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Theme song: "Revolution", The Score
Next chapter will be Tyrion's.
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Yara I
The wind was cold today, but it brought a delicious smell of the sea and salt, and Yara found herself dreaming. She longed for the sensation of waves rocking her ship and seagulls crying at her ears. Of the delicious sting of the salt, burning on her eyes. And the sun, above them, caressing them vigorously, rubbing the grains of salt against her skin, drying the sensation of the sea from her.
Damn, she could touch herself right now at the thought. She missed the sea, as much as she would a very skilled lover.
Maybe Arik was available. Or maybe Kiara. She could be up for a little love once in a while, between two boring duties. And the night was still fresh…
But then, something stopped her. A feeling. Images. And the coin that she had received recently, from a surprising ally.
Her father killed by her uncle. Her uncle killed during the burning of his fleet. The other dying a nobody in foreign lands. And her brother….
She closed her eyes firmly, not wanting the tears to fall. They had never fallen once. Now was not the time to begin.
Her family was still defeated, her house nearly on the brink of extinction.
Once again, the Iron Islands were vanquished, this time without even one battle. They were at their eyes now just some lands among others, led this time by a crippled boy, not even able to run for his life. A boy who wouldn't even have survived in the Islands, and who certainly knew nothing of its culture and of its people.
People who had now to pay the gold price for it.
The shame. Her ancestors must be rolling in their graves.
The Iron Islands had only her, now. But maybe it was enough. She could rebuild it, brick by brick. She already had begun. But her people were weak now, without a cause to defend.
At least, not for now.
She looked at the coin in her hand, with the face of her enemy on it. The boy she was supposed to call king. The boy who now had asked even more of her people recently.
Not a very lookalike picture, but still, it made her imagine what she would do to the real face, as her nail hit repeatedly the coin.
She threw it in the fire. It would not melt entirely. But it would be enough for her not to look at it for the night. She waited a little, consciously ignoring the fidgeting of the little man in front of her, then looked at him with a spark in her eyes that her feigned annoyance could not hide.
"Urion," she said. "It looks like you're about to piss yourself if you wait more. What's going on?"
He smirked with that crooked mouth of his and green eyes glinting at her, and curtseyed comically.
"News from your inconsistent Majesty, "your Grace"" He bowed once more.
She froze a little, then laughed loudly.
"If I didn't have you, I would be bored to death right now." She said to her fool. "Well, let's hope it's actually worth that pile of papers I've been working on all day."
"Well, at least one of the two, I gather, may bring a smile to your face. "
She raised one eyebrow.
"If it's another of these letters from Tristifer, you better let it rot under the farthest rock, where they belong. Seagulls won't even want it, I gather. I'm not in the mood for his whining."
"Well, I doubt the prose will be as poetic as that young sire, m'lady, but I'm sure you will find it more useful."
She smiled at him, but gestured him to go. Now was not the time for his jokes.
He smiled back and left the letters in the table near her. And then he left, with the same agile grace as would have a cat.
She watched him leave with a smile on her face.
She had hesitated in hiring a fool. Only fancy folks would do that, she thought. But then time went on and on, waiting for something that did not seem to happen, and without one foot on ship, she felt herself deflate. Her men were loyal, sympathetic, but no one was in the mood for jokes these last few months.
That one was discrete and with an insolence that really pleased her. He wasn't beautiful to see, with his crooked teeth and pointed nose. But he was clever, and could give good advices. She had actually known him since she was a child, and had always lived in the Islands. He almost drown when they put him in the sea. Weak, her men had called him. But still, he managed to be useful, even if he could not fight. And he had been loyal to a fault until that, without even she named him her fool.
That title was just a joke by itself. He was certainly one of the cleverest people she knew.
Would he one day betray her? She wondered. That man was clearly in love with her. But love was not really something that could stop betrayal.
She thought about the former queen, who accepted to support her claim. She had loved, and burned for it. She payed the iron price, and Yara would have died to see that damn city collapse in flames, and these faces who had mocked her, humiliated her, be disfigured from fear.
Jon Snow should have died, that day. It was only justice. And if she had seen that bastard's face at that moment, she would have cut his manhood and both his hands, before letting the others do the rest.
He had no honor nor loyalty.
