On Old Wyk, stood a hill. And on the crown of the hill four-and-forty monstrous stone ribs rose from the earth like the trunks of giant pale sentinels. All Ironborn children were told the tale of Nagga, the Grey King and the old Kings of the Ironborn. From Urron Greyiron until the last of the Kings, Harren the Black, the builder of Harrenhal, died during the conquest of Aegon the Conqueror.
As children, Asha and Theon's mother taught them of Nagga. Nagga was the first sea dragon, the mightiest ever to rise from the waves. She fed on krakens and drowned entire islands in her wrath.
Legends told them of the Grey King, and how he slew Nagga, after which the Drowned God turned the sea dragon's bones so that men might never cease to wonder at the courage of the first of kings.
From these bones was made the Grey King's Hall. Nagga's ribs became the beams and pillars of his longhall, just as her jaws became his throne. The hall had been warmed by Nagga's living fire, which the Grey King had made his thrall. On its walls hung beautiful tapestries woven from silver seaweed. The Grey King's warriors had feasted on the bounty of the sea at a table in the shape of a giant starfish, whilst seated upon thrones carved from mother-of-pearl.
This was back in the days of the Age of Heroes. For a thousand years and seven, the Grey King reigned on the site of Nagga's Hill, Asha recalled. It was here he took his mermaid wife and planned his wars against the Storm God. From here he ruled both stone and salt, wearing robes of woven seaweed and a tall pale crown made from Nagga's teeth.
The hill held barely a hint of its former glory. For the Storm God drowned Nagga's fire after the Grey King's death. After that, the chairs and tapestries had been stolen, and the roof and walls had rotted away. Even the Grey King's great throne of fangs had been swallowed up by the sea. Or so the story went.
Only Nagga's bones endured to remind the Ironborn of all the wonder that had been. Every Kingsmoot since then had been held on Nagga's Hill, including that of Asha's father, Balon Greyjoy. It was in this very spot the Iron Islanders gathered to elect and crown their new King, or Queen, if Asha got her way.
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Nine wide steps had been weathered into the stony hilltop. Behind, rose the hills of Old Wyk, with the mountains in the distance. The sun was rising in the sky, illuminating it with various shades of orange, as colourful as the hundreds of banners flapping in the wind. Upon the banners there were a multitude of sigils belonging to the different Houses of the Ironborn. Asha saw the green trees of Orkwood, the silver fish of Botley, and the bloody moons of Wynch. Everywhere, different shapes filled the landscape, war-horns, scythes and golden krakens.
That morning the waves along the shore of Old Wyk were larger than usual. They crashed along the shore, sending plumes of spray into the cold air while pummelling the longships moored along the coastline. Asha wondered if it was an omen from the drowned god.
Amongst the thrall, Asha spotted her uncle Aeron. A tall, thin figure with fierce black eyes and a beak of a nose. Also known as the Damphair, he was garbed in rough-spun wool robes dyed in the green, grey, and blue of the Drowned God.
To start the proceedings was a clanging and clattering of driftwood cudgels and kettledrums. A warhorn bellowed, and then another joined it. The sound was deafening.
The common folk were crowded together in a crescent around the base of the knoll, with the women and children at the rear. The captains and the Kings, in waiting made their way up the slopes. Asha climbed to join the edge of the crowd and watched as the events unfolded. She would not put her name forward too early, as it was certain those who did would not be elected.
When Aeron raised his bony hands, the cudgels, the kettledrums and the war-horns fell silent, and all the voices stilled. Only the sound of the waves pounding the longboats remained, a roar no man could still.
"We were born from the sea, and to the sea, we all return," Aeron began. "The Storm God in his wrath plucked Balon from his castle and cast him down, yet now he feasts beneath the waves in the Drowned God's watery halls." He lifted his eyes to the sky and held his arms out. "Balon is dead! The iron king is dead!"
"The king is dead!"
