THE IRON KRAKEN
They'd bound his hands behind his back, and trussed him on a horse, the greenlanders, and now they were taking him from one of their accursed castles to another one of them. Victarion snarled to himself, cursing his misfortune and his father's folly, thinking he could trust these wretches and profit by it. For all that Balon's acts had landed Victarion in his present troubles, he could not help but approve them. This is what the Ironborn do-we do not meekly ask for favors from the greenlanders, we takewhat we desire . He licked his lips.
Ser Desmond Grell regarded him for a moment. "Do you wish a drink, Greyjoy?"
Victarion scowled at Lord Tully's master-at-arms, and after a while, gave a slight nod. Grell gestured to one of his men, who came forward, and tilted a wineskin to Victarion's mouth. He drank it down, grumbling to himself as he did so. Greenlander wine, weak as water and sour to boot , he thought to himself. How they insult me .
Grell shook his head. "I'll not lie, Greyjoy. It will be a pleasure to see the back of you. And that I will do as soon as we reach Riverrun."
"Perhaps sooner," said Victarion. "I may yet win free of you."
Grell snorted at that. "Have a band of men tucked into your breeches, I suppose?" The older man gave a scornful shake of his head. "As I said, Greyjoy, it will be a pleasure to see the back of you." He turned back. "Come on. We're to Harroway Town. It is not far, and then we can rest in an inn. Even you must want that, thick-headed whoreson of an ironman that you are."
Victarion growled at that, and tried to kick the greenlander. He lost his balance and fell off his horse. Grell and his men laughed at that, then got to work righting him back on the horse. Victarion felt so abashed, he barely resisted.
"Well," said Grell, "if you've purged yourself of your ill humor, Greyjoy, shall we be on our way?"
"You should not have said that about my mother," Victarion muttered as they rode on their way. "She was a trueborn lady of the Iron Isles."
"Was she now?" said Grell flatly.
"Ingraboda of House Sunderly," said Victarion. "She was a great beauty. The greatest in the Isles whilst she lived." The greenlander knight made a noise that sounded like either a cough or a laugh. "Do you doubt me?" snapped Victarion.
"Oh, no, Greyjoy," answered Grell, with a strange smile on his face. "I've no doubt it was as you said. The most beautiful woman in the Iron Islands." He shook his head. "Truly a marvel beyond my comprehension."
They rode on in silence after that, until they came to Harroway. Victarion grimaced as it came into view-Grell's response was harsher. "Stranger take the Spring rains!" spat out the knight. The Trident had overflowed its banks, leaving large portions of the town flooded. Men and women went about pouring buckets of water as they worked at clearing out their houses. Grell snarled as he looked about. "Damn it. No shelter here tonight." The old knight hailed a passer-by to ask about the ferry-as he did so the rest of the guard escorted Victarion to the water's edge.
Victarion watched the waters rush by, and remembered his youth, swimming in the sea. And somehow that lead him to thinking of Barbra Bracken, who snickered at him as he'd been taken from Harrenhal. "Oh, my poor Iron giant," she'd said with a grin, walking next to that strange pale Northern lord, "I warned you that you'd be left lonely and cold, and look at what's come to you." And then she'd laughed. Victarion snarled to himself. Unnatural bitch. I should have raped her. That would have shown her.
The waters were moving past, swift and silent. They… they are not so fast , Victarion thought . I could swim in them, even with my hands bound. It would take me away from this, take me somewhere safe. Even as he thought this he tipped himself from his saddle, and was falling into the water. He heard a yell from his captors, even as the water swallowed him.
Now, I kick and swim , he thought, but the water, it moved so fast, so fast that he could not win free against it, and was borne away by the current. So swift, so strong , he thought, but then all thought vanished as he was taken underneath the water, and poured over him, and under him and all around him, and then, then he was back on Pyke, but years ago, as a boy. Something had happened, he could not recall what, but his father and mother were regarding him sadly. Quellon turned and gave a great sigh, but his mother, she leaned forward, and fixed Victarion with her dark eyes. He'd feared those eyes, he remembered, feared those long scornful looks that could destroy you, leave you feeling like your bones were jelly. "Oh, Victarion, my son," she whispered, though her mouth, it did not move, "you've plenty of strength, but no wit, no wit at all."
And then he was back to himself, as something tangled around him, tangled around his limbs, and then he was being pulled from the water, and then sound returned to him. "Father," came a voice that was both youthful and strangely low at once, "I have caught something." Victarion felt himself placed on something solid and opened his eyes to see a hard-featured, dirty young boy staring at him with eyes round as saucers, and mouth gaping wide. The boy's lips were thick and plump, and put Victarion in mind of a fish, especially when he gaped like that, while his hair was so filthy, Victarion couldn't begin to guess its color.
