The Kraken and the Lion

Chapter Thirteen

by Technomad

Asha Greyjoy

Asha's quarters had been transformed into a gathering place for many of the castle's women. Standing on a stool, she allowed herself to be measured and prepared for a new gown; the Queen herself had commanded that she be decked out in full resplendent glory for her wedding to Tyrion. "After all," the Queen had explained, "at least one of you should look…presentable. And of course, your home islands' clothing would hardly suit such an occasion."

This wasn't the only dig that Queen Cersei had made at Asha or at the ironborn in general, and Asha was getting good and sick and tired of that woman. Sooner or later, they were going to have to have a real showdown. Asha honestly thought she could take Cersei, woman-to-woman; the Queen was not in bad shape, but Asha had grown up doing all sorts of hard work, and still practiced regularly with her surviving crew members. The thought of grabbing a handful of that glorious blonde hair and pounding its owner's head against the floor felt so good…

The other women buzzed and twittered among themselves, and Asha smiled to herself at the thought of how most of them would react to the idea of leading a reaving party or commanding a ship. The upcoming wedding had them all in a flutter; even Sansa Stark had come a little out of her shell of remote courtesy, offering her best wishes for a happy marriage. Asha privately thought that Sansa had acted incredibly foolishly; she had heard all about how Sansa's crush on Joffrey had led to her betrayal of her father, but Asha also thought that at age twelve, a certain amount of foolishness was to be expected, and that Sansa had endured more than enough punishment.

Ever since the Whip Incident, Sansa tried to make sure that she was not far from Asha if it was at all possible. If the ironborn woman was available, Sansa would stay as close as she was allowed to unless directly commanded by the Queen, or, lately, Lord Tywin, not to tag around after Asha. Asha herself had assured the Lannisters that she didn't mind having Sansa around, and her crew had all but adopted the forlorn girl, treating her like a daughter or little sister. Among other things, this kept Joffrey more-or-less at bay; the King talked a good game, but Asha noted with amusement that he tended to moderate his conduct when ironborn were nearby.

As the dressmaker fussed over her, Asha lost herself for a second or two in a vision of what Joffrey's life would be like, if he had to go to the Iron Islands. He'd be a bilge rat, she thought, cleaning out the bottoms of ships! And even thralls would kick his arse, night and day! The idea pleased her, and she smiled; the dressmaker thought she was smiling in approval of her new clothes, and smiled back.

A few days later, the dress was delivered, and Asha had to admit that the dressmaker had done a wonderful job. With the willing help of her crewwoman Jinjur, she was soon dressed and ready. Jinjur's eyes glowed with pleasure. Asha smiled to herself; even ironborn women were wild about weddings!

"Skipper…we got your cloak!" That was Lorren Longaxe. Leaning on crutches, he hobbled in, the precious black cloak with its Greyjoy kraken worked on it in gold thread over one arm.

"Let's see it." Taking it from her crewman, she held it out. Her new good-father had really done right by her, she noted. It was beautiful, smooth black wool, as unlike the rough, scratchy product of the Islands as could be. She smiled and slipped it on. It fit her perfectly.

"I hope the Lannister cloak you'll be wearing is this nice," Jinjur whispered in her ear. Asha smiled at her lone female crew member.

"I'm sure it will be, Jinjur. Lord Tywin doesn't forget details like that." She had, in fact, heard that it was the same Lannister cloak that Queen Cersei had worn at her own wedding to Robert Baratheon, before it was removed to be replaced by the Baratheon cloak with its black stag on a gold background. She hoped that wasn't a bad omen; she'd heard a great deal from Tyrion, and her crew had heard from the castle servants, about how bad that marriage had been. She shook her head; ironborn put no stock in omens and other such foolishness.

When the time came, Rodrik the Reader, in lieu of her father, who couldn't be present, stepped forward to escort her, as her crew and selected female members of the court paired off to follow her into the Great Sept. Adjusting religious differences had involved some complicated negotiations between the Most Devout and a priest of the Drowned God…not Aeron Damphair, thank the Drowned God! Asha thought that exposing the Damphair to the "sin, vice and corruption" of Kings Landing would send him stark mad.

