EPILOGUE
The Caged Kraken
Asha Greyjoy pressed her face against the cold bars of her cell. The smell of rust and piss hung in the air. Along the far wall of East Watch's dungeon, their gaoler Garth sat snoring in his wooden chair. A set of iron keys hung tantalisingly from his belt.
"Fucking Snow," Asha cursed the darkness. "Fucking bastard. Promised to save me—gave me sun, and sea, and salt air once more—and then left me in this dungeon to rot. I'd have been better off back in Winterfell." But then she thought of Ser Godry and reconsidered.
Grimtongue was pacing in the next cell over. "We may as well take the black," he huffed. "Old Crowseye is never going to ransom us. He's given up on the north. Too cold. He's sailing south for the ripe fruits and even riper women of the Reach."
In the far corner of the dungeon, the springs of Fingers mattress creaked. "If we ever get free of East Watch," his husky voice echoed across the room. "I mean to sail east. I've got it all figured out. During winter, food and firewood are always more valuable than jewels." Asha could make out his muscular silhouette through the bars, the torchlight catching his long blonde hair "Those dainty cogs coming out of Lorath or Braavos are just begging for a man with balls to take them in the rear." Fingers groped his crotch and laughed. "What about you Tris—you with me? I could use a good first mate."
Tristifer, who was sitting in the next cell over, shrugged. "There's nothing left for me in the Isles…" he snatched a glance at Asha. "Or the North."
Asha groaned. "Do you old women ever stop nattering?" Grimtongue chuckled.
Tris stood up then. "What's that sound?" he asked.
"Old Garth is farting in his sleep again," Fingers quipped.
"No," Tristifer said, his expression straining. "Listen."
Sure enough, Asha could make out voices from the floor above. The dungeon door creaked in the darkness above, and four or five sets of boots came hurried down the stone steps. The portly knight Ser Ormund was at the front of the group. His face was red and sweaty. Behind him were men in Baratheon helms and armour, and the lanky steward named Devan.
Garth stirred from his slumber and looked around. "Huh," he said dumbly.
"On your feet prisoners," Ormund bellowed. "We're leaving!"
"Open your eyes, Ser Porkchop," Fingers grinned. "We're already on our feet."
"NOW!" the castellan roared. Garth jumped up and shuffled towards the first cell with a key outstretched.
"Where are we going?" Tristifer asked shakily.
"The ships," Ormund said. "Eastwatch is being evacuated." Fingers emerged from his cell and was quickly siezed by two of the soldiers, who clapped irons chains around his hands and feet.
"Why?" Tristifer continued.
Quiet, you fool, Asha thought. This could be our chance to escape. She took a step back, crouched by her mattress, and pocketed the wooden stake she'd been whittling.
"The wall is falling," the steward Devan squeaked.
"Shush!" Ormund snapped. "The prisoners don't need to know that."
Tristifer's face hardened. "If you want us to captain your ships again, you better tell us whats happening."
Asha ground her teeth. Tristifer, I would have fucked you years ago if you could just learn to shut up.
"Fine," Ormund growled. "Lord Commander Mallister reports that the Shadow Tower has been overrun by wights. Ravens from Greyguard, Icemark, Sable Hall, and The Long Barrow all confirm that the wall is crumbling. Mallister and his men have fled by ship to the Bay of Ice. He's ordered all survivors east of Greyguard to retreat by land to Last Hearth or by sea to Karhold." Tristifer's eyes widened as a soldier fastened a chain around his wrists and lead him to the foot of the stairs beside Fingers and Grimtongue. "You three will sail our fleet south," Ormund added, gesturing towards the Ironborn huddled at the foot of the stairs.
Three, Asha thought with mounting panic. But there are four of us. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
"We also received a letter from Lady Arya," Devan added, brandishing a rolled-up parchment, "which we must needs deliver to Lord Snow."
"Aye," Ormund said, casting a stern gaze towards Asha, "and you are the lucky squid who gets to sail north."
Asha's heart sank. Fucking Snow, she thought. Even 60 leagues away, he still finds a way to bugger me.