"Yet what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger! Balon has fallen, Balon my brother, who honoured the Old Way and paid the iron price. Balon the Brave, Balon the Blessed, Balon Twice-Crowned, who won us back our freedoms and our god. Balon is dead … but an iron king shall rise again, to sit upon the Seastone Chair and rule the isles."
"A king shall rise! He shall rise!"
"He shall. He must." Aeron's voice thundered like the waves. "But who? Who shall sit in Balon's place? Who shall rule these holy isles? Is he here among us now?" The priest spread his hands wide and looked to the heavens. "Who shall be king over us?"
The crowd stirred, however, no one pushed forward to claim the Seastone Chair. Anyone who had true desires for the crown would wait and view the offerings of their fellow claimants. Other than the sound of waves and a rather loud seagull, Nagga's Hill fell silent.
"The Ironborn must have a king." Aeron broke the silence while looking all around him. "I ask again. Who shall be king over us?"
"I will," came a man's voice.
It was followed by a cry of "Gylbert! Gylbert King!"
The captains gave way leaving a path to let the claimant and his champions ascend the hill to stand at Aeron's side. This would-be king was a tall, lord with a chiselled square jaw shaved clean. His three champions followed two steps below him, bearing his sword, shield and banner. When they stopped, one unfurled his banner, a black longship against a setting sun.
"I am Gylbert Farwynd, Lord of the Lonely Light."
Asha knew little of the Farwynds, Lords of the Lonely Light, only that they occupied the westernmost shores of Great Wyk and a few scattered rocks beyond. The lands could scarcely support a single household.
Asha had to give him some credit, he told a marvellous tale. One of the lands beyond the Sunset Sea, ones without winter nor death. It all sounded a bit too far-fetched for Asha's taste. However, she continued to listen while Lord Farwynd stated his pledge and offerings.
"Make me your king, and I shall lead you there. We will build ten thousand ships as Nymeria once did and take sail with all our people to the land beyond the sunset. There every man shall be a king and every wife a queen."
The offerings his men brought to the Kingsmoot included sealskins and walrus tusks, arm rings made of whalebone, and war horns banded in bronze.
The captains looked upon the gifts and turned away. A sign Lord Farwynd would not be chosen to be King, for only champions and some of the Farwynds chanted.
Soon the cries of "Gylbert! Gylbert King!" faded away.
Gylbert Farwynd would not be King of the Ironborn.
The hill was silent, except for a gull screaming above them, and landing upon one of Nagga's ribs as the Lord Farwynd made his way back down the hill. Asha's uncle stepped forward.
"I ask again. Who shall be king over us?"
"Me!" another deep voice called out, and the crowd parted to let him pass.
The man was carried up the hill on a driftwood chair. The man was at least twenty stones heavy, ninety years old, and cloaked in a white bearskin with matching hair and beard. The men who carried him, Asha knew to be his grandsons and despite them being strong of body, they struggled with his weight. Upon reaching the Grey King's Hall they set him down, and three remained with him as his champions, as was custom.
"Aye, me! Why not? Who better? I am Erik Ironmaker, for those who's blind. Erik the Just. Erik Anvil-Breaker. Show them my hammer, Thormor."
One of his champions lifted the hammer in the air for all to see. "I can't count how many hands I've smashed to pulp with that hammer," Erik said, "but might be some thief could tell you. I can't say how many heads I've crushed against my anvil either, but there are some widows who could. I could tell you all the deeds I've done in battle, but I'm eight-and-eighty and won't live long enough to finish. If old is wise, no one is wiser than me. If big is strong, no one's stronger. Do you want a king with heirs? I've more than I can count. King Erik, aye, I like the sound o' that. Come, say it with me. ERIK! ERIK ANVIL-BREAKER! ERIK KING!"
