DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING

BARRISTAN

They had arrived at Bear Island after a day of rowing and Barristan was certain that his arms would never regain full feeling after the harsh labours. Though both prince Aemon and Ser Gerold had offered to take up the load the young knight had turned them down, the two men weren't in any shape to be expending so much effort. Ser Gerold's face was puffy and swollen from where the pirates had kicked him, and his cheeks were marred with purple bruises. Prince Aemon's eye was also quite disconcerting as it had now crusted over with blood along the curved scar that ran down his right eyelid and Barristan wondered if the man would ever regain full sight.

A crabber ship managed to pick them up when they were within distance of the famed Island of Mormont and they were immediately brought before Lord Mormont's two children, Jeor and Maege. The boy didn't look much older than Barristan himself yet stood proud and tall as like he had been the veteran of a dozen battles yet that pride seemed to lessen once he caught sight of prince Aemon's wounded form.

"M-my prince, why do you bless my father's halls with your presence?" he asked worriedly before gesturing for the servants to come forth and attend the wounded companions.

Aemon waved them off and took a few weak steps forward. "I need to speak with your lord father, there are Blackfyre pirates off the coast of your island and I fear that they will soon be joined by Ironborn."

The young man's face went pale at that and he exchanged a worried glance with his sister. "Your grace, my father has been bedridden for over a month now…he isn't well enough to do anything."

The prince nodded solemnly and pinched the ridge of his nose in frustration as he struggled to think of a plane. "We'll need safe passage to Winterfell; Lord Edwyle must be made aware of what is brewing."

It was Lady Mormont who spoke next, her voice surprisingly stern. "Yes, yes, but first you have to let our Maester take a look at the lot of you….you look like death keeled over."

Barristan winced slightly at the girl's harsh words but knew she spoke the truth; he could hardly move his arms without them hurting from stiffness and Ser Gerold seemed as though he were in a daze half the time. Yes a Maester would do the trick, at least to see them on their way.

The old man went to the prince first and right away had the young Targaryen lay down flat on his back as he examined the bloody scar that zigzagged its way down his right eye. Barristan and Ser Gerold were forced to sit back and wait while the Maester did his work, the only clues they had to the progress was an occasional hiss of pain from the prince or a slight humming from the old man, finally he helped Aemon to his feet after bandaging the wound.

"You are quite lucky my prince, the blade did not puncture your eyeball only the muscle surrounding it so you should regain some sight in the eye but for now you must keep it covered." instructed the Maester as he finished up with the bandaging.

Ser Gerold did not get off so easily and had to have several of his wounds cleaned out and even had to have his left shoulder put back into place causing a couple of Mormont men to help hold the big knight down as the Maester pushed on the big man's arm until a sickening pop was heard and Gerold let out a roar of pain which was muffled by the piece of wood they had used for him to bite down on. Afterwards they were sent off to speak with the Mormonts while Barristan had his head injury examined.

"You've a bad concussion lad, you'd do well to not go to sleep for a while." said the Maester as he checked the bloody spot on the back of Barristan's head.

"Well we indeed to leave in an hour's time, so I'm sure these cold Northern winds can keep me awake." He replied as he hoped to his feet and began slowly to put his tunic on over his bandaged and beaten form. He took a breath and then adorned chainmail about his shoulders with as much delicacy as he could manage and then fastened the cloak Lady Mormont had given him around his neck and went to see to the Prince and Ser Gerold.

The two men sat around a table discussing matters with Jeor and judging by the grim expressions they were explaining the matter of those pirates. Instead of disturbing them he stood by the doorway and watched for any potential dangers, blending in with his surroundings as he vaguely listened in on their conversation.

"I can give you fifteen men to escort you to Winterfell your Grace, and, hopefully, you should arrive there within a week." said Mormont quietly.

Aemon furrowed his brows in disappointment. "That won't be soon enough; even if we send a raven to Lord Stark it'll still take a few days before he can get here and the Blackfyres may already be at Pyke by now!"

Jeor looked grim at that and merely stared into his cup of ale. "Only the Gods know what rules the hearts of the Greyjoys."

QUENTON

The morning air tasted of salt and iron, to Lord Quenton of the House Greyjoy that was as good as it got. As of late he had taken to walking the shores of his island home every morning at first light in order to watch the tide come and to clear his head of the multitudes of worry that he had to carry around with him each day. It was always something; first his men would be eager to raid and pillage as they liked and he would have to forcibly remind them to avoid the larger villages for fear of adding anymore tension between his people and the Greenlanders.