The Great Sept was a kaleidoscope of color, with the sun shining in through huge stained-glass windows. The Sept was crowded, with ironborn and local folk alike. Music thundered from an organ Asha couldn't see, as she held her head high and walked toward the altar where her betrothed waited. Tyrion was easy to spot; he was the shortest person in the little group before the altar, a blot of bright red-and-gold.

The High Septon pronounced a prayer, his expression sour; Asha thought that his first encounter with a priest of the Drowned God hadn't agreed with him, and smothered a smile at the thought of how he and the Damphair would have reacted to each other. Then a choir sang, and Tyrion and Asha recited the traditional seven vows and the seven prayers. The priest of the Drowned God pronounced a traditional blessing, asking the Drowned God to send Asha strong sons and daughters, and poured sea-water over both Asha and Tyrion's heads.

The moment had come. With a twinge of regret at leaving her old life behind, Asha felt gentle hands removing her Greyjoy cloak. She looked down at Tyrion, and grinned, squatting down on her haunches so that he could cloak her with the Lannister cloak he held out. Tyrion smiled, grateful to her for sparing his dignity. She knew that her new husband…and she could still hardly believe that she was married…was twitchy about his dignity. There was a roar of acclamation, and the deed was done.

Then came the feast. Privately, Asha had doubts about the wisdom and good taste of feasting so extravagantly in a city still half-stricken by famine and mourning the deaths of many of its citizens in the recent siege, but the Tyrells had brought in a good deal of food. She had managed to limit the feast to seven courses, one in honor of each of the locals' seven gods; the original ideas had included such insanities as seventy-seven courses, and she knew that her ironborn relatives would be horrified at such waste. On the Iron Islands, food was not a thing to treat lightly; in bad years, even nobles had to tighten their belts.

Wine, beer and ale flowed freely, but Asha drank sparingly. She wanted to keep her head clear. Tyrion followed her example, she noted approvingly. Unfortunately, others didn't. The King, in particular, was punishing the Arbor gold and red hard, and it was showing. At his age, he had very little head for alcohol, and Asha was privately doubtful that he'd be able to keep his wits about him. Not that he had many wits, she thought mordantly. If King Joffrey had any good points other than good looks, the news had missed her.

Symon Silvertongue, a singer Tyrion had found somewhere, was performing a song about the bravery of the defenders of the city, with heavy emphasis on Tyrion and Asha's charge against the enemy, when Joffrey displayed that he'd had too much. In a loud, carrying voice, he called down to Asha: "Lady Asha, when you tire of my little uncle, I'll happily visit you by night and make sure that your babies, at least, are normal!"

Asha's eyes narrowed, as she heard and felt her ironborn stiffening with shock and outrage. In the Islands, propositioning the bride at the very wedding would lead, at least, to a duel, if not a feud between families. Asha gestured to the ironborn to stand down. She looked at her new good-father, to see how Lord Tywin would handle this latest outrage.

While Lord Tywin still despised and resented his youngest son, he was a stickler for propriety, or so Tyrion had said. Sure enough, the Hand was on his feet. "Your Majesty, may I remind you that the Lady Asha is now your aunt, and as such, off limits?"

Joffrey sneered. "As if that would stop me! I am the King, and the King may do as he likes! She is my subject, and as such, she owes me a duty of obedience! The Targaryens married their siblings, which strikes me as far worse!" Asha smiled inwardly at the expression on her new good-sister's face. Cersei looked like she'd just swallowed a live tarantula.

Asha had figured out the truth of Joffrey's parentage, between Tyrion's clear hints and some studying she had done on geneaologies. She had never met her new good-brother Jaime, and wondered if she ever would; he'd been taken captive by the enemy some time before, and no news of his release or escape had come to Kings Landing. Judging by his twin, she thought Jaime would be utterly unbearable; in love with himself, seeing all others as dirt beneath his feet, and too handsome for his own good. She had to allow that Cersei was a blonde vision of beauty, but, looking more closely at her with a woman's keen perception, she could see that her age and the strain of her life was catching up with her.

