Chapter 110

A small sailboat drifted on the calm sea, a thin wisp of mist not blocking their view; a black hulking shape gradually appeared before them in the afternoon, and up close, after passing a cliff, they could see the tall, towering towers of Ten Towers overlooking Ironman's Bay.

"My lady, I will reveal my identity, pay a visit to Earl Harlaw, request to see Theon's mother, and explain your child's situation. I hope she will believe you." When disembarking, she repeated to the boatwoman the promise she had made aboard ship, and those words put her greatly at ease.

They stepped ashore from a landing built of black rock, crossing a stony causeway. The waves lightly lapped the reefs along the shore, making a hurried rustling sound. Brienne felt this sound was clearer and colder, and darker, than the waves of Tarth.

The boatwoman, holding her illegitimate son, happily followed her and Podrick up the winding stone steps to the castle, leaving the little boy alone to guard the boat.

"This is the castle where your grandmother lived, child. I dreamed you were running and shouting in this castle, I dreamed you wore the crown your grandfather and ancestors once wore. My child, my Prince!" She held the child, breathing heavily, speaking happily, as if the dream had come true.

"Child, child, open your eyes, quickly look at the castle before you, see, isn't it beautiful?" She cooed happily to the child as she walked.

Brienne, looking up from the stone steps, saw a gray, fang-and-claw castle like a sea monster crouched on the coast, both rugged and strange, more ferocious and clawed than Storm's End's solidity, yet compared to Storm's End's loftiness, it was also more slender and willful.

"My lady, what else did you dream of?" Podrick asked her with a smile.

Several soldiers bearing the Harlaw sickle insignia hurried down the stone steps; as they passed Brienne, they glanced at her in surprise, then hurried away.

"I dreamed that when he grew up and wanted to find his mother, he just couldn't remember what she looked like. Oh, hurry and open your eyes, look at me, really look at me, don't forget!" She answered with a laugh, continually teasing the baby.

Upon approaching the castle, Brienne reported her name upstairs, gave a brief explanation, and the guards went in to request permission; shortly after, they signaled the people on the battlements to lower the drawbridge, beneath which lay a dark, murky abyss. Several people carefully followed the guard across, entering the dark stone-walled barbican that led to the hall beneath the first tower.

After entering the tower, they were assigned to a small garden with plenty of grass and an open view.

While Podrick was cleaning the leaves off a bench for her, an old woman pushed the door open excitedly.

"Oh, my grandson, my grandson, where are you? Where are you?" the old woman, dressed in continental finery, her hair a mix of chestnut and white, still bore a hint of noble bearing in her features. She looked left and right, pushed aside the two maids supporting her, and rushed excitedly toward the child in the boatwoman's arms, trembling yet careful as she lifted him, opening her mouth in delight, nearly bursting into tears.

Brienne glanced at the boatwoman. She had at least won half.

At that moment, the child appropriately smiled at the old woman, reaching out with his plump little hand to grab her face, kicking his legs, showing he was excited and happy.

"By the Drowned God, he is exactly like my little Theon!" the old woman exclaimed, opening her mouth and immersing herself in joy.

Before she finished speaking, a young woman with black short hair burst in through the main door, two guards named Orr following behind, standing left and right. She looked slender and strong, her face angular yet still feminine; in an instant, Brienne felt the woman before her was the she-wolf.

"Brienne of Tarth. I've heard of you." She spoke first, her voice loud and steady, like a natural leader. Brienne thought this was exactly the female heir her father had hoped for.

Without waiting for Brienne's reply, she went straight to the old woman's side, put an arm around her shoulders, kissed her cheek, then looked at the child in her arms and said, "Mother, is he cuter than I was as a child? Well, I think this little bastard's eyes are all right. Have you given him a name?"

"My lady, I have named him Vigdis. Following the Greyjoy tradition..." the boatwoman answered.

"I know Vigdis. If this child is truly Theon's, I will rename him Robb. That lad promised as much in his letters from Winterfell."

At that moment, the child giggled at Asha.

"Ha! What an annoying little imp, do you like that name?" She laughed, releasing the old woman, and looked at the boatwoman. "It's also pretty; little brother Theon surely wouldn't deliberately shift his little brother off you. Tell me, when did you meet Theon, and what did he say to you, in full, not omitting a word; if there's anything wrong, I'll throw this child from the castle into the sea."

"You can't, you little brat!" the old woman snapped at her. "He's my sweet grandson! I can feel it."

"Look, this is a mother's prerogative." Asha sighed, laughed, raised her hands, then cocked her mouth at the boatwoman in warning: "But I warn you, while my uncle hasn't returned to the city, Ten Towers is mine to rule—you may have fooled my mother, but you won't fool me."

The boatwoman was about to speak when Asha reached out to stop her, saying, "You still have time to think about what to say; for now, I want to properly meet this Brienne of Tarth." She smiled at Brienne, appraising her meaningfully, and said, "Ser, this place is still too restrained; let's go somewhere a warrior belongs!"

Brienne smiled at the words and naturally acquiesced.

"I know why you've come here; you're to rescue the Stark daughter." She led Brienne to a high tower hall filled with books; outside the window lay the mainland forest and hill scenery of Harlaw Island, slightly to the side was the vast blue sea, the coastline following the land outward.