Asha rolled her eyes, while his grandsons took up the cry. Their sons bore chests full of gifts and proof of offerings. They unloaded them at the bottom of the stone steps, and a torrent of silver, bronze, and steel spilt forth; there were arm rings, collars, daggers, dirks, and axes. Some of the captains snatched up the choicest items and added their voices to the calls for Erik.
By this point, Asha had had enough. She wasn't to throw her lot in just yet, for she wanted to see what Victarion would add. But she couldn't help but stop the madness. The man could not walk. How could he be King without the strength of his legs? After all, the Ironborn valued strength above all.
"ERIK! Erik stand up." Asha called out, as the men parted to let her through.
Silence fell upon Nagga's Hill. Erik stared down at Asha. "Girl. Thrice-damned girl. What did you say?"
"Stand up, Erik! Stand up and I'll shout your name with all the rest. Stand up and I'll be the first to follow you. You want a crown, aye. Stand up and take it."
Euron snickered while Erik glared at him. His hands tightened around the arms of his driftwood throne, trembling as he did so. His face turned multiple shades of red and purple, and a thick blue vein pulsed on his neck as he struggled to rise, and inevitably failed, just as Asha knew he would. Euron laughed louder and her point was proven. Erik hung his head low, he sagged in the chair, which aged him fifty years in the blink of an eye. His failure and ridicule were complete, therefore, his grandsons carried him back down the hill.
"Who shall rule the Ironborn?" Aeron called again. "Who shall be king over us?"
Men looked to one another; some at Euron, others at Victarion, and a few at Asha. "Make your claim, Victarion," Damphair called. "Let us have done with this mummer's farce."
"When I am ready."
The next champion came forth. Another old man called Drumm, though not so old as Erik. He was able enough to climb the hill unaided, and on his hip rode was the Valyrian steel sword, Red Rain His champions were his sons Denys and Donnel, and Andrik the Unsmiling, an impressive giant of a man, which spoke well of the Drumm that such a man would stand for him. However, the Drumm had a huge hurdle to overcome; he was no Kraken. A point that he immediately addressed.
"Where is it written that our king must be a Kraken? What right has Pyke to rule us? Great Wyk is the largest isle, Harlaw the richest, Old Wyk the most holy. When the black line was consumed by dragon fire, the Ironborn gave the primacy to Vickon Greyjoy, aye … but as lord, not king."
Shouts of approval filled the air, but they dwindled as the old man told of the glory of the Drumms. A tale dull enough to send them all to sleep. If being crowned King of the Iron Islands was to be won by boring them to death, the Drumm would win without contest.
Next came Drumm's offerings. The chests were thrown open and a few bronze goblets rolled out. No one was interested in his gifts, and the cries of "Drumm! Drumm! Dunstan King!" died away.
With no suitable champion thus far, Aeron made his plea once more. "Who shall be king over us? Nine sons were born from the loins of Quellon Greyjoy. One was mightier than all the rest and knew no fear."
When Asha saw Aeron look at Victarion, she knew who her uncle was supporting. Of course, it was no surprise, for she was a mere woman in the eyes of the Damphair, who believed a cock was a requirement to rule the Iron Islands and teets and a cunt would hinder them.
Victarion nodded, and the captains parted to allow him to climb the steps.
When he reached the top of the steps, he knelt and bowed his head. "Brother, give me a blessing," Aeron uncorked his waterskin and poured seawater down upon his brow. "What is dead can never die."
Victarion responded with the old words, "but rises again, harder and stronger."
Victarion rose and his champions stood beneath him; Ralf the Limper, Red Ralf Stonehouse, and Nute the Barber. Stonehouse carried the Greyjoy banner; the golden kraken on a black field. When it unfurled, the captains shouted out Victarion's name. It was only when they quieted, did he speak.
