It was known the world over that the sea, no matter where she may lay, was a cruel mistress. The Drowned God was her vengeful husband the Iron Islands would add. And the two of them together made for a couple with a very fucked up sense of humor was Asha Greyjoy's current thought to append to the two sayings.
She was the only child of Balon Greyjoy to remain on the Iron Islands after her father's attempt at declaring independence shortly after Robert's Rebellion. Her brothers Rodrik and Maron had died in the fighting that led back to Pyke while her brother Theon had been taken as a hostage to House Stark. Likely because Stark was the only one of the green lords Robert Baratheon could trust to simply keep him as ward and not attempt to use him in any kind of political games: instead simply lopping off his head if her father grew too big for his britches. Again.
Even now the loss stung Asha. Not because her brothers had been good to her, though she had gotten along reasonably well with Theon. That was admittedly mostly due to do with him being the only brother younger than her. No. The loss still stung because it had set back her father's dream of seeing the Ironborn return to glory. Of seeing a return to the Old Way.
For now though, she was consigned to trying to overcome not only the image of the Ironborn who'd been crushed down by the other six kingdoms in the uprising, but the image of a woman: a thing to stay at the hearth and pick up a blade only when it came time to defend her babes.
Asha had known from the time her father told her that she was the only one left who could carry on the pride of House Greyjoy that she would not willingly submit herself to that kind of life. As she had gained in martial skill, she had taken to answering any arse who thought himself clever by asking what her husband thought of her learning to fight that he approved before showing them her favorite axe and telling them he was listening if they wanted to raise a stink about it. When she took a beautifully practical dagger off the Lyseni captain who attempted to prevent her from paying the iron price for his goods, she took to calling it her babe and so kept it close to her chest whether inside or outside her armor.
And now of course, despite her years honed at and worshipping him she was brought to reflect on the warped sense of humor the Drowned God and his wife the Sea had in common.
It had started simply enough of course. Near the North-Western coast of Westeros and the Iron Islands in particular, fog was a fairly common occurrence. Thick fog, while relatively rarer, was still not exactly something to begin worrying about. Not until it became so thick that it swallowed sound as well as sight anyway. But Asha hadn't fought and clawed her way to captainship of The Black Wind by worrying.
"Man overboard off the port bow!" Droopeye Dale called to the ship at large, finger pointing somewhere over the ship's left side in the gently lapping water.
The crewman who served as the Wind's lookout had some of the most deep set eyes Asha had ever known a person to possess. Almost entirely black like the hair on his head, when he squinted it looked as though his brows would swallow his eyes whole. But despite the odd appearance he sometimes made, Asha had trusted him to sail her through storm and battle alike. And he in turn had proven her faith in him well placed each time.
Asha came forward, leaving the careful steering of the ship to Hagen the Horn's crimson-haired daughter: Hirda. She came to look over the side of the ship as they cautiously made their way through the misty, almost frozen air. The water in the air clung to her short cropped brown hair as she caught sight of the body in the water Dale had noticed. She also observed, before briefly turning her head to give her orders, that there also appeared to be a flag wrapped around his torso.
"Douse the sail!" She barked, gratified to hear the order relayed to those who might not have heard her and the ropes making their sawing noises as the ship began to slow in the water.
"Cromm! Rook! Rope him in!" She ordered, her voice barely overpowering the fog surrounding them as the body drifted closer and closer to the hull. The two men jumped to obey her command, tossing the ropes over the side to try and loop them through one of his limbs. Cromm managed to get what appeared to be his right arm while Rook was lucky enough that his feet were so close together as to let him get both ankles in one go. The two pulled him in steadily and swiftly, taking care once his body was up against the ship's hull.
As they got the body up to the railing, they tossed the limp figure onto the deck, strange black wrapping and all. She commanded the men to unroll the body, see what exactly he'd been floating in. Asha and her free crew members took hold at the edge they could feel with their hands. She thought to herself briefly that it felt like a flag or a well-crafted sail before they pulled swiftly. And then, without warning or fanfare, the black haired boy was dumped unceremoniously onto the deck like the flopping yet limp catch of the day. As the picture upon the flag became clear, the entirety of the crew became suddenly hushed while Asha's blood started pounding in her ears.
'It's not possible.' She thought to herself, her eyes telling her that the blood red eye beneath the crown supported by two crows that made her Nuncle Euron infamous was staring back at her.
There were frenzied whispers rushing along the crew now, like an upwelling of the tide at dawn. Asha merely needed to glare to cow them all into silence again. They knew better than to anger their captain despite her relatively few six and twenty namedays.
"Cromm, fetch some of the irons. Bind him to the mast." She commanded at a normal volume.
"The rest of you, back to work getting us out of this damn fog!" She shouted for the rest to hear.
"Aye Captain!" Was answered from every hand on deck. As Cromm fetched the irons from the hold, Asha took to one knee in an effort to obtain a closer look at the mysterious boy.
