Margaery was feeling ill. Her stomach was roiling. The smells of the city were muted by the perfumes and many flowers in her chambers. Still, this morning, of all mornings, her insides wished to betray her. Sending portions of last night's supper down the privy was not a pleasant experience, but it would not delay her from the important tasks of the day.
After she dressed and prepared for the day, she was greeted by Ser Walder Yelshire. The knight from the Reach was not a pleasant-looking man. His head seemed too small for his body, and his sharp features not well-proportioned. Her brother had told her he was one of the fastest knights in the Reach and had recommended him for the Kingsguard.
"Your Grace." Walder inclined his head.
"Ser Walder, is the guard prepared for my excursion?"
"Yes, Your Grace. I've also taken the liberty to seed the area with some out-of-uniform Gold Cloaks as an additional precaution."
"Thank you. Let us hope that will not be necessary."
The wagons and the Tyrell guards were ready. They moved out of the Red Keep and into the city proper. The distance they traversed made the excursion somewhat dangerous, but Margaery put her faith in the guards. They traveled outward to the burnt regions of the city. Several of the smallfolk came out to watch the procession. When they arrived, Ser Walder rolled out the parchment and read the proclamation.
"By order of Queen Margaery, the rebuilding of the area burned by Stannis Baratheon will begin. Those who wish an honest day's work will have an honest day's pay. Moreover, any widows and children can congregate here and be given work cooking and providing food. They too will eat to their content. The Mother is merciful, and the Smith rewards labor. Come one, come all."
Margaery oversaw what was happening, more to be seen than anything else. She had already made arrangements for some carpenters and mason, those whom she had talked to beforehand, to come and begin work. Scribes took down names and assigned roles. Tools were presented as if by circumstance and chance; it was all prearranged. What was not prearranged were the numbers who showed up to work. Margaery hid a grin as many signed up and began working in teams to clear the rubble. Great pots filled with stew were set up, and watered wine was brought forward.
Safe, near Ser Walder, and several other guards, Margaery thanked the people for coming out and working. For rebuilding their city. She even embraced the old and infirm, little children, and widows. She would need to take a long bath and ensure that she didn't handle any food herself. Her Maester had taught her how disease oft multiplied amongst the less fortunate.
Some hours passed, and the 'sparrows' soon arrived to inspect what was happening. The lead one, the one Varys had said was the source of much of the concern over fanaticism, was approaching her. Lord Connington had proposed they do away with him, but Aegon thought that was unnecessary and unbecoming of the Crown, while Varys warned such public action would make things worse.
Spotting him, she approached. "Brothers of the Faith, have you come to observe the work of those who honor the Smith?"
"We have, child of the Seven. It is not often that one who wears a crown comes to a place like this."
Ser Walder stirred at the lack of a royal honorific, but Margaery signaled him to do nothing.
"All must do their part. I had heard such wretched stories of loss and want. I was always taught by my Septas that every individual counts. While a lady, or even a Queen, may have a different role to play than one who works with their hands, all must honor the Seven and work together for the good of all."
The man, several decades her elder, gave her a warm smile.
"It is good to see your piety. Given your evident desire to serve the Seven, I trust you intend to see that your husband accepts the Trial of Seven?"
Margaery blinked. "I confess you have me at a disadvantage. What Trial of Seven do you speak of?"
"Lady Myrcella Baratheon has written to Aegon Targaryen. She writes that the Seven have turned their back on the Targaryen dynasty when the Mad King was overthrown. Lady Myrcella wishes to honor the Gods and have the matter decided with minimal bloodshed."
Margaery grew uneasy. She knew of the crushing victory Myrcella had won in the Stormlands. The rumor of it had reached all corners of Westeros.
"I see. I will discuss it with the King, of course. I know little of matters of war, so I cannot say if such a thing is possible to hold with so many armies marching about. I fear Lord Stannis and his cruel faith of R'hllor still hunger to set this city alight, and my husband ever aims to protect the citizens of King's Landing."
The Sparrow nodded. "Aegon Targaryen should have the letter as well, but allow me to give you a copy."
Ser Walder took it from his hands, and Margaery read it over. It was well written, and offered overly generous terms to Aegon, even should he lose. It would be tempting, but she also sensed a trap. Battle was not certain, and there were fearsome knights under Lady Myrcella's banner. If it came to the Trial of Seven, she knew her brother Garlan would be participating and risking his life.
