Chapter 15

Asha saw her brother Theon's head on the walls of Winterfell. Soldiers pointed at the skull, wearing a faint mocking smile, hoping to read the expression they wanted on her face.

The head resembled any ordinary skull she had seen; thanks to the North's weather, the face remained clear, just as it had been when she first met him on the Iron Islands, with a faint smile. The hanging head was indeed her brother's. He died bravely; no matter how absurd his actions, at least that she could be sure of.

Perhaps my head will soon join yours up there.

She pretended it was just an ordinary skull, showing contempt; the soldiers, put off by her, had to drag her along. She knew the destination was Winterfell's prison. She had hardly ever been in a prison, but she also knew this one was different—she had no fellow inmates, and the guards outnumbered the prisoners, leading her to think it was a special detention facility.

"Sea monster, you can pick whichever you like and go in." The prison warden wore a thick beard, one leg slightly lame, but his body was strong and full of power.

"You're awfully generous; everything here is mine." This wasn't a dungeon; sunlight streamed through a few small holes, letting her see the layout, but it meant nothing.

She chose the one that still had sunlight.

"Winterfell rarely has prisoners; they're either beheaded or dressed in black to serve on the Wall. Your brother Theon once had that chance… he always looked down on people, arrogant as hell. But you're a woman, so you probably can't go to the Wall." Asha understood the warden's thoughts—he was just trying to cozy up to her.

"My lord, rest easy. I can't die." She said casually; she had something more heartbreaking than beheading, and she only wished he would stay quiet.

"You can't die? Haven't you seen your brother's head?"

"Idiot." "I'm not blind, and you're so enthusiastic." She replied wearily, "He sought death himself, you fool."

After dealing with it for a long time, she finally had some free time to reorganize her memories.

The She-Wolf, true to her name.

She kept only one prisoner for herself; the other captured ironborn and the dead were beheaded before her, their heads placed on either side of the road from Deepwood Motte to the Kingsroad, so that anyone passing would think they had entered the gates of hell.

This truly was the gates of hell.

She led thirty longships from the Iron Islands to raid Deepwood Motte; to enable a quick withdrawal, she ordered half the ships to stay offshore so they could retreat to Sea Dragon Point at any moment, while the other half stayed ashore, mostly to garrison Deepwood Motte. When they broke out of the besieged Deepwood Motte and fled to the sea, all they saw were longships engulfed in flames.

They were routed on the wide shore; arrows from the forest took most of the ironborn, the waves took a few, and the rest fell to northern swords. He had brought a total of two thousand men from the Iron Islands; aside from the unknown fate of the fleet, the over a thousand who landed were all slaughtered.

The northerners stripped the dead ironborn naked and hurled the headless corpses into the sea. She saw shark after shark swimming in the shallows, struggling to drag the bodies into deeper water; some sharks were so greedy they beached themselves on the sand, where the northerners hacked them to pieces.

Throwing the bodies into the sea instead of burying them, she thanked her; not tossing the heads in as well, she hated her. They would feast forever in the Drowned God's hall, she consoled herself, but what feast is there without heads?

She did not see the corpse of her lover, "the maid" Kol.

Perhaps she had seen it, but without a head it was hard to tell, and she couldn't go around pulling up each corpse's thigh to check—Kol had a strange birthmark on the inside of his thigh, resembling a woman's profile. His head was easy to identify; she remembered it was the second one on the eastern side near the sea. In the beach fight, the She-Wolf cut his throat with one sword swing; she saw his blood spray, with no beauty at all.

I will surely survive, bringing his head back to the Iron Islands, and Theon's as well.

Without a doubt, for her this was a crushing defeat. After this loss, she would lose the ironborn's trust; perhaps she needn't think so far ahead, for she might never get a chance to return. The She-Wolf could take Theon's head at any cost, and just as easily take hers.

No, the dead do not die; their spirit grows fiercer.

Theon had his own pride, refusing to kneel to save his life, but I know my duty. A mother should not lose all her children for her husband's ambitions; I will seize every chance to stay alive.

The sunlight soon shifted, disappearing from the prison, leaving Asha slowly in darkness. She did not fear the dark; she remembered the feeling of riding the wind on a dark sea; she remembered, in a dark bedroom, the little moments with past lovers—darkness never frightened her; it had always been her pleasant companion.

She was not left in the dark for long.

As she drifted into sleep, having various sad dreams, the lame man woke her.

"Your brother was beheaded at this time, before the heart tree." He said.

"You're really a warm-hearted person." She surrendered.

She was taken to Winterfell's great hall. The hall is larger than any place in Pyke, able to seat a thousand for a feast; by comparison, Pyke Island's great hall is merely a country farmer's room.

Aside from the obviously guarding soldiers, she saw only five people. Seated at the head was a youth; to his left sat an old man wearing chains; next to him was a child; on the right sat a woman; and in the rear, a middle-aged man with a sword paced back and forth. Her brother might know all their identities, but Asha truly knew only that woman.

The woman wore thin garments, draped with a fur-lined coat of indeterminate color and a gray wool cloak; her eyes were bright yet showed neither sorrow nor joy; her black braid was tightly bound behind her head, neatly combed and tight, making her look more like a slender warrior, no different from when she had met her at Deepwood Motte. She sat thus; perhaps she was a lovely lady, but she clearly had no intention to display it, projecting only the authority of a judge and absolute cold cruelty.

"Before you stands the Duke of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Brandon Stark." The middle-aged man spoke.

He is also her brother's brother; Theon could have used this connection, but apparently he did not, or did not use it well.