He wasn't exactly bad looking to her eye. A fair amount of hair had grown in on the top and front of his head, making him look like a boy who'd just discovered that his hair both normal and facial could grow out and was trying to see what the limit was. His fair skin that was showing hints of darkening and lean, wiry build that seemed suited to combat would say he was a hedge knight if it wasn't for the lack of any kind of scarring on his body that she could see.
Well, that wasn't quite true. He did have some strange sort of whitened lines that almost appeared to form visual cracks and fissures in his otherwise unmarked left arm. Her left hand came out to push him onto his back in a prone position from the previous pose on his right shoulder and accompanying side he'd occupied. As she took in his entire body and facial features, she couldn't help but feel like she had seen him somewhere before.
As she pondered his familiarity, Cromm returned with the chains. The gruff man hauled the boy toward the mast, placing his arms backward so that he could fasten the shackles behind the mast.
Asha nodded her approval before gesturing up at the bow: telling him to get back with assisting Droopeye Dale again. Cromm nodded his head once before striding away, his broad shoulders squared as he moved. Asha returned to the helm, relieving Hirda of her post before instructing her to watch the prisoner carefully.
It was late afternoon when they finally managed to escape the fog, the crew gladly setting a course for Pyke. Soon after they started sailing toward her home, Hirda was calling for her.
"Captain!" her lyrical voice called from the mast. "Prisoner's stirring!"
Asha's ocean blue eyes focused at the news. She hadn't managed to parse out what could've possibly transpired for this strange sellsword (for what hedge knight had so little armor that he could float in the water?) having done something to her Nuncle Euron. But she intended to find out. She briefly clapped a hand on Hirda's right shoulder and gave a gentle push toward the steering column as she turned to look at the newly acquired prisoner.
When she did, she could feel a small whoosh of surprised breath leave her mouth unheard by anyone nearby.
As she looked down at the black haired, grey eyed boy before her she had briefly flashed back to the day the six kingdoms had stormed Pyke under the leadership of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. She could see in particular the Lord of House Stark as he walked away with her little brother. This boy, whoever he was: he was an almost dead ringer for a younger and fitter Lord Stark. She didn't recall the hurried steps she took to bring herself in front of him. Nor did she remember the urgency of her hand gripping the bottom of his jaw menacingly as she leaned in close.
"Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?!" She hissed, eyes attempting to bore into his grey orbs. He looked back at her passively, giving no indication of fear, defiance, anger or sadness. His face may have well been a blank sheet of slate for all the emotion it showed.
She lightly pulled his head closer before slamming it back onto the mast again. She needed to know if the Starks had taken the life of another Greyjoy. She stared at him, willing him to show some sign that he knew where he was and what was happening.
"You Starks may be grass munchers, but I never thought you had addled wits too." She remarked with a light tone of disgust as she began to stand up.
His eyes tracked her as she stood again, his arms still limp. As his head began to raise to look at her, she saw the moment a spark of defiance entered his gaze. His expression didn't change save for a certain light in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
"How did you come to be at the mercy of the Drowned God, little wolfling?" She asked, putting the emphasis of her mocking lilt on wolfling. Needling him had already drawn one reaction. Perhaps pushing him further would provoke another.
"Likely the same as any other. I was on a ship. Then I wasn't." He answered. Asha resisted the urge to punch him.
Their eyes met again, ocean blue silently attempting to beat down storm grey which just as obstinately refused to submit. Very slowly and while maintaining unblinking eye contact with him Asha brought her left hand to the right hand bound behind him to the mast. Taking his thumb firmly in her grip, she started to twist. The bottom of his right eye twitched as he remained silent. She twisted further. A minor groan she barely heard escaped his throat. Abruptly, she popped the finger dislocating it in an instant.
He emitted a louder groan that time but still he maintained eye contact with her. Asha couldn't help the small gleam of approval that entered her eye. It was rare as it was to encounter a prisoner who was willing to mouth off to her, let alone one who had the will and fortitude to maintain a staring contest as she punished him for his hubris.
"Where did you get the flag?" She asked carefully as her right hand gestured to her nuncle's foreboding cloth.
The black haired boy looked over at it, visible surprise in his eyes and slightly open mouth.
"Well I'll be. Guess I got tangled up in it when the ship sank." He reflected thoughtfully.
Asha's eyes and tone sharpened once more.
"Sank? How could the Silence have sunken?" She asked, left hand continuing to hover over the dislocated finger of his left hand.
He looked back at her again, eyes cautious and slightly narrowed in contemplation now.
"I don't think you'd believe me if I told you." He said quietly, leaning toward her as if to share a secret that was only for her ears. In response, she leaned in close enough to hiss in his ear.
"Try me green boy."
