THE KRAKEN'S KISS

They were not so far upriver that the air had lost its briny scent. Thyra took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting smell of ocean and salt. With it came a metallic tang as her crew sharpened their weapons in preparation for the battle ahead.

If she squinted, Thyra could just make out the Iron Victory leading the pack. Her father's longship was imposing with large sails baring the black and gold arms of House Greyjoy. They were not unlike those upon Kraken's Kiss, only Thyra's had been lined with an extra trim of gold at Victarion's request. When they were in battle, her sails would stand out amongst the rest.

If they were at sea, she would have brought her ship alongside her father's, ready to dart ahead at a moment's notice. The Kraken's Kiss was amongst the fastest in the Iron Fleet after all. But the Fever River was too narrow for any proper formations, and so she hung back.

A willowy redhead joined Thyra at the prow. "The water grows shallow, we'll need to beach the ships soon," Brenna said. Thyra glanced down at the water. She couldn't see the riverbed yet, but Brenna was never wrong about these things. She was a Farwynd, and as Aeron liked to say, the Farwynds were a queer sort of folk. If his stories were to be believed the Farwynds descended from selkies. Even now they could commune with the creatures of the sea.

More like they were just strange due to their isolation at Lonely Light. Their tower, and the islands that surrounded it, were eight days ride from Ironman's Bay. Before she joined Thyra's crew, Brenna had never gone further than Great Wyk.

It wasn't long before Iron Victory signaled that they would soon beach. Thyra called the order back to her crew, who passed it along to the ships that followed behind them. She watched as they worked, her little group of Ironborn. Kromm Goodbrother called out orders from the aft, keeping the newer recruits in line. "He'll be leaving soon," Thyra said with a sigh.

Brenna raised an eyebrow. "Not until your father allows him to join the Iron Fleet as a captain. Kromm won't go home and join his father's ranks, he's too proud."

Thyra shook her head. "Victarion will never let a green captain join the Iron Fleet, not unless I give him a ship." The idea had crossed the mind before. Every lord on the Iron Islands commanded a fleet, as well as captaining their own flagship. Even Asha had a small fleet of her own.

Captaining a single ship came with freedom that commanding a fleet did not. A single ship could go anywhere, anytime. But, commanding her own fleet meant Thyra was one step closer to following in her father's footsteps.

"Something to consider," Brenna hummed. It would have to wait after she took Torrhen's Square. They had Moat Cailin to attack first, and then several days sail before they reached the other castle. There was no time for Kromm's ego just yet.

Ahead the other ships had begun to go ashore. Thyra left Brenna and made her way across the ship, checking that things were ready. She gathered her own weapons. First, she slung a crossbow across her back. Then she inspected her falchion and strapped its scabbard to her belt.

Thyra felt a thrum of excitement as the ship went ashore. She looked over her crew one last time before calling them forward. "We've gone over this all before. You know who you're fighting with." Across the deck Brenna had found her cousin, Halleck. Thyra found her own companion, Steffarion Weaver, who nodded at her once. "We'll stick together as much as possible. If you are separated, we'll meet at the Gatehouse Tower when the fighting is done."

Thyra swept her eyes over her crew again. She could sense their anticipation and it only served to fuel her fire. This was what the Ironborn had been dreaming of for eleven years. This was their chance at redemption, at showing the men of the green lands what they were made of. "Let's go take the North!" She called out, and as they leapt onto dry land, her crew let out a war cry to shake the earth.


Victarion Greyjoy summoned his daughter to his chambers in the Gatehouse Tower. It was a dreary tower, like the others. The walls were built of black basalt and covered in green moss and slimy ropes of ghostskin. Moat Cailin made Pyke look positively cheerful.

Thyra would be glad to be back on Kraken's Kiss in a few days' time. The majority of the Iron Fleet were settled now, it was time for her to go. Victarion had chosen fifty ships to accompany Thyra to Torrhen's Square. The crews were prepared to sail.

"You asked for me?" She said, as she stepped into the room. A large table carved of stone sat in the middle, and that was where Victarion stood, looking over the maps.

For a moment, she thought he wouldn't speak. She had taken her time crossing from the Children's Tower, where her crew was bedding down. Steffarion and Kromm had been arguing again, and she'd needed to calm them down. They were her two best men, but they had little love for each other.

The Goodbrothers were a prestigious house, and though Kromm was of a cadet branch, he carried that pride with him. The Weavers were a young house and thus commanded little respect. It was the reason Steffarion had sought out Thyra and her crew. It was also the reason Kromm distrusted him. In his mind, Steff was nothing but a ladder climber. He was only using the Greyjoy name and the Iron Fleet connection to build House Weaver's reputation. Perhaps Kromm was correct. But Steff had sworn he would fight for Thyra 'til the day his father died, and he was duty bound to command his own fleet. She believed him.

Brenna was right, Thyra needed to seriously consider giving Kromm his own ship. They were like to have a full-blown fight on their hands if she didn't.

Victarion brought Thyra back to the present by pushing a piece of paper across the table. Thyra stepped forward and picked up the curling note.

She read the words once. Then again. Her eyes flicked up to her father, who was watching her as if her reaction was some sort of test. "Is this a joke?" Thyra said finally. Victarion shook his head once.

"The fool has sailed for Torrhen's Square," Thyra cursed, slapping the letter down to the table. "With two longships. Not even Cleftjaw is enough to storm that castle. Balon gave me that task. What is in that head of his? I know it isn't a brain."