The four ironborn captains were led up the stairs and through Eastwatch. The castle was in a whirl of shouting and rushing men. Crates were being hastily filled with food and supplies, while barrels were being rolled along the rumpled carpets. Asha felt the stake through her breeches but knew it would be madness to attempt an escape with so many soldiers around. She would need to wait until she was on the ship. Then what? she thought bitterly. Am I supposed to swim through the Shivering Sea to freedom?
The cold wind slapped against their faces as they were lead through the outer yard towards the docks. Lightening flashed to their right, showing a brief silhouette of the massive curtain of ice above. "The Wall doesn't look broken," Tristifer protested.
"For now," Ormund grunted, "but everything west of Long Barrow is shattered!" Rain began to pour, gently at first, but by the time they'd reached the docks, Asha could barely hear her own thoughts above the clatter of water against the soldier's armour.
"This is madness!" she heard herself shout. "You can't expect us to sail through this!"
"Not as mad as staying here!" Ormund shouted back, his beard soaking wet. "The wights are everywhere now! They'll be all over this castle within hours!"
He's afraid, Asha realised. Brute that he was, Asha felt sorry for the castellan.
"Put her and Devan on Wylla' Defiance," he was telling two soldiers. "Make sure the ship is stocked for two weeks. I've ordered twenty sailors and four builders to accompany you. There are ten ravens below deck as well. Send news once you reach Hardhome… or… if you don't." The soldiers nodded, and Ormund turned and marched further down the docks. The other three prisoners were given a stiff shove to follow the castellan. Asha caught Tris' concerned face looking back at her before vanishing into shadow.
"You heard the castellan!" one of the helmed soldiers cried above the rain. "Onto the ship!"
She followed Devan up the gangplank onto the soaking decks of Wylla's Defiance. This must be a dream, she thought, gazing out at the black horizon. Even at anchor, the waves were shaking them violently.
"This is Lady Asha!" a soldier was saying to the crew. "She will be your captain. We will be sailing north to Hardhome, to resupply and reinforce Lord Snow's forces, and to deliver important information about the war."
Asha turned to Devan. "Why do we have to sail there? Why can't we just send a raven?"
It was a stupid question, but the boy answered her earnestly. "My lady, ravens can only travel to their location of origin, and Lord Snow has only sent ravens while at sea."
"But how do we know he even arrived at Hardhome?" Asha replied. "He and his crew could be at the bottom of the Shivering Sea." Where we will soon join them, she kept to herself.
"We don't," Devan said, his face tense with worry. "But before he left, he made me swear to the Lord of Light that if his sister sent word, I would deliver it to him." He held the letter up to her, the icy winds whipping at the parchment, and then quickly slipped it beneath his cloak.
"Captain Asha," a sailor called, "the gangplanks and anchor have been raised. We must leave now." Asha strode to the front of the ship and took the helm in her hands. Stannis' banners were streaming northeast. That was good at least.
"Lower the sails to quarter mast!" she cried. "Angle to 30 degrees!" The sailors busied themselves with the riggings and the ship bobbed forward. Despite everything, despite the rain and the chains, it felt good to be at the head a ship once more. Devan stepped up beside her. He looked older than he had at Winterfell. He seemed more used to the cold and no longer stuttered.
"What does it say?" she asked him. "The letter?" He hesitated, rolling the question over in his mind. "You're trusting me with your life. You can't trust me with a letter?"
"Fair enough," he nodded. "The battle of Hurrick's Perch is over. The Others have triumphed. Thousands are dead, including Mance Rayder, which means now the enemy has thousands more soldiers. Lady Arya is leading the survivors on a desperate retreat to Winterfell." Devan stroked the stubble across his cheeks. "She writes more, but I will not share that. They are merely loving words between a sister and her brother."
Asha nodded. She thought of her younger brother, Theon, who had died beneath that weirwood tree outside of Winterfell, so many moons ago. She regretted not offering some loving words of her own before his death. But they would have only been words, not deeds. And words are wind. She could not save him. She could not even save herself. I lump grew in her throat.
Wylla's Defiance propelled through the black, choppy currents. Asha turned her head back to shore. Thunder bellowed, and she saw the spires of the East Watch one last time, before the castle and the Wall were swallowed by darkness.
…
Asha and her crew sailed all night, working tirelessly to stay ahead of the storm, but it was gaining on them. Abruptly, the wind changed, and the ship bent violently to one side, almost kissing the surf. As it flung back, several sailors were thrown across the decks. One man on the mast almost toppled overboard, but was caught by two builders and dragged back from the brink. Lightening slashed the sea about half a mile off the portside, launching a geyser of water into the sky and spraying the crew with needles of ice.
