Ser Justin Massey was gone.
He had been sent away by his king. He had been sent all the way to Braavos. Now she was alone.
The man had never liked her for her, more for her name, but at least he had visited and given her food when she needed it. That was more than could be said for the other supposedly noble knights that Stannis Baratheon commanded.
He had been talkative, and had treated her as more of an equal than the others. He had almost convinced her that he wasn't her enemy.
She had looked for his warmth amongst the cold, when her companions had been taken away from her.
She had seen them return recently, almost all of them, but she had not been allowed to greet them. The bear lady had pulled her away.
She had wanted to hear Tris tell her stories of the Ironborn of old, to smell the stench of blood on Grimtongue, to feel Qarl take her.
They were her crew, and she had failed them outside Deepwood Motte. She had failed them so far away from the sea.
The banker had brought them with him.
He had been a thin man with no muscle, a gaunt face and dark eyes. The cold had affected him less than the others, as if he was used to it.
She had disliked him from the moment she had seen him. Behind his thin face lay the eyes of a schemer. He was as un-ironborn as they came.
It had been him that had taken Justin.
Stannis had commanded his knight to ride with the banker, to Braavos, where he may find an army for his king. Justin was quicker of tongue than Godry or Richard. He was a better choice to convince men to a cause.
He had left her with the Mormont lady.
Alysane Mormont was not a kind woman, although at least she wasn't a wet one. The Mormonts of Bear Island were no friends to the Greyjoys of Pyke, and this one reveled in her chance to express dominance.
In a way, she respected the women of Bear Island. They were not afraid to defend their families with axe and sword. They had been forced into this, of course, by Ironborn and wildling raids on the island. That was the source of their distaste for kraken.
Alysane was better than the others, however.
She would rather have the lady bear on guard duty than Clayton Suggs or Godry Farring. They were both brutes. Robin Potter was little better. Smaller and smarter, but nastier. She would take her luck with Alysane any day.
Mormont had even stood for her when Farring had wanted her executed. It had been her that convinced Stannis that she was worth keeping.
Right now, however, she wished for anyone else.
Alysane could snore louder than any man, and she was trying her hardest to prove it this night. Every time she got near to sleep there was a growl behind her, as if a bear had sneaked it's way into the tent.
What was worse was that when she did sleep, her dreams were mismatched and complicated. She saw things that she remembered from the past, like the day Theon had been born, or Rodrik's funeral. That had been one of the few days that she had cried.
Her father had told her that tears were not for Ironborn, that she was all that the Greyjoys had now that Theon had gone. She had to live up to the kraken, and one day she would rule the seas.
Well, that birthright had been taken from her by her uncle.
Euron Greyjoy had taken her throne and her island. He had taken her people and her fleet. Whilst he won glory, she won nothing but the scorn of her kin. She was a lost princess, with no lands and no home and no friends.
It took her a while, but eventually she did lose herself to sleep. Her eyes closed firm and darkness washed over her.
Then it was replaced by light, warm light from the flames of a fire. Except, something about this seemed manevolent, like it was watching her back and laughing, in whatever way a fire could laugh.
Suddenly the fingers of flame turned cold, as if frozen. Where they had danced before they did not now. The ice that they had become changed form twice, first into a growling wolf, and then into a soaring crow. The two animals then merged, and she gazed into the eyes of a mighty wolf creature, with large, magestic wings.
Then there was another wolf, this one smaller than the others. It stood proudly within a castle made of snow, but then it died, whimpering. It's body was replaced by a stag first, and then a lion, and then a kraken.
The gold beast then vanished, replaced by darkness. Then she saw a man's face, sharp and pointed. He crawled through the darkness in stained clothes. Behind him came another man, this one's face blocked from her sight by a hood.
Her sights twisted again, this time into a more monstrous visage. Her uncle.
The Crow's Eye stood aboard his ship, looking out over the broiling sea. In the distance was land, high cliffs, with a castle built precariously. Pyke.
It was late at night, dark and chill, and the castle was quiet, dark except for two candles. One was in the room that would be her father's solar, the other just across.
Her father's light started to move then, as if someone was carrying it.
It approached the other candle light, then it flickered, and then it went out. Euron Greyjoy turned away, a half smile on his face.