Then there was the matter of his children to think about; his eldest son and heir Quellon was a fool who would rather spend his days between a woman's legs than at a lord's chamber. His other boy Vickon was a dutiful lad, and a keen warrior but he was little more than soldier in a time when he needed capable men of intelligence to take over when he died. His thoughts shifted to his daughter Alyse, the child that caused him the most grief ever since she ripped her way out of her mother. His little girl had proved to be quite a force in his life these past nineteen years, with her easy smiles and seductive looks she had ensnared quite a few of his men over to her side and Quenton often wondered if she planned on having them turn against him at some point. He certainly wouldn't put it past her, and had she been born a boy he would have almost been proud. She is your true heir, not those blundering idiots you call sons he thought with a sense of regret.

Quenton often wondered how long he had left before the Drowned God needed another oarsman, he hoped it was long enough that he could get his children in line and that his House could prevail. He would need to beat Quellon into the man he should be, just as his own father, Dagon, did to him all the many years ago before Maekar Targaryen took his head.

The lord of Pyke shook his head wistfully and turned away from the sea and made the long march back to his home. The wind blew at his dark grey hair with a sudden ferocity that made Quenton look up at the overcast skies above him that threatened rain and said a silent prayer to ward off the Storm God.

By the time he reached Pyke it was already close to midday and his castle was alive with activity as his people hurried about their duties. At this point Quenton couldn't even bother to acknowledge them as he walked through his halls up to his chambers where today's list of problems would try and conquer him. As he pushed open his chamber doors he was greeted by the castle Maester-an old man named Harmon- and his daughter, the latter of whom was sitting atop his desk going through his letters with a bored expression on her finely crafted features.

The old man spoke first, though as usual he stuttered and started whenever Quenton's gaze fell upon him. "M-my lord, we have several matters that….that require your immediate attention."

Quenton poured himself some ale from a nearby flagon and drank down before answering the old fool. "Speak quickly, I find myself having a serve lack of patience this morning." He growled before pouring another cup.

Harmon took a breath. "Lord Blacktyde is squabbling with Lord Stonetree over a matter of a ship that was apparently-"

"Stonetree is a bad gambler and can't accept his loses. Tell him to hand over the ship or he'll have to answer to me."

The Maester nodded in approval and checked back at his list. "We also have a foreign ship anchored just off our port, they have sent a man bearing goods who wishes to speak with you my lord, what should I tell him?"

The Greyjoy thought on that for a moment; it was very rare for even non-Ironborn Westerosi to show up around their territory and rarer still for someone not from the seven kingdoms to come waltzing in to Pyke. He cupped his stubbled chin and weighed his options; if the man was an enemy he wouldn't have come alone and given that he had brought goods he certainly wanted a trade of some sort, though what could it be? "Go bring him here." he said after a time.

Harmon bowed and then scurried out the chamber like the rat he was, leaving Quenton alone with his daughter who was unusually quiet. He stood by his window and watched the rainclouds gather on the horizon and nursed his cup of ale, determined to ignore his youngest child.

It was Alyse who broke the silence then, as she jumped down from his desk making a heavy thud as her boots slowly made their way towards him. "Father…" she purred her voice like silk. " What are you thinking?"

Quenton gave a sigh and finally turned to his daughter, a frown on his face. As always Alyse was dressed in men's breeches and tunic which clung to her figure in a way that had to be a deliberate attempt at catching those around her off guard. Her long raven hair was hanging freely down her shoulders in a colour that was so dark it matched her eyes, cheerful eyes he had called them when she was just a little girl, but now he could see that there was no cheer in those haunting orbs that shone like dragonglass, only a cruel humour. Her heart shaped face was like a mirror of her dead mother's; finely carved with delicate cheek bones and full lips that seemed almost out of place on a Greyjoy. "I'm thinking about whether or not to throw this foreigner into the sea." He confessed before taking another mouthful of ale.

Alyse smiled at him, a smile that did not reach her eyes. "Oh father, you're such a grump. What if he's some eastern king who wants you to marry his beautiful daughter?"

"Then I'd kill him and take his daughter for a salt wife. What do you really want girl, just say it and stopping wasting my time."