Asha steadied herself on the helm, twisting back and forth, trying to catch the wild grooves of the sea. "Raise sails to three quarter mast!" she shouted. "Angle 45—no 50 degrees!" They righted the ship and recaught the wind, just in time for another gust to send them careening forward, up a rising wave, and into the air. The hull landed hard, sending spray in every direction. sailors were smashed against the railing and passed out upon the decks.
"Dammit!" Asha yelled, pointing at the injured men. "Get them below decks!" She turned to Devan. "Crew report!"
"Eight wounded, three sick, one overboard, the rest exhausted.
"Curse the storm god!" she snapped. "We don't have enough hands to sail this ship on a good day."
"Help!" a sailor called. "The mizzenmast ropes… they've frozen again."
Asha looked up the mainmast. "Crow report!"
"The storm has reached us!" a sailor's voice shouted back. "But there is land to the east."
Asha snapped at a green-looking builder. "Charts!"
The builder unfurled a large worn map of the Shivering Sea across a work bench. Asha leaned over it and traced her finger to a large island. "Skagos," she read. "We'll have to dock there until this storm passes."
"Skagos?!" a soldier gasped. "But cannibals live there!"
"Would you rather be eaten by sharks?!" Asha cried.
Wylla's Defiance plunged east now, as rain pummelling down on them. "Lower the sails to full mast!" Asha shouted. "We need to get out of the waves now!" The sea crashed against the hull, spilling brine across the decks. The water was so cold it burned like fire on Asha's cheeks. She began to shiver violently. "Where did this mist come from," she muttered to Devan.
"I d-don't know, m-my lady," he stuttered.
The helm had a mind of its own now, wrenching to and fro despite Asha's efforts. "You!" she pointed to a soldier retching over the side. "Tighten those ropes." Asha squinted—something was emerging through the haze. They were mountain peaks. "Crow report!"
"Land in two miles!" A voice shouted from above.
"Come on, come on," she muttered, her fingernails digging into the wood of the helm, splinters sliding under her fingernails as she struggled to control their course.
Lightening flashed, and for an instant, Asha saw a massive spear of flesh reaching out of the sea. The crew gasped.
"Lord save us!" Devan gasped. "What was that!?"
No, Asha thought. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't be a—
Lightening flashed again, and they saw the spear dangling over the bough of the ship. Its surface was grey and slimy and covered in serrated rings. It twisted slow over their heads. No, Asha thought. It's not a spear. It's a tentacle.
"KRAKEN!" the sailor from the crow's nest screamed. The tentacle smashed through the mainmast, and the sailor, sails and ropes went toppling down with a crash. The ship rocked violently, and Asha had to use every muscle in her body to hold onto the helm. Devan's had slammed into the deck, knocking him out, and he began to slip towards the railing. Asha twisted the helm and steadied ship, just before he fell overboard.
"Man the harpoon bow!" Asha shouted, but her crew was in shambles—passed out on deck, trapped beneath wreckage, dangling from ropes.
"Oh no!" a voice shouted from the mizzenmast. Lightening flashed, and Asha saw a second tentacle slithering up the side of Wylla's Defiance and straight towards her. She dived out of its path and looked back to see the helm crack and shatter beneath the slimy, sucking monstrosity. More tentacles were rising on either side of the ship. Whatever they belonged to, it was titanic and could pull them under within seconds.
One of the soldier's had drawn his blade and was lunging towards the tentacle on the deck. He stabbed the weapon deep into the beast's flesh. It flinched briefly, and then quickly snatched the soldier and raised it into the air. "Ahhh!" the man screaming. "It's crushing me! It's—" His torso contracted with a sickening crunch, as gore burst from his neck and legs.
Asha turned to the harpoon at the front of the ship. It's our only hope. She bolted forward, weaving beneath falling wood and coils of rope. Something enormous was rising from the starboard side. Asha grabbed the crossbar and pivoted the harpoon bow towards it. Gallons of water poured of a slowly climbing plateau of flesh and bone. The displaced sea crashed harshly against the hull, caused Asha's picture of the world to blur and spin. She heard a deafening crack, and from the corner of her eye saw another mast collapse into across the deck.