"You all know me. If you want sweet words, look elsewhere. I have no singer's tongue. I have an axe, and I have these." He raised his hands to show them. "I was a loyal brother. When Balon was wed, it was me he sent to Harlaw to bring him back his bride. I led his longships into many a battle, and never lost but one. The first time Balon took a crown, I sailed into Lannisport to singe the lion's tail. Now it is time to cut it. All you'll get from me is more of what you got from Balon. That's all I have to say."
"VICTARION! VICTARION! VICTARION KING!" His champions chanted, spilling out his chests, filled with silver, gold, and gems, a wealth of plunder. Captains scrambled to seize the prized pieces, shouting as they did so. "VICTARION! VICTARION! VICTARION KING!"
Asha had had enough of the mummer's farce. So she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, sharp and shrill to cut through the ruckus like a knife through butter.
"Nuncle! Nuncle!" She picked up a twisted golden collar and bounded up the steps. "I thank you for bringing such gifts to my queensmoot, Nuncle. But you need not have worn so much armour. I promise not to hurt you." Asha turned to face the captains. "There's no one braver than my nuncle, no one stronger, no one fiercer in a fight. And he counts to ten as quick as any man, I have seen him do it … though when he needs to go to twenty he takes off his boots." Asha japed, and they whooped along. "He has no sons, though. His wives keep dying. The Crow's Eye is his elder and has a better claim …"
"He does!" the Red Oarsman called out from below.
"Ah, but my claim is better still." Asha set the collar on her head at a jaunty angle. "Balon's brother cannot come before Balon's son!"
"Where is Balon's son? All I see is Balon's little daughter!" One man asked.
Asha pulled Theon's letter from her pocket. "Theon wishes for me to lead the Ironborn." Asha was careful with her words. Despite his promise to support Asha as Queen, she knew nothing of the dragon Prince and even less of the man her brother had become.
"A turncoat supporting the daughter to be Queen. That sounds about right." Ralf-the-limper called out. "What good is a daughter? We need a King not a pair of teets?"
Asha slipped a hand beneath her jerkin. "Oho! What's this? Shall I show you? Some of you have not seen one since they weaned you. Teats on a king are a terrible thing, is that the song? Ralf, you have me, I am a woman … though not an old woman like you. Ralf the Limper … shouldn't that be Ralf the Limp?" Asha drew a dirk from between her breasts. "I'm a mother too, and here's my suckling babe!" She held it aloft. "And here, my champions."
Qarl the Maid, Tristifer Botley, and the knight Ser Harras Harlaw stood below her. "My uncle said you know him. You know me too—"
"I want to know you better!" someone called out.
"Go home and know your wife. My uncle says he'll give you more of what my father gave you. Well, what was that? Gold and glory, some will say. Freedom, is ever sweet. Aye, it's so, he promised us that … but died before he could fulfil his vow. All it would have led us to were more widows. How many of you had your homes put to the torch when Robert came? How many had daughters raped and despoiled? Burnt towns and broken castles, my father gave you that. Defeat was what he gave you. Nuncle here will give you more. Not me."
"What will you give us?" asked Lucas Codd. "Knitting?"
"Aye, Lucas. I'll knit us all a kingdom." She held Theon's letter above her head. "My brother has thrown his lot in with the Dragon Prince. One who intends to take back the Iron Throne and guarantee us our freedom."
"Ah, so we are to trust turncoats, wolves, and dragons? Who is this so-called dragon Prince?" Victarion objected. "
Before she had the chance to respond, a loud horn, with a cry unlike any she'd heard before, rang out.
Everyone turned toward the origin of the sound. Asha saw it was one of Euron's mongrels blowing the damned thing. Only when Asha looked at the horn did she feel fear. The horn was shiny black and twisted, and taller than a man. Bands of red gold and dark steel encircled it, incised with ancient Valyrian glyphs that seemed to glow redly as the sound swelled.
The sound was terrible; painful and angry, which hurt the ears. So much so that Asha covered hers. She watched as the cheeks of the horn-blower puffed out, looking ready to burst. The glyphs burned ever more brightly. On and on and on the sound went, and just as it seemed the sound would never end, then it did.