"You're as quarrelsome as Balon," Victarion noted. Thyra wanted to snap that if she were like his eldest brother, it was his own fault. He'd been the reason her uncle raised her. But she kept her mouth shut, so as not to prove his point. "The boy thinks himself brave. He wishes to prove himself. You and Asha were ordered to storm castles, he was ordered to raid fishing villages."

"Yes, we were all there to note the slight, father," she said dryly. "If the Drowned God is good, perhaps Theon will die at the hands of the Northmen and all our suspicions will be confirmed. My cousin is a soft boy, more of the green lands than the Islands. Asha deserves to sit the Seastone Chair, not her brother."

Victarion grunted. "Her day may well come, but if the Drowned God is good, he will grant Theon victory. He may be Stark raised, but he has salt in his blood. Same as you. The boy was brave."

"Bravery and stupidity are two sides of the same sword," Thyra muttered. Her father shrugged. "I will not go to his rescue. He can find his own way out of this one." She turned on her heels and stomped toward the door.

"Thyra," Victarion called. It pained her to stop, but she did so. "Since you'll be staying at Moat Cailin, take charge of the garrison at the Children's Tower. I don't trust the Sparr to do it." Thyra let out a short breath and pushed open the door into the dark and mossy hall.


The raven from Deepwood Motte had arrived the morning before. By time the sun rose again, the crew of Kraken's Kiss was packed and ready to set off for Winterfell. Thyra's men were eager to move. Nearly a moon had passed since they'd arrived in Moat Cailin, and they were never meant to stay so long.

Thyra was far more eager to give her halfwit of a cousin a good punch in the gut. First, he'd gone and stolen her castle. Well, stolen implied he'd actually succeeded in taking it. He hadn't. Instead he'd abandoned Dagmer Cleftjaw to the wrath of the North. Then he'd marched on Winterfell. Theon had succeeded there at least, but for what gain? Winterfell was a landlocked castle surrounded by rolling hills instead of waves. It was no place for an Ironborn.

When Theon had written to Asha, asking for reinforcements, Asha had written to Thyra. Though she was less than thrilled to be moving further inland, if Asha wanted her there, Thyra would go.

The motley pack of Ironborn made their way north on the Kingsroad. They had a few horses between them, taken from the fallen at Moat Cailin. But those they had were mostly used to carry supplies. Like most Ironborn, Thyra had never been much for riding. There was nowhere to ride on the Islands, and why bother trying when you could sail instead?

When they settled down to camp, Thyra's favorites joined her around the fire. Brenna leaned against Kromm. The redhead looked exhausted, though been traveling for a just few days. Thyra understood, it was the water. The closest rivers were days away and the sea even further. Their ship was ashore on the banks of the Fever. They were far from home.

Steffarion was discussing the maps with Urrathon Marrick, as if they could get lost while following the road. Urri was an excellent seaman, but he would never captain his own ship. His father was a bowyer on Pyke, and though he made a good living it would never be enough to buy his son a ship. Not that he would ever do such a thing, even if he could. He'd been wroth when Urrathon abandoned the family trade for the Kraken's Kiss. But Thyra was glad to have him.

Halleck Farwynd had convinced Gwyn to play the finger dance. She ducked or jumped more often than not, which made Halleck cackle. His laughter filled the camp and calmed Thyra's nerves. At least someone was at ease.

"No more, Hal," Gwyn said, holding up her hands in surrender. She joined the others by the fire, panting. Her long blonde hair had come out of its braid and fell around her shoulders like a blanket. "What's for supper?" Steffarion launched a piece of dried cod at Gwyn's head. Unlike the axe, she caught it. "Lovely."

Thyra offered the blonde a piece of bread. When Gwyn arrived on Pyke, the largest adjustment had been the food. Everything else she'd taken in stride. But she complained endlessly about the Ironborn's cooking. Occasionally, if she were in a nostalgic mood, Gwyn would tell them about the rich meals of the Westerlands. Typically, those conversations would end when someone teased her about returning. After that her mood would darken and she'd finish her meal in silence.

Across the circle, Halleck sat next to Dalton Pyke, who was absorbed in a book he'd found at Moat Cailin. Of them all, it was Dalton, not Gwyn, that seemed the least Ironborn. His mother had been a Northerner of noble birth. Her family had been all but wiped out by Ironborn raids during Robert's Rebellion. Thyra hadn't known her but thought it likely Dalton took after his mother.

Halleck dropped a few pieces of dried cod on top of the pages and Dalton scowled up at him. "You lug that thing all the way from the Neck?" He asked.

"It's very interesting," Dalton defended. "I couldn't put it down."

"You'll finish it before we get to Winterfell," Thyra reprimanded. "Then what, you'll just carry it there and back?"

"Perhaps I could trade for one there?" Dalton asked, sheepish. Thyra shook her head but smiled, nonetheless. He was just a boy, nearly a decade her junior. But he was smarter than half her crew combined.

"What will we do at Winterfell?" Urri asked, after a silence. "The Northmen will come back for it, there are plenty who didn't follow the Young Wolf south. We can't hold that castle, not even with Asha's crew."

Thyra sighed, a long stream of breath that she could see in the cold air. "We know that, so does Asha. But Theon…He'll have to learn it for himself."

"Then why bother going at all?" Gwyn asked. She didn't say it, but she was cold. They all were. Autumn had fallen hard.

It was a good question. There was nothing they could do. But still, Thyra remembered the day Maron had died in the collapse of the old south tower during Robert's siege. She had hidden with Asha and Aunt Alannys until the fighting was over and they'd all been brought before the King. They'd watched Lord Stark take Theon, and Alannys had squeezed both girls' hands. To this day Thyra didn't know if she'd done it to keep them from running, or herself.

Thyra gave a small shrug. "They're family."