Keep it together, she scolded herself. You are Ironborn. She twisted the harpoon, drawing its tip over her target. Another tentacle passed within a foot of where she stood. Asha tensed but did not flee. "Hold," she said under her breath. "Hold." When the tentacle had finally passed, she saw two monstrous eyeballs staring at her from the black sea. They were bright blue and surrounded by a face of rotting flesh. "Now!" She snapped her foot down on the trigger of the harpoon, and the bow flew forward with a sharp twang. A second later, the spear landed through the right eye of the kraken. It recoiled, squeezing the eye shut. But it did not slip beneath the waves. Instead, it produced yet another tentacle from the deep, raised it high into the sky, and brought it down hard across the bough of the ship.
An explosion of crashing and splashing and screaming filled Asha's head, and then everything went black.
…
Asha woke shivering. She felt wood pressing up against her palms and cheek, and a sharp point jabbing into her ribs.
"You!" a man barked above her. "Up!"
Asha groaned, her eyes opening to the harsh light of morning. She could hear gulls cawing and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. The shore, she realised with a jolt. I'm on land.
"I said up!" the point dug deeper, and she winced in pain.
Her eyes opened fully, and the world slowly came into focus. The first thing she noticed was that the cracked wooden boards beneath her were not rocking or bouncing; they were as still as stone. She turned her head to look at her new friend. The man was barrel-chested with a thick neck and full beard of dark, wiry hair. His face was covered in white markings that resembled a skull. He wore a seal skin cloak and held an ornately carved and generously oiled spear.
"Who is she?" another voice asked from out of sight. The accent sounded like a cross between a northman and the wildlings Asha had encountered at Eastwatch. "Lorathi?"
The closer man shook his head. "This one is Ironborn. Look at her boots."
"Ironborn?" the other man asked, stepping into view. "Squids don't come this far north?" This second man looked much like the first, except his hair was greyer and the white on his face was painted in a slightly different pattern. "Why is she in chains?
"I don't know, but we'll find out. Let's take her to the king." He reached down, grabbed Asha by the scruff of the neck, and lifted her onto her feet as though she were a child. Every muscle in her body screamed in pain. "Walk," the man said firmly, pointing.
Asha obeyed, stepping off the chunk of wood that had once been the bough of Wylla's Defiance and onto the sandy beach around them. Now that she was upright, she noticed that she was at least a foot taller than both of men. More chunks of wood bumped along the shoreline.
"Were there any other survivors?" she asked absently, but the men ignored her.
Sharp stone and broken shells pressed into Asha's water-logged boots, biting the soles of her feet. But she was too numb to care.
Ahead of the trio rose a line of trees, and beyond that, a series of stony hills and rising cliffs. Asha could see tall forts built into the sides of the cliffs, with many banners fluttering from their walls.
"Where are we going?" she mumbled to no one in particular.
"No more talking," one of the men growled. "Just walking."
As they entered the forest, Asha saw two more men inspecting a large tree that seemed to have been felled by the storm. Later, they passed a group of six walking in the other direction. They had wiry mutton chops along their cheeks, and from a distance, Asha took them for more men. But as they got closer, she realised they were women, with thick arms and large breasts swinging beneath their cloaks. They glanced up at Asha with suspicious, deep-set eyes, clutching their nets and fishing poles tightly. Asha felt the back of her breeches for the wooden stake, but it was long gone.
Eventually, the trio reached a series of stone steps leading high into the hills. They climbed for the better part of an hour, Asha's ankle chains clinking as they went. Many strange statues greeted them along the trail. Asha saw a carving of a sea lion with a spiral on its chest. Another statue bore a likeness to a narwhal bursting from the sea, its teeth filed into sharp points. Another statue showed a series of eels knotted together. They passed figures of giant snails and butterflies and clams, goats with wings, and squat naked warriors brandishing clubs, swords, axes and even bones. The cliff face was pocked with openings, and every now and then, Asha would catch deep-set eyes peering out at her from the darkness.