"Thank you… what was your name again?"
"I did not give it, nor will I. I am a sparrow; names mean nothing to us, only service to the Seven who are One. I think you have it in you to be a good Queen, Margaery of House Tyrell, but I also believe the house you have chained yourself to is not what the Seven intend to have rule over us."
The guards stiffened.
Again Margaery held them back. "I hope to remedy that belief. The Septons of the Starry Sept have proclaimed Aegon King under the will of the Seven, as has our High Septon in King's Landing. I would welcome you and your sparrows to assist with the rebuilding. Your concern over my husband's rule is not cause for quarrel; many a Godly man has disagreed with one another."
Another smile was on the Sparrow's face. "Please see that your husband decides soon. Should he agree with such a holy way to resolve the differences of the warring parties, it will be a large step toward seeing him in the same light you do."
Margaery nodded and shortly thereafter returned to the Red Keep. Her husband greeted her with a kiss.
"How was your foray into King's Landing? Do our people love you as much as I do yet?"
"It has been a good start. I also met the Sparrow – when were you going to tell me about the Trial of Seven challenge?"
Aegon looked confused. "That's family history, unless you mean what Lady Baratheon accomplished."
"You don't know?"
"Know what?"
She handed him the letter. His brow furrowed. "I've heard nothing of this. Odd, let us go find my Hand."
Jon Connington was vexed when he heard what they had come to him about.
"Pardon, Your Grace. We thought it best not to share such nonsense with you."
Margaery rarely saw Aegon grow wroth, but now his face flushed and anger radiated from him.
"What mummery is this? This was a message for me – why did you hide it from me?"
The older man let out a sigh. "You have the passion of youth, and the temptation to accept the challenge would cause you unrest. The notion is foolish; it was decided to not trouble you with it."
"Decided by whom?"
"By me. I know the lure of glory. I was your age once, Your Grace."
"Am I King or a puppet to dance on your strings, Giff?" Aegon paused. "No, you aren't Griff anymore, are you, my Lord Hand." Another pause to reign in his temper. "No more of this. You will bring these matters to me. I will listen to your counsel, but I will decide what is to be done. Are we clear or must I find a new Hand?"
"We are clear, Your Grace."
"Good." Aegon nodded sharply. "As to the offer. Why do you fear it so? If we win, they promise to back our claim. If we unite with the Lannisters and the Stormlands, my rule is secured."
"If we win. Your Grace, Ser Barristan the Bold is rightly named. Even at his age he is a doughty knight; more than that, he is wise in the ways of battle. Reports from the Stormlands state that Lady Myrcella's champions crushed their foes with ease. We have King's Landing. We have wealth. We have the Golden Company. We have food. We have the largest army. There is no sense in risking that all in a risky battle."
Margaery could see his point. And Aegon would likely insist on participating, which was a grave risk. Then there were those odd stories that her ladies-in-waiting were telling. Of how Lady Myrcella was far more dangerous than any girl, or woman, had a right to be.
"But think of the lives it would save. Am I truly worthy of the crown if I do not risk myself in some way? You plan to go north once the Redwyne and Tyrell ships arrive, while leaving me to rule. Shall I never test myself in battle?"
"No! Why should you? You are the last remaining Targaryen. You are the last remaining part of your father."
Aegon sighed. "I will discuss the matter with the full Small Council in the morning."
Aegon and Margaery returned to their chambers. Perhaps they would lie together again that night; after all a King needed an heir. Margaery paused, stopping as Aegon turned to look back at her. She thought of her morning misery, how her mother had told her that was one of the signs that a man's seed had quickened.
"My love, I believe I am carrying your child."
***
When they arrived in Gulltown, the number of vessels at the port could be counted on one hand. A few fishing vessels and one merchant ship from Essos. That concerned Davos because it would mean the Valemen did not trust Stannis.
They were not met with arrows and blades; instead, a small delegation greeted Stannis and Davos as they disembarked. Stannis saw the heraldry of House Arryn, Grafton, and a couple of others he couldn't place. A wide man with blond hair approached and inclined his head.
"I am Gerold Grafton; be welcome in Gulltown."
Imry Florent loudly spoke up, "Your Grace. You should address your King as Your Grace."
Gerold looked at him and then gave a slight shake of the head.