"The deed is done, boys. It was just as she said it would be."
She called out to him, ready to accuse him of bloody murder, but no sound came from her lips. She was as silent as one of the mutes that served as his crew, her tongue lost to her.
It was his twisted smile that brought her to her senses, a cold sweat on her brow. Alysane slept still, snoring as loud as any bear.
She couldn't be around her captor now, not after what she had just seen.
She had witnessed her father die, thrown from the bridge by some goon of her uncle's. She had suspected the Crow's Eye to be involved, but she had hoped that it was not so. How could a man have it in him to murder his own brother?
Stannis had given her free reign of his camp. There was no chance of escape, not with guards posted everywhere.
Besides, even if she did get away, they would get back at her by burning her friends and crew. She could not have them die like that, not so far away from the islands that they called home.
They had sailed to Deepwood Motte for her, risked everything for her and she had paid them back with failure. She was nothing. She couldn't even protect her own brother.
She had not seen Theon since the first day. Godry had forbidden it. He had been worried that they would cook up filthy Greyjoy plots together, or that was the reason that Alysane had given her.
He had not looked well when she had seen him, broken and destroyed. There had been little of her baby brother left in him.
She had thought of their mother after that. How she asked for Theon to be returned to her. She would not recognise her own son if he was given to her, not now. She would be driven to madness by the death of another son, whilst the boy still lived.
She carried on, trudging on through the snow and the darkness, a cold wind biting into the parts of her skin that stayed open to it.
She had barely seen the man in front of her before she had walked into the back of him.
Neither of them fell to the ground, but he turned around like a flash and grabbed her by the hand. When she looked into the man's eyes she saw the large grey eyes of Tristifer Botley, but they were different to usual. Something was haunting them, some memory or thought. He was no longer handsome in the darkness, more terrifying.
"My princess."
He looked down upon her, his voice flat, holding none of the emotion that he usually reserved for her.
"You should not wander late at night."
He looked away from her again, turning his back on her. This was not the Tris Botley that she remembered from their childhood, nor the one that had talked with her at Deepwood Motte.
"You should not turn your back upon your captain, Botley."
"You are captain of nothing, Asha. A lost princess with no crew, no ship and no heart."
So that was what this was all about. He was still upset that she had rejected him. He loved her for whom she had been, not what she had become.
He was right, in a way though. She did have nothing now. Was she better off as the Ironborn warrior woman that her father had wanted her to be, or the quivering girl that Tris lusted for.
"Does it feel good, princess. Does it feel good knowing that your siren call has lured so many men to their death? How do I reach the Drowned God's halls from here, Asha. I am so far from home, yet you would want me neither here nor there."
"Tris, you are Ironborn. I am Ironb-"
"Is that what you told your father, Asha. He is dead. So is mine. Killed by the same man, like as not. I watched him drowned, Asha. I watched your uncle hold him under the water himself, my uncle at his side."
She had not known. No man should watch his father die as such, not like that.
"You are not the person that you show the world, Asha. I know that. You tell me that the girl that you once were is dead, but I don't believe you. I know that she lives, somewhere inside you. You want to have respect, but you gain none from me by lying to yourself."
Her hand moved to his face without her even thinking. There was a crack as they connected. He didn't fall, nor did he even flinch. There was no hurt in his eyes this time, just the same haunted look.
"You push away those that love you, Asha, so that you can fuck those that use you for power. They don't see who you are, who you were, just the monster that you have become. You are everything that you hated about your father."
He left her in the cold, a rage having fallen over his usually gentle shoulders.
She looked down at the palm that had slapped the boy. Why had she done it? Did she fear what he was telling her, or was it a result of the disrespect that he had shown her? A captain would be well within their rights to discipline a man for actions like those, yet she would not.
Tris still saw her as the innocent child that she had been when they had first met. He saw her as the girl that he had fallen in love with. A lot had changed since then.
Her brothers had been stolen away, her mother had become frail, her father had been murdered. Tris knew of the last one, but none of the others. He still had his mother and brothers. They would be at Lordsport, in the halls of Sawane Botley, a man that she had visited countless times.
