him strength, this may be the turning point in our history that will bring us back to the Old Way. This may be our finest hour, or our greatest victory. All I ask, as you go forth and feast tonight, is that you remember the Old Ways, and on the morrow, you serve the Drowned God so that He might hear our prayers, and send the Lannisters to the bottom of the sea. What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger."

The Masque reminded Aeron very much of the foolish man he once was, before the Drowned God raised him up. Victarion, though serious, would even be laughing tonight (if he were there), which should have been a testament to those Myrish green-nectar wines that the Princess had sent so much for. The people loved her, very much, as did the Greyjoy family. She met her Harlaw cousins that night, and they loved her too, it seemed. All who met her loved her, except for Aeron. But he had no love for any man anymore; he was a servant of the Drowned God, and he was raised up again for that purpose. Were he the man he was before he had been raised up, harder and stronger, he might have been at the center of it all, doing the Finger Dance in the middle of the ballroom, and singing songs. But he would not do the Finger Dance, for it was how he lost his elder brother Urrigon, from the infection that came of losing half of his hand. Never again.

"This is simply splendid, we must have one of these every year!" said the Queen to Princess Cadenzsa over the feast, who had twined her long fingers with hers. "And I must tell you, my dear, I could get used to being a wealthy kingdom."

"The Nobility will spend months working on their costumes, I'm sure, to prepare for next year's Masque," answered Cadenzsa. She then turned to Aeron and smiled at him through her mask. "Uncle, I was thinking about something today." That should be a change for you, silly nit, thought Aeron. "Why does the Drowned God not have a house of worship?"

Aeron's anger flared. "The Drowned God needs no 'house', as His is the Sea."

Silly Princess Cadenzsa giggled a bit and shrugged. "I'm not saying that we should build a house for a God. I'm simply saying that it might be a nice thing to do for the clergy to build a temple of worship to the Drowned God. It would be a place for the Drowned Men to live, and teach and preach their word, and offer blessings."

"What, like your Septons in their pretty temples? Like their robes of gold?"

"Oh, bugger off, you little shit, she's saying she doesn't want you to sleep like a damn hermit on the beach anymore!" shouted Balon over his wine.

"And so she would have the Drowned Men forsake the Sea for a handsome stone house with a handsome stone wall?" snapped Aeron back.

"Silly girl, now you've gone and done it," toned Alannys quietly to her new daughter. "putting brother against brother."

"Well, you stink like a dead whale, and you are not too holy for a house or a bath, now and then."

"The Drowned God's is the one of the Old Way, Balon, and you would do well to remember that. Or are you too high and mighty on that throne of yours, now, to remember that? This is a hard place, and it is for hard men, and a hard man can sleep by the sea with ease."

"You want to know hard? You want to know? Try losing two sons in war, ya daft cunt!"

"A war which you caused, you blustering old windbag!"

"Oh, you were there and happy enough to play along with me when I was fighting for the freedom of my people, and what were you doing while I was doing that? You were drinking and that waterskin of yours was filled with ale!"

"You fucking-!"

"Ironmen!" Princess Cadenzsa stood up suddenly, raising her goblet and shouting over the feast. "If I may have your attention, I would like very much to propose a toast!" The men and women all raised their goblets and horns, and looked up. "A toast, to their Majesties, the King and Queen of the Iron Islands, to the health and fortitude of my uncle, Lord-Commander Victarion Greyjoy of the Iron Fleet, who has just informed us that Fair Isle is now of the Iron Islands, and it is now ours! To Fair Isle!" And she held up a flag of Fair Isle, which had come that morning. It would hang in Pyke forever, now.

"TO FAIR ISLE!" all but screamed the Ironborn. Princess Cadenzsa then drank, licked her pink lips, and smiled.

"And further! Another toast, to my uncle, Aeron Greyjoy, the most-respected of the Drowned Men. I asked him if he would like a temple to the Drowned God built, and he said 'no, the Sea is His temple.' Truly, a man of great wisdom, for the Drowned God does not need a pretty house to live in. But, surely, my Ironborn men-" she then drank again "-we must make it known that ours is the way of the Drowned God, and I shall instead build a monument to the Drowned God, a great statue, where it will pump sea water from his mouth, and the tide pool which it forms shall be a Holy Place, where all might pay homage to the Drowned God." She smiled "To his Holiness. We would surely be lost without you."

"To his Holiness!" answered the Ironborn. They drank.

Aeron stepped forward, and all of them bowed their heads to him. As he passed through the masque through the rest of the evening, they all bowed with great respect, befitting royalty. He was asked to bless a few of the children that had come to the festivities, and though he did not wish to, he stayed for the rest of the evening. The masque lasted until dawn, when the sun rose over Pyke's shore, and the light danced on the waves. The carriages and ships all sailed for their respective homes and keeps, but a few of the Harlaws stayed, though most could normally not stand Balon under any circumstances, they very much enjoyed the company of their new daughter and niece.

A raven flew in that morning, just as Aeron was gathering his waterskin and cudgel. Maester Wendamyr came and intercepted the Royal family as they were on their way to their beds. Balon was laughing and leaning on Alannys when the Maester found them.

"A raven of great importance, your Majesty," he said.

"Oh, bugger the ravens, the King wants to sleep!" said Balon.

Cadenzsa came padding over in stocking feet, her pretty beaded-black shoes in one hand and her mask in the other hand. "Is that from Theon?" she asked.

"Go to bed, sweet girl, you've been up all night," said Alannys, who now had Balon's thin lips at her neck, nipping down as she took the raven from the maester. Aeron rolled his eyes at his brother and looked away. "Oh Gods..." gasped the Queen. Aeron turned back around as Alannys handed the raven to the King. Balon frowned, pushed the letter back at his wife and then pushed through the lot of them.

"Where's he going? What's wrong?" asked Cadenzsa.

Alannys sighed. "It's Asha," she said, handing the Princess the letter. "She's taken Winterfell. And she demands that we send men to help her hold it, in her own war against the Greenlands."

Bum-bum-BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMM MMMMMM!

OH NO! OH MY GOD! WHAT DID I DO!?

Does this mean Asha will take Theon's place in the fate of Winterfell? Does this mean that SHE WILL BE PREY TO THE BETRAYAL OF HER MEN AND PREY TO THE TORTURE OF THE BASTARD OF BOLTON, WHERE THEON WOULD HAVE BEEN HELD NOW?! STAY TUNED!