"Ser, that remains to be seen. Right now the realm has four who have proclaimed themselves King."
Imry went to speak again, but the King cut him off.
"Four Kings? Who are you speaking of?"
"You know of Tommen Baratheon, but with you at sea, late from the battle of King's Landing, you have not heard of the other two," Grafton explained. "Your foe was Aegon Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar, supposedly smuggled out by Lord Varys. I have my doubts; the boy may be Targaryen blood, but I doubt the Master of Whisperers is being truthful."
Stannis looked thoughtful. Then turned his hard gaze back on Gerold.
"And the other?"
"An even more fanciful tale, but some believe no liar would ever come up with such a scheme, meaning it may be true." Grafton gave a slight shrug as to his thoughts on that line of reasoning. "He claims to be Jon Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Up until recently, he was Jon Snow of the Night's Watch."
"Jon?" Bran called out in question.
A look silenced the boy, as Grafton continued his tale.
"We still have his letter. He claims the Wall will soon be besieged by the Others and an army of the dead. Such nonsense is hard to believe, and yet the likes of Jeor Mormont, Denys Mallister, Cotter Pyke, and three Maesters have attached their signature to the letter, claiming the threat is true."
Davos saw Bran move next to Stannis. Imry made to pull him away, but Stannis waved him off. Bran whispered something to Stannis, and the King's jaw tensed.
"We'll speak more of this later, Bran."
Stannis looked at the assembled lords and knights.
"You swore an oath to serve my cause. Lady Arryn and the Vale proclaimed me King. Are you oath breakers?" Stannis's voice was harsh, and Davos detected a brittle quality to it.
A youthful man with the Arryn heraldry on his surcoat stepped up.
"The Vale has a reputation for honor."
The youth was interrupted by Bolton and one of his guards lightly chuckling over that. The speaker's ears and cheeks grew red.
The young man soldiered on despite his embarrassment. "The Vale's honor has been besmirched. Lady Arryn was born a Tully, not an Arryn. She married my grand-uncle, but clearly nothing of our ways has come to her. She is unfit to rule, and I suspect her son is a lost cause as well. They must be removed. She violated the sacred rights of hospitality and executed the noble Lord Royce without a trial. She did this in your name. Do you condone her actions?"
Davos could hear the grinding of teeth.
"I had no part in her actions. I was campaigning, and no word reached me of it, until all was done."
"So you repudiate her actions and intend to strip her of Ladyship?"
Davos feared the King's molars would shatter.
"Before rendering judgment, I would hear what transpired and her defense. Have you raised your banners against Lady Arryn? By your claim of kinship to Jon Arryn, you must be Harrold Hardyng. Does Waynwood stand with you?"
Harrold nodded. "Her host is much diminished. Grafton, Waynwood, some of the Royce men who escaped, and valiant knightly houses such as Shett will back my actions. Should you provide your men to my cause, the Vale can erase the stain on its otherwise honorable reputation. That would be a demonstration to all that you did not back Lady Arryn's mad actions. Then we will follow you."
Davos felt a heavy weight in his chest. Nothing was ever easy for their cause. The Vale was a place where they would be able to reinforce and resupply. Instead, they had wandered to another rocky shore.
"And if I refuse?"
"If you refuse, we will need to reconsider the restoration of the Targaryen dynasty." Harrold's voice was bold and free of waver.
"By all rights, I should set loose my men upon this city. You make demands to the King you have sworn to serve. You seek to supplant the rightful Lord of the Vale, Robert Arryn. The very sight of you offends me."
The assembled Gulltown delegation were visibly enraged by the words.
Stannis held a hand up. "I will consider what you say. Lady Arryn acted in my name without my approval. I will send ravens to the Eyrie and demand an account. I will question anyone who was there and can testify. I will hear your pleas and petitions, and then I will decide."
Harrold was about to speak, but Grafton stepped to the fore and spoke instead.
"A most wise decision. You are fresh from battle and have been at sea for some time. Grave news has just now reached your ears. Let us reconvene on the morrow."
Soon, much of the remaining soldiers under the command of Stannis disembarked. Davos thought the demands of Grafton and Hardyng were borderline madness. Even diminished, Stannis had far more soldiers at his call than they did in the city, and yet they did not seek any assurances before allowing Stannis to unload his army.
