Chapter 715

The sea and sky were shrouded in gray, the cold wind whipping against the tattered kraken banners atop the castle walls.

Winter had ended, but the morning on Pyke remained bleak and bitter.

Asha Greyjoy stood atop the high terrace of the Great Keep, gazing down at the harbor far below.

She had set out the moment Aegor led his army west from King’s Landing—traveling with the few Ironborn who had followed Victarion to Meereen in search of Daenerys, accompanied by a small escort of Unsullied personally assigned to her by the Queen. First, they had hurried down the Gold Road to Lannisport, where they boarded Lannister warships. From there, under the kraken banner, they sailed back to Pyke. Upon landing, she made straight for the castle, where her name alone had been enough to gain entry to the keep, now stripped of its previous master. Once inside, she sent word across the isles, summoning the captains and lords to a great gathering—to determine the fate and future of the Iron Islands.

The port was packed with ships, so crowded that at first glance, it seemed as lively as ever. But any Ironborn with a memory knew the truth: though the harbor was full of longships and single-masted sloops, not a single named warship remained.

Not because they had refused to come.

But because those warships—the pride of the Iron Fleet—had all been personally "attended to" by the Queen’s navy in the great battle off Blackwater Bay. And there, beneath those distant waters, they would remain forever.

It had been a great victory. A victory where she, more than anyone, had been the key to success.

Yet as she looked down at the pitiful remnants of the Iron Fleet, Asha felt no joy.

“Ah—”

A sudden sneeze snapped her from her thoughts. Annoyed, she pulled her coat tighter around herself and turned away, striding back into the smoke-filled long hall.

This was the same hall where her father, Balon Greyjoy, had twice rallied the lords of the isles and launched his doomed rebellions. The chamber, built to hold nearly a thousand warriors, was now only a third full. No musicians played, no singers lifted their voices, no warriors danced the finger dance with their axes. Even the number of serving thralls moving about with ale was pitifully small.

Two hundred captains and chiefs sat slumped at the long tables, faces grim, drinking their ale in silence. As Asha entered, every sunken eye turned toward her.

"Get on with it. We all have things to do."

The voice came from the crowd, its owner unseen. Asha sneered. Two days ago, when men first arrived for the gathering, there had been those brazen enough to call her the "Night’s Watch whore" to her face. They had quickly learned that Unsullied discipline did not tolerate such provocations.

No one had dared to test her twice.

The room was still missing a few attendees, but there was no point in waiting. Asha strode up to the raised dais where the Seastone Chair loomed. She did not sit. Instead, she stood boldly with her hands on her hips, her sharp gaze sweeping across the assembly.

Only young faces.

Just as there were no great warships left in the harbor, there were no great captains left in the hall. The seasoned warriors, the true leaders of the isles, had all perished in battle. Those few who had survived had either fled into hiding or chosen to ignore her summons.

The fleet she was about to assemble would be made up of green boys and cowards.

Pathetic.

But looking at it another way, as a defeated commander, she might not have been able to control the hall if the old men had shown up.

"Shut the doors," she called.

The Unsullied at the entrance obeyed immediately, the great wooden doors slamming shut with a heavy thud.

"We will wait no longer. Those who have not arrived should pay for their lateness—or their arrogance." She lifted her chin. "Congratulations to those of you present. You will be the first to receive the gifts I bring to the Iron Islands."

She stepped beside the Seastone Chair and pulled out a rolled parchment.

Facing the gathered captains, she unrolled it for all to see.

"First gift—the Queen’s pardon!"

A ripple of disdain passed through the hall. Scoffs and murmured laughter. Those seated closest to the dais did not even bother to hide their scorn.

The Ironborn were not like the Reach lords or the Golden Company. A strip of water, wild and storm-ridden, lay between them and the mainland. The Narrow Sea beyond held further dangers, with the Free Cities stirring in defiance of Daenerys. In such conditions, launching a punitive campaign against the Iron Islands was neither cost-effective nor tactically sound.

Asha calling this a gift was laughable.

"I know you think this is a joke." Asha remained unfazed, holding up the incomplete pardon scroll. She stepped forward, standing at the very edge of the dais.

"But once I tell you what I know, you may reconsider."

She fixed her gaze on the younger captains in the front row.

"You’ve all heard by now of the Reach’s defeat outside Highgarden," she said. "How the Queen’s Hand, Aegor West, crushed their armies. But I doubt you’ve yet received word that, as we speak, he has taken Oldtown, seated himself in the Hightower, claimed Greenstone, and begun assembling a Reach Fleet."

"That fleet will sail around Dorne to meet the ships of the Free Cities in the Narrow Sea. They’ve got no time to bother with a few scattered raiders."

Asha turned toward the speaker and nodded. "That would be true—if the one leading the Reach fleet was the Queen herself. But the problem is, the man in charge is Aegor West—Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch."

She let that hang in the air before continuing.

"If there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he holds grudges. And he believes in securing the realm from within before dealing with external threats."

She narrowed her eyes.

"And wouldn’t you know it? The Ironborn once raided Ice Bay Harbor, a port under his command. They burned his ships."

Murmurs rippled through the hall.

"That was Euron’s doing!" a scarred red-haired man shouted from the back. "And those who fought that day have already gone to the Drowned God!"

"Aye!" another agreed. "And it wasn’t even the Night’s Watch fleet—it was some Northern warships!"

"I know all that," Asha said flatly, raising a hand to silence them. "But the problem is, he doesn’t care. He has already marked the Ironborn as an enemy. And I have sworn my allegiance to him and the Queen. He has ordered me to prepare for the Reach Fleet’s landing on the isles."

Her voice turned cold.

"I will not break my oath. I will not defy that command."

The murmurs became shouts. Some called her a liar, others cursed her name. But none dared claim she was wrong.

Because none of them could afford to.

None of them had the standing to rally the isles against a true invasion.

"Some of you might consider surrender," one voice called out. "But surely the Queen has demands?"

Asha smiled grimly.

"The second gift," she declared, unrolling a second parchment. "A plan for the Iron Islands’ future prosperity—The Iron Coin Plan!"

The name alone sent ripples of confusion through the room.

"Iron coin?"

In Ironborn culture, iron coin was a euphemism for swords and steel—plunder and war. The Queen had chosen that name for a policy?

Intrigued, the room fell into silence.

Asha seized the moment.

"Our home is called the Iron Islands because of its iron mines. And before some of you start shouting that it’s about iron wills—I won’t argue. But the fact remains: our mines are rich. Our iron is valuable. And the Queen has promised to make the Iron Islands her exclusive steel supplier."

Murmurs turned into stunned silence.

"In return for loyalty," Asha continued, "the royal government will purchase our steel in bulk, at market price, and cover the shipping costs—ensuring a steady income for the isles."

And just like that, the room turned. The Queen was offering them wealth without war.

Asha lifted the final banner—the three-headed red dragon.

"The sooner you raise this flag," she said, "the safer you will be."