Finally, they reached the tops of the stairs, which was marked by two shaggy stone unicorns standing on their hind legs, kicking towards one another. Asha was dizzy and gasping for breath. Her two captors looked bored. Beyond, stood a large wooden hall perched high upon a slab of stone carved with runes that Asha did not recognise. Behind the building was an enormous heart tree with two large eyes and a wide mouth carved into the trunk. Sap poured from the openings, making it appear as though the face was weeping. Asha shivered and not from the wind. Two muscular guards in shaggy coats leaned on spears at the entrance to the hall. When they saw the trio, they turned and shoved open the thick double doors.
Inside, thirty or so squat men and women sat cross-legged in a circle. Their faces all bore different patterns of white paint and their hair was braided with gull feathers. They were deep in discussion but fell silent when they saw Asha. At the far end of the hall sat a boy of seven or eight upon a plain stone chair. An obsidian crown rested over his long brown hair, and his face was daubed with yellow and orange. On one side of the boy stood an older woman with shaggy brown hair. On the other side stood a man with a weathered face and a greying beard. These two were noticeably taller and leaner than the rest of the adults in the room, and they bore no face paint, though the man had what looked like an onion stitched upon his tunic. At the foot of the throne slumbered the largest wolf Asha had ever seen.
What fresh madness is the this? she groaned inwardly.
Asha's captors bowed low on either side of her. "Your grace," one said. "We found this woman washed up upon the Flint Shore. She came from the ship that capsized in the Bloody Bay. I think she is Ironborn."
"Ironborn?" the boy repeated in a thick northern accent. "I hate the Ironborn. They burned my home." The wolf rose then, and began stalking towards Asha, its fangs bared. Some of the other attendees is the hall shuffled nervously out of the beast's path.
A brown-haired boy with a pet direwolf, Asha thought. It couldn't be. He was dead. She had seen his burned body hanging from the gate of Winterfell.
"This ship," the greying man beside the boy king interjected. "What banners did it fly?"
Her captors thought for a moment, as the great wolf paced back and forth across the shaggy carpet in the centre of the hall. "I think it was an elk," one said at last. "Covered in flames."
"Could it have been a stag?" the greying man probed. Asha was surprised by how closely his voice resembled a King's Landing accent.
"Yes, it could have," the captor replied. The greying man leaned down and whispered something into the boy king's ear.
The boy nodded and clicked his fingers. "Shaggydog, to me." The direwolf turned and returned to his place at the foot of the throne.
"Prisoner," the greying man said, addressing Asha. "You stand in Driftwood Hall, the seat of House Stane and acting court of Rickon Stark, Chief Hunter of the Stoneborn and King in the North."
This is definitely a dream, Asha decided. Any moment, I am going to awaken in my cell in Eastwatch.
"Tell the court," the greying man continued, "what is your name, and why have you come to Skagos?"
"My name…" Asha said in a croaky voice. She paused, wondering whether she should make something up, but no plausible explanation came to mind, so she settled for the truth: "My name is Asha Greyjoy. And yes, it's true—I am Ironborn. But I was taken prisoner by Stannis Baratheon at Deepwood Motte. And then taken prisoner again by Lord Jon Snow at Winterfell."
"Jon?" the boy repeated curiously.
"Who holds Winterfell?" a female Skag inquired.
"Stannis does," Asha replied, "or did, last I heard. But they say dead things are marching across the North—wights and worse. They say the Wall has fallen."
Gasps issued from several members of the court.
"I was ordered to captain a ship to Hardhome," Asha continued, "to deliver a letter to Lord Snow from his half-sister Arya Stark."
"Arya's alive?" the boy asked, eyes glistening.
Asha nodded. "But our ship was caught by a storm and that's how I ended up here." She decided to leave out the incident with the undead kraken, if it even happened.
The doors creaked open behind her, and she turned to see two more Skag men dragging a lanky boy between them. The steward was as white as a ghost and webs of ice were clinging to his hair.
"Your grace," one of the captors called, "we found this one clinging to a mast out in the surf."
The greying man's eyes opened wide. "Devan!" he cried. "Is that you?"
Devan opened his eyes and offered the faintest smile. "Father…"
The greying man dashed across the hall and wrapped the shivering steward in his arms.
The boy king named Rickon Stark stood up from his throne. "Alrigh, Ser Davos," he said, running his hand through the direwolf's fur. "It's time. Ready the ships. Gather the unicorns. We sail on the morrow."