Euron would pay for all that he had done. He would pay for the murder of her father, and for Tris' too. He would pay for the mutilation of Baelor Blacktyde. He would pay for stealing the salt throne.
She stood where Tris had stood for a long time, staring out where he had been staring. She had to build up the courage to do what she was about to do. There was no way that he would accept her offer, but it was all she could give.
The king's tent still had a light inside when she made her approach. The large northman stood outside as he always was, dressed in furs of wolf pelt. That one was a traitor to his family, and to be trusted no more than the Crow's Eye. No smile ever passed onto his face, nor did he ever laugh with his companions in arms.
He barred her way, standing much taller than her, and wider too.
"I must see the king. I am Lady Asha of House Gre-"
A voice called from inside the tent. It was stern and to the point. Stannis Baratheon had a trustworthy voice, if a harsh one.
The inside of the tent was still warm, a fire glowing in the hearth, a safe distance from the canvas.
Few knights gathered here this late, just the two that Stannis had bestowed with the white cloak.
Ser Robin Potter was a detestable man. He was small and weaselly, with a hooked nose and thin, lipless smile. He had been a hedge knight before, and you could smell it on him. He looked out of place in fine white armour.
He claimed to be from the Reach, born in an Oldtown brothel, but told that his father was a noble from the Riverlands. Although he had never known his father, so she thought this story made up. He had gone into many details of the man's accomplishments when he had been guarding her.
Somehow, however, she preferred the smaller man to the sullen and brooding presence of Ser Richard Horpe.
The man didn't have an intimidating stance, but gave off a dark aura. He was capable of evil that Robin Potter couldn't even imagine. And this was the man that Stannis had chosen to lead his Kingsguard.
"You come before me late, girl. What is it you want?"
The king was abrupt, as he always was around her. She ignored him at first, turning to the side of the tent, where she knew her brother would be.
"Theon..."
She kneeled next to his side. He was shivering, but not from the cold. He stank. They had left him like this for days.
"Is my brother your pet now?"
Robin Potter laughed at this.
"He could do with some house training first."
She glared at the man, her eyes boring into his filthy skin.
"My brother is a noble born lord of the Iron Islands. He is Ironborn, greenlander. You would do well to remember that."
"Maybe he was Ironborn once, wench. He is not the brother you remember. Swarming with fleas and missing more parts of his body than he has left."
"I would recommend showing more respect or you will end up worse off than he is."
"You dare threaten a knight of the Kingsguard, girl."
Ser Robin went for his steel, but his hand was stopped by the voice of Richard Horpe, who cut through the air like a knife.
"A knight of the Kingsguard shows no steel to a woman when it can be seen, Ser Robin. Do our brothers good service. The wench came to talk to our king, not trade blows with her betters."
Stannis had stayed silent during the entire interchange, his eyes not once leaving her.
"Ser Robin, make sure that Ser Godry is checking the patrols hourly, then you may retire to your tent. I have no further need of three guards."
Three guards?She counted but two here. That was when she realised that the silent northman had followed her into the room. He stood by the door, as solid a presence here as he was outside, but never giving off the same threatening edge as Robin or Richard.
"My grace, I must protest. That man is not to be trusted. His family are traitors. I-"
"You have received an order from your king, Ser Robin. I hope that you will make a wise choice to act upon it."
Robin's brother stood behind his king, his hand on his hilt, awaiting to see whether the knight would disobey. For a few moments it seemed like the scene had frozen, with the king and his Lord Commander staring at the knight, with the man grimacing back. Eventually he did leave, but slowly and reluctantly.
"You may speak now, wench. Bend your knee before the king and make your case."
She rose from her kneeling position, stroking her brother's head as she did. His hair was brittle and thin, greyed from his experiences.
"I come to offer you a proposition, my lord. I offer you myself."
The knight snorted at this.
"My grace already has you, do you forget this? We defeated you and put you in chains, Lady Greyjoy."
"What you do not have, greenlander, is my Islands. I offer you them. They are my birthright, and I would ask them to deliver them to you."
"Your uncle holds the Islands. How would you deliver them to the king?"
She had thought of this as she stood out in the cold. She could take the islands back, but not without support.