Stannis took an inn as his command post and soon met with Davos and Bran, leaving all the other advisors in the cold.
"Speak more of these dreams that you mentioned, Bran."
"It isn't much, Your Grace. I saw a dream of Jon fighting giant spiders while wielding a flaming sword. The stories that Old Nan used to tell me of the Long Night, well, they spoke of the Others riding spiders. I don't know about him claiming himself a King, but Jon isn't a liar."
"And you, my Onion knight? What say you about all this? This Jon, and this business with Harry the Heir looking to supplant Robert and Lysa?"
"I don't know nothing about stories north of the Wall. Pardon, Your Grace, but I cannot provide any sort of counsel to that. As for your Harrold – I don't know either. I do know that talk has spread of the perfidy of the Vale. How the Gods themselves allowed their host to be shattered. Pulling down Lady Arryn, if the charges are true, would go a long way to mollifying the people of the realm."
Stannis nodded. "I will see what Lysa has to say. She was always a difficult woman. We can do nothing, until we have more information."
A full week passed as missives were sent out from Gulltown. Stannis wished to know more of the happenings in the Vale, where loyalties lay, and wished to know what news from across the realm. Information was spotty, and unreliable. Duskendale was under siege and would likely fall soon. Myrcella and Tywin were in the Riverlands, likely Harrenhal. No word from Pyke at all, from Theon Greyjoy or anyone else. Vassals to the Tyrells and Martells had all ratified their decision to bend the knee to Aegon.
Lady Arryn finally responded, stating that she thought the old traditions had fallen when Stannis had converted to the Lord of Light. She went on to say there was a trial and Robert had ruled justly. She went on about the evils of the Lannisters, the crimes Tywin had committed, and how Myrcella was slain. Her words indicated that she thought the one claiming to be Myrcella Baratheon was a fake and used only as a prop for the morale of the Stormlands.
Her argument was undermined when Stannis received a letter from Myrcella, in her own hand. Davos knew such things could be forged, but it seemed unlikely. Stannis believed Myrcella lived, either through some act of the Gods and chance, or because Lysa had been the one to execute a fake. In either case, Myrcella's letter presented an offer of a hostage exchange that seemed almost too good to be true.
"Your Grace, allowing Eddard Stark to return to our cause would be an incredible boon. She is also offering Ser Lothor Brune and Jon Ruthermont, both important Vale houses. In exchange, she but asks for Bran Stark and Tyrek Lannister."
This time it was more than just the King and Bran. Lords of the North, Ser Imry, and various knights attended to Stannis.
"It seems almost too good to be true," Bolton murmured quietly.
"Why would Tywin agree to this?" Ser Imry asked loudly.
"It is in Myrcella's hand," Stannis reminded the group. "Bolton speaks truly – Myrcella does nothing without seeking some hidden advantage."
"Maybe it's the wolves," Davos suggested. "They have been useful in battle, they helped bring down the Mountain, they panic enemy cavalry. With both Bran and Robb as her prisoners, those deadly beasts are no longer a factor."
"She proposes to conduct the exchange at the Bloody Gate," Bolton spoke once more. "It is defensible and heavily guarded. I can see no easy way for an ambush to occur. Just as Lord Tully no doubt thought that there was no easy way to assault Harrenhal."
Stannis was visibly frustrated. "I mislike all of this. I dearly wish to speak with Lord Stark regarding Jon Snow's proclamation. I must also determine what must be done with the Vale as a whole. Leave us."
That was a command for all, save Bran and Davos.
"Does Myrcella know about your abilities, Bran?" Stannis asked when they were alone.
Bran shook his head. "Unless father or Robb told her, she can't possibly know."
"Are you content to be traded and face captivity again?"
Bran nodded. "Myrcella treated me well the last time."
"I have grave misgivings about this. Ser Davos, we will write to my niece and accept her terms. We will also be backing Harrold Hardyng and his claim to the name Arryn. Ready the men – we will most like have to bring some Vale lords to heel once we leave Grafton lands."
***
Morning had dawned on Old Wyk, the holy isle where kingsmoots of old had traditionally been held.
After this, they may have to change the name.
Her brother was here. Theon had proven himself a warrior, and tales of his deeds had spread. Yet, it would not be enough. Theon knew little of the ways of the Iron Isles. Everything about him screamed greenlander. From the way he spoke to the way he dressed, he gave it away. Still, he had drawn much-needed support away from her nuncle Victarion.