Lord Tywin snapped: "King Aerys did just what he liked…do you know what happened to him?" At this, the room went silent. Everybody wanted to see how the confrontation between the King and his Hand and grandfather would go.

"Do not threaten me, Grandfather! You forget who sits the Iron Throne!" Joffrey was swelling up like a toad, as red as a Lannister cloak. Asha nursed a moment's hope that the worthless brat would blow a skull-side blood vessel and relieve Westeros of his presence, but she knew it was a forlorn hope at best. Like his real parents, Joffrey was strong and healthy, and almost never even slightly ill.

"I am not threatening you, Your Majesty. I am merely noting that your education has some holes in it." Tywin gestured to a couple of whitecloaks. "I believe His Majesty is weary of this feast. Please escort him back to his quarters and give him a dose of sweetsleep." Despite his protests, Joffrey found himself being politely manhandled out of the hall by several of the Kingsguard, whom Asha would have sworn were smirking to themselves.

Tywin leaned down, his mouth close to Asha's ear. "Please pardon His Majesty, my lady. His upbringing was not all it could be, and it shows in his manners."

Asha nodded graciously. "Soonest forgiven is soonest forgotten, as we say in the Islands, my lord." Not that Iron Islanders were much on forgiving. She had been sorry when Ned Stark was beheaded, since she blamed him for stealing her brother away. She had hoped, one day, to run across him and deal out a healthy helping of vengeance on behalf of the entire Greyjoy family. Even so, though, she could see that openly quarreling with the King would endanger the alliance she had worked so hard for, and she was cool-headed enough to put it aside. For now, at least.

Cries of "The bedding! The bedding!" rose. Asha braced herself. This was one custom they did not have in the Islands, and she didn't like the idea of herself and her husband being stripped naked in front of everybody in the Great Hall. For herself, she knew she could pass muster; her body was slim, trim and youthful, and she had seen enough in the women's baths to know that she had nothing to fear from scrutiny. But she wanted to spare her husband this indignity.

Tyrion stiffened, and whispered to his father. Tywin nodded, and stood up. In a carrying voice, he announced: "There will be no bedding. My son and good-daughter are still bruised and battered from the battle, and would prefer not to put their wounds on public show." The ironborn in the hall growled their agreement; one and all, they had been piously shocked at the idea of putting a lord's daughter on such a lewd display.

The Kingsguard formed up around Tyrion and Asha's seats, and they rose. Tyrion took Asha's arm, and they walked through the hall, up the stairs to the great bedroom they'd been given for their wedding night. Around them, cheers and lewd advice resounded, and Asha made some mental notes for later. Some of the variants mentioned, she'd have to ask her husband…her husband!…about. She also made a mental note to thank Lord Tywin. She'd rather dreaded him, but so far, he'd behaved with the utmost courtesy toward her and her people.

As she walked by, Lady Sansa sent her a don't leave me look; Asha winked to reassure the girl. Then, after a staircase that seemed to stretch on forever, they were ceremoniously escorted into the bedchamber, the High Septon pronounced a mercifully-brief blessing on the nuptial bed, and, at long, long last, they were alone.

Tyrion crossed over to the armoire, pouring them glasses of wine from the bottle that stood there in ice. "Whew! That went better than I was afraid it would!"

Asha gave him a roguish smile, as she began unbuttoning her dress. "Not too much of that, husband. Wine, I am told, increases a man's desire, but takes away his performance." She accepted the cup he offered, and they clinked them together ceremoniously.

As she got naked, Tyrion looked her up and down, clearly appreciating everything she saw, and she loved the feeling. Asha Greyjoy Lannister was an unusual woman, but she was more than female enough to want to look her best, especially when about to go to bed with the man she loved. In a low voice, he said "My desire for you is so high, I don't think that any amount of wine could increase it, wife." He slipped out of his elaborate court clothing, and they rolled into bed, laughing with delight. By the time they finally fell into an exhausted, sated sleep, morning was peeking in through the windows.

END Chapter 13