The young woman let a flash of annoyance cross her face before she quickly covered it with another uncaring grin. "You know what I want father, I want what's owed to me."

Of course he thought bitterly, it always came back to that. "Quellon will rule after me, he is the eldest."

Alyse grabbed his sleeve to get his attention and Quenton had to stop himself from striking her out of reflex. "Father you know just as well as I that Quellon is weakling who will only bring shame to our family and Vickon is dumber than a piece of driftwood!"

He didn't want to continue with this game any longer. "You're a woman; you cannot inherit, certainly not before your elder brothers…I cannot change the world for you so stop asking it of me."

Quenton could tell she wanted to say more, that she was fuming on the inside and wanted to scream at him yet she instead kept herself silent with her mouth pressed in a thin line. In truth he was proud of her, and there was plenty of times where he looked at her and saw his little girl, but more than ever he saw a look in her eye that frightened him, that same look his father had when he put the Starks and Lannisters to the sword, that lusty desire to see others suffer. Quenton had no delusions about himself, he was not soft, he paid the iron price, but he did so with cold indifference not out of any perverse desire like his father and daughter.

There was a moment of tense silence between them before they were thankfully interrupted by the Maester and the foreigner from the docks. As soon as Quenton saw the man he hated him, with his colourful hair and flowing silks he looked like some painted whore.

"My lord this is Seerko Haark of Tyrosh." explained the Maester.

"It is an honour to meet you my lord of Greyjoy."

The man's accent was annoying but Quenton let it go. "What do I owe the….pleasure?"

Haark stepped forward with a large grin on his face and spread his arms happily. "I bring good news from the east my lord; Maelys Blackfyre has come to free you from your Targaryen oppressors!"

Quenton stared at the man incredulously and had to stop himself from laughing in the blabbering fool's idiotic face. "That old feud eh? Why should I care about what colour dragon sits the Iron Throne?"

The Tyroshi's smile did not falter. "You are mistaken if you think the true king of Westeros will be like the bastard usurpers who currently sit the Throne, Maelys is quite generous as you will soon find out…." He clapped his hands together and a large man entered the room with a chest full of gold and gem stones. "Not only riches beyond your wildest dreams, Maelys has something even greater planned for the mighty House of Greyjoy."

Quenton stared at the rubies that sparkled in front of him and wondered when he had last seen such treasures, not since his father's rebellion at the very least. His greed was lessoned as he turned his gaze to the gold and all the bloody memories Dagon had beat into him came back into his mind. "Iron or Gold boy?" his father had asked once in between blows to the face after he had almost beat the life out of him.

While Quenton was lost in his thought Alyse spoke for him. "In return you would ask House Greyjoy to fight for your men?"

The Tyroshi smiled pleasantly and shook his head. "No my lady, Maelys would ask that you fight for yourselves against the men who put your family in chains and killed your lord Grandfather. If you would fight the Targaryens then under Maelys rule he would give you dominion of the Iron Islands and much of the North to rule as kings."

The lord of Pyke felt something ancient swell within his heart at the man's words and he thought back to the day Maekar Targaryen had slain his father in single combat and smashed the Iron Fleet. The red dragon won because he was strong and if there was one thing Quenton could respect in his life it was strength. Maelys would buy my loyalty? No, I TAKE what is mine. The thought enraged him beyond belief and he was almost trembling at the foreigner's voice.

Alyse seemed to be the only one who noticed the murderous look in her father's eye and gave his hand a gentle squeeze which managed to calm him somewhat. Her expression seemed to be one of genuine concern which caught the big man off guard and made him forget his anger for a moment.

"What do you say my lord?" asked the Tyroshi eagerly.

Quenton's dark grey eyes flicked to his daughter and then back to the man standing before him. "I need to speak with my daughter for a moment."

The foreigner bowed his head and left the room and as soon as he closed the chamber door Quenton turned to Alyse with a brooding expression. "We kill him. I don't care what he's offering or who he serves; no man will buy an Ironborn."

"Are you sure father?" she asked cautiously.

"I am certain, and I have a plan that will not only send a message to the Greenlanders but also secure our power." He allowed himself a small smile as he took his daughter's delicate hand within his own. "I will indulge your….hobby just this once, but when you are done you must put the foreigner's head on a spike for all to see."

A malicious grin spread across Alyse's beautiful face at that. "What is dead may never die."

"But only rises again, harder and stronger."