She had spoken with supporters of both, and they all agreed they would never let the other lead. All Asha had to do was bide her time and let the two sides scream at each other. She would have House Harlaw, Sharp, and Merlyn. When they had grown weary of the infighting, only then would Asha rise and claim that the Ironborn could not suffer a civil war, not when so much wealth was to be had.
As the claimants drew together, the Damphair, also known as Aeron Greyjoy and one of her uncles, called the gathering to order. Asha had little liking for her uncle. The man was dogmatic, a religious zealot of the worst sort. He began with a prayer, and soon moved to the reason all had gathered.
"The King is dead! Yet what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger!"
The gathered men roared in approval.
"Balon has fallen, Balon, my brother, who honored the Old Way and paid the iron price. Balon the Brave, 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."
Asha was annoyed with the wording. She had every intention to swear fealty to whichever side could win the crown. Two more Kings had cropped up in Westeros, so she would be in no hurry to. But she knew of her father's folly. The Ironborn could not hope to weather the might of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Who shall sit in Balon's place? Who shall rule these holy isles? Is he here among us now?" Aeron spread his hands out wide. "Who shall be King over us?"
Early claimants started the show. None of them were important, or had a chance. But men wished to say in their dotage how they'd almost been King, and that necessitated them putting forth their names. As the blowhards aired their petty claims, Ser Harras Harlaw nudged her.
"Asha, Silence has been sighted and is at anchor; men have disembarked. Euron's men are approaching."
Rage made Asha's face twitch in frustration. All her careful planning could be undone by another potential compromise candidate. Euron was her eldest uncle, the Crow's Eye, and men spoke of him in hushed whispers of fear. He was a dangerous man, and many would be glad to follow such a captain.
Theon was speaking now.
"I am Balon's only surviving son! I, who faced the Mountain and was victorious! By right of blood, I am fit to be Lord of the Iron Isles."
"LORD? LORD? Balon mouthed words, and let the greenlanders believe he was loyal to Stannis, but his aim was to be KING! And a KING we shall have over the Ironborn," Victarion roared.
Theon made to dispute the notion, but Victarion shouted over him.
"I have no singer's tongue. I have an axe, and I have these."
He raised his huge mailed hands up to show them.
"I was a loyal brother. I led his longships into many a battle, and never lost a fight but one. It was me who sailed into Lannisport to singe the lion's tail. I have raided the Westerlands, and made them fear us. 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 men gave lusty and full-throated roars of support, but it was clearly not enough. It was Theon's time to speak again.
"You speak of kingship, but even with all the Ironborn behind my father, we were defeated. We are part of the Seven Kingdoms. My King, your King, broke my uncle's fleet! He speaks of his one battle lost - that was to KING STANNIS!"
"'Tis too bad King Stannis has lost his touch; I hear he has done naught but lose to little girls and boys!" Asha jeered. Her statements stretched the truth to absurdity, but howls of laughter from Victarion's camp helped bring Theon down a notch.
Before more could be said, the Damphair called out.
"Who goes there?"
Asha saw three men approach. The first was a giant of a man. Likely of the same impressive stature as her Uncle Victarion. He was just as tall, for certain, but even wider. He had a belly like a boulder, and a tangle of pure white hair framed like a mane about his head and face. His skin was black as pitch, darker than jet. Strange orange tattoos covered his face, and he wore scarlet robes with hems embroidered with orange satin flames. He carried a staff with the head shaped like a dragon.
Behind the behemoth came two others. One she knew, Lord Alyn Orkwood of Orkmont. He had a score of longships and carried on the brutal reputation his house had been known for. The last was another big man. He had huge arms that were ringed with gold, jet, and jade rings. His head was shaved, and he was pulling a weight behind him. It looked like potentially two chests covered in black fabric.
Or perhaps it is a body.
Euron had a flair for the dramatic, but she doubted he would have been content to be lugged around like a carcass.
The Damphair was scowling.
"I know what those red robes mean. How dare you interrupt this holy gathering with your false God."
The man with the staff struck the ground with it. The dragon head spat out green flames as he did so.
"I am Moqorro, and I see a knight there, a servant of the Seven, yes? There are no septs here, and no temples to R'hllor. And I have not come to raise one. I come to see a King crowned."