A voice came, a deep rumble. "Good, good, my duck. Did I not say the signs showed today would be fortunate, my sweetling? Does your father not know the wind and the wave and aye, all the little fishies?"
The boy lifted his head in what Victarion assumed was the direction of his father. "It is a man, father."
There was a silence at this, but a brief one. "Hrrrrmmm. Does he have boots on, my egg? I've need of a new pair of boots."
The boy looked at Victarion again. "A living man, father."
"Indeed?" Victarion heard the sound of something moving, and then the boy's father was there, as round-eyed, thick-lipped and fishy-looking as his son. He regarded Victarion for a moment, tangled in his son's nets, and then nodded. "Well, my duck, my pet, you know what to do." The boy nodded and drew a knife from his belt, eyeing Victarion with a look of utter disinterest. "And afterwards get those boots, my darling. They look to be my size, and well, that doesn't happen often, now does it? A fortunate day!"
The sound of horses reached Victarion's ears, and then he heard Ser Desmond yelling for his men to stop. "Ahoy, you there! Fisherman!"
The father turned away and looked towards what Victarion assumed was the shore. "Why, as I live and breathe, Ser Desmond," he said. "What a chance encounter, that we two old friends should meet here." The man's voice was cold and while Victarion could see a smile on his face, it did not reach those bulbous eyes.
"Mad Mychel," came Ser Desmond's voice, the displeasure obvious. "It would be you I meet on a day like this."
Mychel's smile deepened into a grin and it seemed to Victarion, from where he lay, that the man's teeth were sharp, but he realized he must be mistaken. "The world is larger than we know, and smaller than we think," replied the fisherman merrily.
"I do not come to listen to your madman's wit," said Ser Desmond. "Is that daughter of yours with you?"
"My sweet Morella is here right now, regarding her latest catch," said Mychel. "Oh, she does her father proud, my duck does." Victarion's amazement that the boy was a girl must have been too obvious, for Morella scowled at him, and gave an emphatic jerk on her knife. "Come, my heart's delight, and greet our old friend Ser Desmond, why don't you?"
Morella turned, still keeping a wary eye on Victarion and slid towards her father, into what Victarion realized was Ser Desmond's line of sight. "Hallo, Ser Desmond," she said, in that flat, low voice of hers. "How are you, Ser Desmond? Well, I hope, Ser Desmond?"
Ser Desmond gave a snort at that. "I'm in no mood for this. We both know what the mad pair of you think of me, and what I think of you."
"Why, what do you mean, Ser Desmond?" said Mychel. "We've nothing but fond wishes for you. Do we not, my dove?"
Morella smiled at that, and once again, Victarion had that fleeting of impression of a mouth full of sharp little teeth. "Very fond. Such fond wishes."
"Aye, and I wish to see you both hanged," snapped Ser Desmond. "One day, either I or you lot shall get our wishes, I imagine-and somehow I fancy it will be me. But not today. Today I have business with you, much as I'd rather not. Has a man come down the river? Tall, and strong. Likely swimming, but perhaps otherwise?" There was a brief pause. "He's Lord Tully's prisoner, and His Lordship would be grateful if he were found. Grateful enough to overlook a bit of smuggling a man might commit on occasion."
Mychel clicked his tongue at that. "Cruel of you, Ser Desmond. Cruel of you and false to accuse of crimes in passing."
"We both know you're guilty of that and worse, Mad Mychel," said Ser Desmond. "I'll leave the direst of the charges off as your daughter's present. Even if she has her own list of crimes that'll send her to the gallows alongside you."
"Have you come to insult me and my sweetling," snapped Mad Mychel with a snort, "or have you come to inquire about large men floating about the river? Faith of me, I'm not certain which you are aiming to."
"The latter," seethed Ser Desmond. "The pair of you just make the first so easy."
Mychel shrugged. "Well, we've not seen your large man, swimming, floating or in any otherwise he might have." He turned to his daughter. "Have we, Morella?"
"No, father," she answered, clambering back over to Victarion and once again showing him her knife.
"Are you certain?" asked Ser Desmond.
"Faith, of course, I am," said Mychel. "I've seen plenty of bodies in these waters over the last year, much less over my life. I know what they look like."
"I just wish to be sure," came a quiet answer.