The horn-blower's breath failed. He staggered and would have fallen if it weren't for Orkwood of Orkmont catching him, whilst Left-Hand Lucas Codd took the black horn from his hands. A wisp of smoke was rising from the horn, and Asha saw blood and blisters upon the lips of the man who'd sounded it.
Euron climbed the hill, with all eyes upon him. Asha's champions stepped aside, and Victarion's as well. The Crow's Eye stopped atop the steps, at the doors of the Grey King's Hall, and turned his smiling eye upon the captains and the kings.
"IRONMEN," said Euron Greyjoy, "you have heard my horn. Now hear my words. I am Balon's brother, Quellon's eldest living son. Lord Vickon's blood is in my veins and the blood of the Old Kraken. Yet I have sailed farther than any of them. Only one living kraken has never known defeat. Only one has never bent his knee. Only one has sailed to Asshai by the Shadow and seen wonders and terrors beyond imagining …"
"If you liked the Shadow so well, go back there," called out Qarl the Maid.
Euron ignored him, instead, he continued with his tale. "My little brother would start Balon's war and lose. My sweet niece would give us freedom." His blue lips twisted in a mocking smile. "Asha prefers victory to be handed to her by an unknown dragon Prince. Victarion wants a kingdom, not a few scant yards of earth. From me, you shall have a kingdom. Why have a dragon Prince without a dragon, sat afar on the Iron Throne, when instead you can have dragons?"
"Crow's Eye, you call me. Well, who has a keener eye than the crow? After every battle, the crows come in their hundreds and their thousands to feast upon the fallen. A crow can espy death from afar. And I say that all of Westeros is dying. Those who follow me will feast until the end of their days.
"We are the Ironborn, and once we were conquerors. Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard. My brother would have you be content with the cold and dismal north, my niece with even less … but I shall give you Lannisport. Highgarden. The Arbor. Oldtown. The Riverlands and the Reach, the Kingswood and the rainwood, Dorne and the marches, the Mountains of the Moon and the Vale of Arryn, Tarth and the Stepstones. I say we take it all! I say we take Westeros. All for the greater glory of our Drowned God, to be sure."
"Crow's Eye, did you leave your wits at Asshai? We cannot hold win the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, and dragons are long gone from the world."
"Why, it has been done before. Did Balon teach his girl so little of the ways of war? Victarion, our brother's daughter has never heard of Aegon the Conqueror, it would seem."
"Aegon?" Victarion crossed his arms. "What has the Conqueror to do with us?"
"I know as much of war as you do, Crow's Eye. Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons. Where do you plan to find such creatures? Even if you were able to find living dragons, you know as well as I, only those with dragon blood can control such beasts. Only I can promise a Targaryen..."
"And so shall we," Euron Greyjoy cut her off. "That horn you heard I found amongst the smoking ruins that were Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me. You heard its call and felt its power. It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and Valyrian steel graven with enchantments. The dragonlords of old sounded such horns, before the Doom devoured them. With this horn, ironmen, I can bind dragons to my will."
"A horn to bind goats to your will would be of more use, Crow's Eye. I'll say it once more, there are no more dragons."
"Again, girl, you are mistaken. There are three, and I know where to find them. Surely that is worth a driftwood crown."
"EURON! EURON! CROW'S EYE! EURON!"
The mutes and mongrels from the Silence threw open Euron's chests and spilled out his gifts.
"EURON! EURON! EURON!" Their cries became a roar. "EURON! EURON! CROW'S EYE! EURON KING!"
Asha ran her fingers over Theon's letter of warning in her pocket. First a dragon Prince and now the return of dragons. The world was about to change, and Asha would need to consider her options. But right now, she and her supporters were in danger, and they were her responsibility. She needed to do right by them, but first she needed to leave Old Wyk, then seek shelter to decide their future.