He had betrayed his queen, plunged a dagger through her heart. He had watched as she bled to her death, disbelieving that the one she loved could defeat her so.
Had he cried for it? He better had.
What was his family's way, again? That the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword?
Or maybe such rules did not apply for a bastard, she thought. Or maybe it only applied when it was Starks who applied that sentence. Damn hypocrites, all of them. Always blaming, but never acting if that action did not serve them at the end.
Her queen had been true to her goals, and she had fought. She had paid blood for blood, as a true Iron-born would have. She had helped them, the Starks, to the end, had led her armies to the North, lost half of it for them, for loyalty.
All for nothing. For a reluctant help, then to an even reluctant treason.
Yara had no such allies anymore. Only people with whom she had arrangements, but who would betray her if they could see their interest in it.
Well, not for now.
But soon, hopefully.
She took the first paper on the table and read it.
King Bran was ill, it seemed. The boy-king that her brother had had to protect until his last breath was one step from the grave. His spirit had been gone a long time, but now it seemed his body was not long to follow.
Good. That was a good surprise, actually.
She took the second and then smiled.
Just one of the news she was actually waiting for.
The day couldn't be any better, she thought as she raised from her throne and left the place. She dressed herself in black and took her best man-in-arm with her.
Rain was beginning to fall, and storm will be coming shortly. Good. She felt it too, in her veins, in her mind. During her walk, she forced herself to think of all the things that had been forced on her, and one thing in particular.
Her brother had died for the Starks. But what had the Stark done for him?
They had stolen him, taken his true identity several times, turned him over. They had placed him in the way of danger and diminished him.
And then they did not even send her his bones. He had been burned, his ashes buried in a coffin as a Northerner, traitor to his own country till the last breath. What an insult to his Fatherland.
She had allowed him to go back. But it was for him to come back. To leave that past behind.
He had to let the Theon owned by the Starks, owned by Ramsay Bolton, die.
But he didn't have to actually die himself.
Men could be disappointing when it came to loyalty.
Now, bitterness filled her heart, and she had enough of it. She would not stay isolated with her men, following another's orders no longer. Not if she had a way out of it. She would not be tricked once again. She would not plead for independence, as it would not be given to her anyway. The Starks had played her, and they got everything and more than what would have been possible to imagine.
'Why do you think I came all this way?" the boy had said.
These words sickened her.
Well, no more now.
They wanted crowns, and still thought they did it for honor and the sake of the people.
They would keep these crowns. But soon, they would melt with it.
She continued to feed these thoughts until a strange satisfaction came burning in her belly.
She may die at the end of it, she thought, but then, it would not be for nothing. Trouble was already brooding in Westeros, but with what was going to happen, there would be no going back, no issue for her enemies.
She looked at the sky, expectant. But nothing but seagulls flying in the night met her gaze. Her shoulders were lowered, but soon she relaxed.
She should have known. It wouldn't have been very discrete.
But then, it would have been much more impressive.
Wind came caressing her face and she closed her eyes a little, a smile on her face. Then, with a resolute look, she headed towards the creek the message was referring to.
Here, a woman with black hair was waiting for her. She was beautiful, and the red of her dress came beautifully with the cream of her skin. Strange from someone coming from Essos, she thought.
Behind her, there was a little boat, with a dark hooded silhouette in it, four blind men with daggers in their hands surrounding it.
Yara's breath caught in her throat. The woman smiled and bowed to her.
"My name is Kinvarra." She said. "And there is someone, I believe, who would like to see you."
Yara smirked and prepared herself.
She had been waiting months for it to happen. She had almost thought somebody would find one letter. One letter would have been her undoing. And so much more.
Until that moment, she had no allies, no true friend, aside her people. She had forced herself to stay on land, waiting and waiting for it to happen. Her men had been impatient, had asked her to act as if it was a true rebellion. They had called her a fool, not to seize the opportunity to reclaim independence for the Iron Islands, as the young queen in the north had.
As if it would have been accepted.
She had had to tell them to wait. To wait for chaos that would be brooding soon in Westeros.
Chaos was here now. And as surely as salt could melt snow, no winter would settle in this storm.
Well now, she thought, looking at a familiar face under the hood, with that determinate look on purple eyes, things were about to get interesting.
The Starks, both that little queen and her crippled brother, will never survive this wave.
Not this time.