The fisherman nodded at that. "Oh, do you? How fastidious of you. Indeed you are right! I was lying to you! I have seen this man! He is on the boat right now! Shall I have Morella drag him here, perhaps?"
"By the Seven," snapped the knight. "Must you be like this?"
"As you keep saying, I am mad, Ser Desmond," snarled Mychel. "Why, you are fortunate I am not howling at the sun at this very moment!"
"Mother's mercy," came a frustrated groan. "Come, we've wasted enough time here. This pair will be no help to us." There was the sound of horses moving again that faded, and then Mychel through his head back and laughed.
"Oh, such sport!" he crowed. He glanced at Morella. "We had him, did we not, my duck? We poached his prize like it was a gull's egg in its nest!"
Morella giggled at that. "We did indeed, father!"
Mychel paced down his boat and regarded the prone Victarion again. "So, my hulking lad, who are you and what have you done that's got Lord Tully imprisoning you and Ser Desmond scouring for you?" Before Victarion could answer, the man cocked his head. "You look like an ironman. Was it theft, murder, or rape? Or perhaps some combination? Or all at once?"
Victarion shook his head. "I… it… I am Victarion Greyjoy, son of Quellon, brother of Balon."
Mychel rolled his large eyes at that. "Names. They mean little to me, less to my gosling. Answer my question, or I will satisfy myself with your boots."
Victarion gulped at this. "I… my father was Lord of the Iron Isles. My brother is its king now. They… they will richly reward you for saving me."
"To take what is the Tully's is its own reward," said Mychel with a grin. "What do I always say of the Tully, my duck?"
"Traitors, thieves, and scum, to their marrow," recited Morella. "We hates them, and we snatches from them what they've snatched from us. A thousand curses upon them, and that is too few."
Mychel laughed at that. "Well said, my dewdrop, well said." He turned to regard Victarion. "But of course, my daughter and I would not say no to a gift from your illustrious line. We are not niggardly, no, but we are not fools. To the pole, Morella. Let us go somewhere we may talk more freely with our guest." The girl bowed, and then clambored away. Soon, Victarion heard the sound of something splashing in the water and felt the boat start to move again. Mychel chuckled and sat by him.
"Will… will you not free me?" muttered Victarion.
"Eventually," said Mychel. "I find that men appreciate their liberty best when it is granted in due course." He yawned. "There's a place where we may talk more freely not far from here. A watchtower, built by the Hooks, when they tried to spread their rule from the Rush upwards." He regarded Victarion calmly. "They were the second house to claim rule over the Trident, though the claim fell far from reality. House Langward was the first. They remain, much diminished, the fact they were once kings almost forgotten, but the Hooks are all dead." He sighed and shook his head. "There's a lesson in that, though what is, I know not for sure, for I know not who had the worst fate."
"If… if you will just let me go," said Victarion weakly.
"And let you be caught?" said Mychel smiling. "A fine host I'd be then. You know not the Trident and its children, but I-I know it well. Do I not, my duck?"
"Like you know your fingers, your toes, and your mighty member, Father," shouted out Morella.
"Such a clever child," said Mychel with a chuckle. He glanced again at Victarion. "And there is that reward you mentioned. I would like to see it. Oh, it would warm my heart, it would."
Victarion nodded at this. "You… you will get it."
"I know shall, young Victarion. I know I shall," said the fisherman calmly. The boat came to a stop in what seemed a shadowy bit of woods. Morella climbed back into view, knife in hand. "Cut the man free, my acorn. Cut him free as I tell him who has done him this great service." Morella began to slice deftly at the net. "It was not chance brought you to me, ironman. No, there is no chance for me and mine. The river and the water, it knows its master, and it seeks to serve him, even if men have strayed. They may scorn and mock, but it pays homage." He nodded. "You look upon a king, Victarion."
Victarion gulped. "I... see," he said. By the Drowned God, I've fallen in with a madman.
"A king, and his lovely daughter," said Mychel as Morella returned to his side. "Know me, Victarion Greyjoy, by my true name and title. I am King Mychel Mudd, Fifth of my name, King of the Rivers and the Hills in Obscurity." He gestured at his daughter. "And this, my daughter and heir, Princess of the Red, the Blue and the Green, like her father, in Obscurity." Morella gave a nod at this, pride obvious on her strange face. "And as you have been hounded by our enemies, well, Greyjoy, we will proudly do you a good turn." He chuckled. "And perchance have that reward you have promised. Oh, a fortunate day, my duck. A fortunate day indeed."
He and Morella laughed at that, and Victarion once again had that fleeting impression of mouths filled with sharp teeth.