"Are you standing as champion for someone?" Asha asked. She needed more information.
Lord Alyn spoke, "Yes. We stand for the Crow's Eye."
"Then where is he?" Aeron demanded, his temper clearly visible to all. Asha thought he looked most unhappy that Victarion's claim had not been immediately ratified by the majority of the captains.
"Are there any others left to speak? For once Euron makes his claim, none shall come after," Alyn spoke with what appeared to be sincere and utter confidence.
Asha scowled. She had depended on precise timing and more bickering between her brother's and uncle's camps.
Damphair was clearly even more wroth than she was. "He insults this holy rite! He insults every captain here! If the captains make their choice before Euron appears, he will have lost his chance. A chance he does not deserve for his theatrical mummery!"
Asha grinned, and put forth her claim.
Her mocking and cajoling push won some nods. She spoke of her father's legacy, of how Theon was a wolf not a kraken, and how she would ensure that the Ironborn kept their captured wealth and would not allow the Iron Islands another humiliating invasion, like what would happen if Victarion was chosen. Her loyal allies immediately shouted for her to be the Queen and backed her claim, but she could tell it was not enough. Neither Theon nor Victarion had lost any supporters, and some of the other captains were clearly curious about Euron.
As the voices and shouts died down, another sound split the air.
aaaaaRREEEeeeeeeeeeeeeee
All eyes turned to the sound. The chest the man had been carrying was open; gold and other trinkets glistened. The bald man had a horn to his lips. Shiny black and twisted, it was taller than a man. It was bound about with bands of red gold and dark steel, incised with ancient Valyrian glyphs that were now glowing red as the horn sounded.
aaaaaaaaaRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeee
It was a terrible sound, a wail of pain and fury that seemed to burn the ears. Asha grit her teeth and did not clasp her hands over them like many of the captains were doing. Appearances mattered. Maybe a few captains would see her stalwart in the face of this hellish sound and back her claim.
The tattooed man blowing the horn was quivering as he blew it. His cheeks puffed out and every muscle in his body quivering. The horn's glyphs were burning brightly, every line and letter shimmering with white fire. The sound went on and on and on. Asha was tempted to hurl one of her throwing axes at it, just to get the infernal mind-crushing cacophony to end.
When it finally stopped blowing, the sound of a roar echoed in its place. It came from the skies, and Asha looked up in wonder and horror.
No… it cannot be.
A dragon flew across the skies of Old Wyk. As it circled lower, Asha could tell that it was black with streaks of red. The dragon was being ridden by someone. People were screaming and shouting. Some were already running, but those were few. Asha was gratified to see her three champions all standing firm.
As it grew closer, it was clear that the dragon was not huge. Maybe thrice the size of its rider, who was wearing some sort of black armor. As people shouted, another sound greeted them. Moqorro had raised his staff again and slammed it into the ground, green fire sparking out with even greater intensity from the staff's head.
"He comes! The one born amidst salt and smoke! Your King! He comes!"
Asha felt cold dread fill her. The dragon landed. Euron dismounted. Her uncle was a handsome man with black hair and a neat black beard. A black patch covered his left eye, and his blue right eye matched the color of his lips. He wore armor like nothing she had ever seen before. It was as dark as smoke, and seemed to be worn as easily as the thinnest silk. The scales were edged in red gold and gleamed and shimmered when they moved. Patterns could be seen within the metal, whorls and glyphs and arcane symbols folded into the steel.
Valyrian Steel? An entire armor made from Valyrian Steel?
Tris Botley cursed beside her. He likely knew, as she did, that any hope of being named Queen was gone.
"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."
A hush had fallen over the gathering. None dared interrupt.
"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."
He has them.
"We are the Ironborn, and once we were conquerors. Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard. You took Lannisport with the greenlanders, well done, but that is the extent of your ambitions? I shall give you 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!"
Men began shouting. Men who had been loyal to her. Men who had been loyal to Theon. Men who had been loyal to Victarion.
"EURON! EURON!"
"EURON KING! KING EURON!"
"CROW'S EYE!
"EURON! WESTEROS!"
Asha spared a moment of pity for Theon, who looked completely lost and forlorn. Defeat was a bitter draught.
"What do we do?" Ser Harras asked her.
"What else?" And so Asha began shouting along with the rest of them.
"EURON! CROW'S EYE!"