"Give me two hundred men and the Mormont ships. I will land on Harlaw, men will still be loyal to me there. My other uncle..."
"Is not on the island. He has sailed south with the king your people chose. He is a traitor."
Richard Horpe glared at her with distaste as he spoke. The man spat his words at her. She did not know what she had done to madden the man, but he clearly did not favour her.
"My uncle's men still know me. They will bring their ships to my cause."
"What would I gain from you holding the Iron Islands?"
"My men. The army of the Islands is still strong and almost as strong as before this war started."
"The army of the Islands fights the Tyrell force in the south. You taking the Islands would not change that."
She grimaced at this. He was not wrong. She could never give him the full army. The Crow's Eye held them.
"Then weaken my uncle. Endear yourself to the Tyrells by doing what the lions will not. Send your men to fight my uncle. Let me take Pyke and he will have no legitimacy as a king."
"This is an absurd proposition, girl. We are preparing for battle. Why should we give up our men for this foolish hope?"
"Stay silent, Ser Richard."
The king rose from his seat and walked to the opening of his tent.
"It would be a risk, that is true. I have no use of the Mormont fleet at the moment. If you think that you can take them with so few men, then maybe I should not deny you."
The hair around the king's head formed the shadow of a crown, as if the ghost of what he wished laid upon his head.
"I will send Ser Suggs and Ser Foxglove will ride with you, to act as my eyes and make sure you do not betray me. Alysane Mormont will go with you. This serves as an opportunity for me to get her away. I will send three of the five men that Tycho brought with him."
Only three would come? What of the other two?
"Send the highborn, Botley, and the two with the great beards. The other two stay here, to act as security."
Tris would be coming with her then, and the two with the beards must be Rustbeard and Grimtongue. No mention was made of the others.
"I will be keeping your brother here, also. You understand that I cannot let him leave. He is a traitor. Traitor's die."
She swallowed, not turning to look at the thing that Theon had become.
"I understand."
She realised that, in doing this, she had sacrificed her brother to a horrible fate. Theon Greyjoy was already dead, however, and she knew that whatever parts of her brother remained inside his mangled body would welcome the relief of death.
Soon he would be with father, Rodrik and Maron, in the halls of the Drowned God.
The king walked over to her, so that he stood in front of her. She knelt before the man. Her father had once told her that a smart man knew when to kneel.
"I, King Stannis Baratheon, name you, Asha Greyjoy, the rightful Lor- Lady of Pyke. I bestow upon you the territory of the Iron Islands, and entrust you with the responsibility of dealing out the king's justice. I also name you as Warden of the West, in trusting that you will represent myself and protect this coast from our enemies. You may rise and leave us."
She did as she was told, leaving without looking to turn at the thing that was her brother. She could feel the glaring eyes of Ser Richard Horpe digging into the back of her head as she left. He expected betrayal.
The cold night wind bit into her as she left the shelter. The sun was starting to rise by then, and the birds of the North were calling from their trees. A young man bustled past her then, dressed in the grey cloak of the maesters.
The man was Pylos, the man that Stannis had brought north from Dragonstone. He was a young man, quiet and sombre, yet easier on the eye than those that she had known on Pyke. He had seen to her injuries after the battle, yet he had remained silent.
She remembered old Maester Qalen from her days as a child. He had tended her wounds when she had scraped herself on the rocks of the island. She had sailed back to the castle for when he was pushed off out to sea, given the funeral befitting of an Ironborn warrior.
He had been close with her father, having delivered him, as well as all of her uncles. That had been when he had been a young man, and by the time she was of an age that she looked to men, he was old and wrinkled. In that way, Pylos was better to look at, thin and fit, with a trustworthy face and kind eyes.
She returned to her tent, sitting in the entrance, and looking back out over the camp. She was returning home. She would find her mother and aunt in the castle of Harlaw. Then she would take her seat in Pyke.
Tris would follow her, even though he would be unsure of his fate. No matter what he said, he loved her, and would follow her.
There was another that she could count on.
Her uncle, Aeron, had escaped the clutches of the Crow's Eye. Tris thought him to be dead, but if she could find him and convince him to support her, then today they could take Pyke from her other uncle.
And from there, she could take her revenge.