The wind drifted in through the opened window, and Brienne smelled the mingled scent of mountains and sea, fresh and soothing.

"Let me tell you, the she-wolf's sister has been captured by Euron and is being sent to my uncle Victarion. Euron has already returned to Pyke, almost a month ago. Though I haven't received major news, I do know a bit of gossip."

"Thank you for the information; I thought she was in the Shield Islands." Brienne replied truthfully, "We've also heard that he intends to marry you and is inviting guests to Oakenshield Island."

"Heh. At sea he does have some talent; I don't know how he managed to capture the she-wolf's sister in Biter's Bay—her name is Sansa, right? —then cross the entire Narrow Sea and Summer Sea to appear in the Shield Islands. Some say he sacrificed living men to the Drowned God's enemy, the Storm God, to beg for favorable winds. These are mere speculation; knowing them may or may not matter. What I do know is that he attacked the Shield Islands to fragment my uncle's power, ennobling several of his capable followers as earls—these are poisonous gifts; he generously bestows what is not his upon others, yet never helps them defend. Watch: once the South reacts, those earls and their retinues will be driven from the Shield Islands."

"Why would he want to fragment your uncle's...?" That's a stupid question; Brienne held her tongue.

"My uncle is his most direct rival for the Seastone Chair; the longships and captains of the Iron Islands and Greyjoy families have long been led by my uncle. Euron hasn't returned to Westeros in years, and the ironborn have poor memories, so they don't recall his fame. Thus, although Euron won the kingsmoot, to truly rule the Iron Islands he must first placate my uncle!"

She sat in her seat, as if looking down on the world.

"Against my uncle, he has at least succeeded halfway, so now it's my turn. I was captured by the she-wolf, so I couldn't attend the kingsmoot in time; theoretically, as King Balon's child I could invalidate his claim on that basis, and he knows it, plus my uncle has named me heir to Harlaw Island, so if he wants to wear a secure driftwood crown or command Harlaw's power—peacefully by marrying me, violently by attacking me. As for inviting guests to Oakenshield Island, that's his fantasy; as King Balon's daughter, how could I marry in such a place?"

"Are you prepared to accept him?"

"I intend to kill him!" she said expressionlessly. "He killed my father, his king, his brother. The day after my father died, he took his silent ship Silence into King's Landing; at that moment, all of King Balon's rightful heirs had been sent off to war... heh, who else could it be if not someone he killed? I'm not speaking without proof; I seek those who remember the past to aid me—the White Tree, which northerners believe in—and someone clearly told me that Euron hired the Faceless Men to fabricate the appearance of King Balon's accidental fall from the tower bridge."

"So..."

"So I must slay him for revenge, and if possible, also cause trouble for the House of Black and White."

"My lady, this has nothing to do with me." Brienne replied truthfully.

"I am not a lady; I am the rightful ruler of the Iron Islands, heir to the Harlaw chieftaincy. You want to rescue the Stark woman; there is no other way, you must help me—how is this unrelated to you?"

Saving a person is a private matter, but taking part in a crown struggle is another thing entirely.

"Chieftain, what do you plan to do? How can I help? I am merely a big, ugly woman with a bit of strength."

"My eyes aren't blind; I can see you're ugly, but I can also see you're a woman. As for how to do it, I'll tell you—I plan to marry him, then seize the chance to kill him. Don't look shocked; he's a king‑slayer and kin‑slayer, deserving of the same retribution." She glanced at Brienne, "Since it's killing at a wedding, I can't bring fools and men; you, being a woman and a formidable warrior, are perfect for this—you're not a fool, are you?"

"This is murder!" At least she wasn't so stupid as not to understand these things!

"This is revenge."

"I will absolutely not do this!" Brienne said.

"You do? You're overthinking it; I won't give you that honor—I'll kill him myself!" She looked at Brienne with utter confidence, Brienne feeling a pang of envy, for she could never be that self‑assured: "I want you to guard my back; when I strike, block anyone else so they don't come bother me."

"Killing at a wedding is utter depravity."

"The first is utter depravity, the second utter retribution, the third just utter boredom. However you put it, seeing you makes me feel this idea has matured. Anyway, it would prevent an Iron Islands civil war and keep Westeros from war; of course, as you wish, Tarth Island would also be spared fighting. Moreover, for you, without my help, how would you rescue the Stark daughter?"

She sprang from her seat. "The she-wolf chopped off my brother Theon's head like slaughtering a sheep; if you don't help me, wait in Ten Towers' dungeon for me, until I slay Euron, I will send you the lovely head of the she-wolf's sister, then have you bring her back to Winterfell to exchange for Theon's head. So, what will you choose?"

She turned to the window; the drapes at the side fluttered in the outside wind, making a snapping sound. Asha's black hair also danced in the breeze, and Brienne seemed to hear the clash of swords.

"Ser, make your choice quickly; I have no time to wait for you, a grand wedding awaits me on Pyke."

Asha rose and walked to a side door, pulled open the bolt with both hands, pushed open one leaf, and fully armored soldiers streamed in silently, surrounding Brienne.