"There was a fire. In the chaos, the iron-born didn't pay attention until it was too late." He said back, closing his eyes as if trying to picture it in his head. She waited for him to continue.
"They tried to ambush our ship: two of them at first. They came from the front when the one behind lit up a ghostly looking flame." He narrated, his breath barely brushing the skin on the side of her face. Asha listened carefully, filing away the interesting trap her Nuncle had apparently used to drive potential victims into the jaws of his own private fleet. That raised some concerns for her considering he had been banished form the Iron Islands even before the Greyjoy Uprising for reasons neither her nuncle Victarion nor her father would discuss with her even now. If he had more men living somewhere with loyalty to him even now…
"The captain, the crew and I made a stand. Tried to stop them. But then that mad one-eyed bastard rammed us from behind." Black hair continued. Asha noticed that his grey eyes were open again, this time gazing into the distance as if trying to see the ship coming even now.
"Men on both sides went down with the Pride. But the Captain and I, we managed to take the other two ships with us. I made my way onto the one-eyed madman's ship, I fought him and his crew. The fire spread everywhere before I caught him off guard and tore his throat out. After that, I went into the water and you brought me out." He finished, eyes coming back to the present.
Asha stood again.
"You know little green wolf, you certainly know how to tell an entertaining tale." She remarked. She drew the sheathed dagger from inside her bodice. She squatted down by him again, letting him take in the dagger's razor edge as she slowly drew it out. The leather scabbard barely whispered over it leaving as she shone a bit of the sun in his eyes. She noticed he didn't try to squint in order to see when she did.
"But the thing of it is, it's simply that: a tale. And while tales might be good for my young babe here:" she brought the dagger closer, the point barely grazing his bottom lip. "If I have to listen to someone talk, I much prefer they not waste my time and just speak the plain truth. So I'll ask you one more time. How. Did. You. Get. Euron. Greyjoy's. Flag?" She asked, tapping the edge of the dagger on his lip with every word so he could be sure to listen.
His stormy eyes looked back at her with sincerity as he said the last thing she expected.
"I don't know who that is."
Asha Greyjoy was rarely one to be taken aback by anything whether it be a weapon, threat or ship pointed at her. This was one of those rare times. She'd thought that her nuncle Euron was an infamous raider much like her father and her nuncle Victarion were. That they were known widely enough on the mainland by the family name of Greyjoy so that the green lords could know who to watch when they left their castles to sail upon the water. She knew for a fact that even before being banished he'd raided and pillaged across the Narrow Sea and certainly earned his captainship.
Asha stabbed the dagger into the mast less than an inch from the right side of her captive's neck.
"Stop lying and tell me the truth!" She hissed angrily, blue eyes attempting to visually gouge out the black haired Stark's grey.
The Stark remained still as the dagger barely quivered in the wood under her furious grip.
"Which captain was he?" He asked, before correcting himself and asking a different question.
"Wait…he was the one-eyed madman wasn't he?" An incredulous expression filled his solemn Stark features. If it hadn't been such a serious situation, Asha would've laughed at the out of place emotion that shone from it as a lighthouse would a stormy night. "That was Theon's nuncle?"
Asha pulled the dagger from the mast, at last convinced that this green Stark relation had no knowledge of who Euron was even as he inadvertently revealed he knew her brother.
"Wouldn't have guessed it." He remarked absently.
"And why might that be Stark?" She asked him as she brought her young babe back into the sheath.
"First off, it's Snow. Not Stark. Second off, I'd call Theon Greyjoy many things but frightening would not be one of them." The self-proclaimed bastard answered. Asha however was parsing out what he meant about being a Snow instead of a Stark.
"You're a bastard Stark are you?" She remarked with an air of nonchalance that she didn't quite feel. She wouldn't have pegged the 'honorable' (mocking definitely intended) Lord Stark to have a bastard son. But there was no other explanation. He looked too much like the man to be anything but a direct relation and he was too young to have been of Lord Stark and her father's generation. This could serve as an interesting turn of events. If he was telling the truth, her family gained a servant with almost uncontestable martial prowess. And if he was lying, well…thralls lived and died on Pyke every day without the rest of the world noticing. And she couldn't say it would be a truly Old Way of seeking vengeance by making the child of your enemy your servant.
"You have a name wolfling?" She questioned.
"Jon." He said, the answer easily leaving his mouth. If this green boy didn't even know who her nuncle was, there was almost no way he actually knew anything about her people as a whole and so wouldn't be aware of their continued practice of thralldom.
"Hagen!" She called to her crew. Hagen came as soon as she called, giving a brief inclination of his head to indicate his listening to orders.
"Guard him." She instructed as she strode back toward the wheel of the ship. "I'd hate for our guest to leave us before I could show him the hospitality of House Greyjoy."
A/N: And here we are john, sumwhriblong. All up to date. All 22 chapters up! Chapter 23 will be out soon! :)