"I just heard 'Warden of the North'? Are you preparing to swear fealty to King Balon? If so, release me, and I can plead with my father to leave the North to you, kid."

The dire wolf that had been lying beside the small boy rose to its feet; hearing the words, it shook its massive body, its fur fluffed up, making it look like a young colt. It showed no threat, made no sound, but Asha felt the pressure the dire wolf exerted on her.

No wonder they use the dire wolf as their sigil. Perhaps Father should give me a sea monster to keep.

"Asha Greyjoy, I am sorry." The old man's slow, calm words made her worry: "Deepwood Motte has received a raven from Pyke Island, bearing the news of your father Balon Greyjoy's death."

The old man, his even older tone bearing the news of death, was a perfect match.

When leaving Pyke, King Balon looked neither as strong nor as vigorous as in his youth, yet he remained healthy and full of strength, certainly not about to die suddenly. But the old man's words left no room for her doubt; this was clearly an indisputable fact.

"How did he die?" She didn't know what expression to make, but she felt her current expression surely delighted those seated before the table.

"According to the letter, during a stormy rainy night, he fell from the catwalk between the main keep and the secondary keep." The maester replied.

"My lady, please accept my condolences." The small boy seated in the high seat replied coldly; it was pure courtesy, which she could smell.

"You damned well got it wrong. I'm not here to be dragged out and beheaded; that is precisely why I was brought."

"I've restrained myself well, kid. Do you see me upset?" At least I hope I haven't shown it. "If King Balon has died, according to your green lands' law, I should inherit the Salt Throne. Let me go back; once I become queen of the Iron Islands, I will withdraw all forces left in the North and reach a peace agreement with the North." Or else lead an army to take Winterfell and hang your heads as well.

"Lady Asha, the proper response is 'Thank you for your concern.' However, I agree with your view that the Iron Islands and the North should remain at peace." The She-Wolf replied, gesturing for her to sit on the nearby bench, "The situation is that the Iron Islands do not follow the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, the Iron Islands have never had a woman sit on the throne, and furthermore, your uncle Euron Crow's Eye Greyjoy has declared himself the new king of the Iron Islands, making your hopes slim." The She-Wolf evidently wanted her to speak, but she couldn't be bothered with small talk, so the She-Wolf continued, "As far as I know, among the Iron Islands' houses, only your uncle Harlaw's faction supports you; or do you think there are any other supporters?"

"The others have all been killed by you." "Of course, this is one of the strongest houses in the Iron Islands. Besides my mother's kin, every island has my supporters; I am Balon's appointed heir, so surely many captains won't forget me so quickly." The ironborn have poor memories.

"Perhaps, if your opponent were only Victarion, you might succeed, but your opponent is Euron, and I don't think highly of you. I once dealt with him in the slave city of Astapor," the She-Wolf commented, "He is clearly the vicious madman of rumor."

She certainly knew Euron's madness, but she disliked his tone. "Have you been slept with by him? You're so afraid of him, do you need me to call you aunt?"

"Though I am a bastard, I need not be so base." The She-Wolf unwilling to continue idle chatter, turned to the subject; Asha thought she could make use of their urgency: "Not long after your father died, he returned to Pyke, proclaimed himself king of the Iron Islands, and sent several lords who opposed him to the sea. The timing is too coincidental not to suspect his death is linked to him. However, this has nothing to do with the North, and we will not place all our hopes on you."

"Perhaps you should try." "Or perhaps you should place your hopes on my uncle Victarion? You haven't captured him. As far as I know, the North likely wants to take revenge on the South."

"The North seeks restoration, not revenge. But you're right, I haven't captured him; you're in the north, he's in the south, I can't settle it all together."

"You really should try."

"The Bolton army has withdrawn from Crackclaw Point and will soon return to the Dreadfort; the Fallow Fields have relaxed their watch on him. Now that your father is dead, he naturally wants to return to Pyke. Perhaps even now he has already set sail from the Saltspring, depending when he gets the news."

"Listening to you, it sounds like my uncle is luckier."

"It's because I believe you are more useful."

"Saying that is truly inspiring." Asha thought of her dead retainers and lover, "But I no longer have the heart to applaud."

"Perhaps you can wait a little longer. The Starks want only Crackclaw Point; the maester suggested using you in a trade, your father might agree, but Euron certainly would not."

"Among the ironborn, he could also be considered a savage. This matter, you just need to negotiate with me."

Blood Wolf Woman stood up, walked toward her, and said, "Aren't we in the middle of it?"

Of course. "So, release me, and after I drive him from the Sea Stone position, I will order the iron people to retreat from Kalin Bay and return the castle intact."

"Of course. We believe your promise, but we can't wait, and, lady, frankly speaking, from any angle we don't think highly of you; we don't trust you have the ability to carry out the deal." Said the middle-aged man, who had a white beard, was short and stout, but looked very strong.

"This is the master-at-arms of Winterfell, Ser Rodrik Cassel." Blood Wolf Woman introduced her to her.

"Ser, after my elder brother died in battle and Theon became a hostage, I was raised by King Balon as heir. Everyone in the Iron Islands knows this; as long as I return to Harlaw Island and send out ravens to the islands, all captains and leaders will swear fealty to me." This is absolutely impossible. "Do you think the iron folk have no law and need civil war to confirm a new king?" She forced a laugh. "Maester, you surely know something about the inheritance laws of the Iron Islands, right?"

The maester fell silent for a moment, making Asha feel annoyed; she shouldn't have asked him.

"Lady, after the conquest, the Iron Islands have always followed primogeniture; earlier there was also the kingsmoot election system. In practice, primogeniture defaults to excluding women from any line of succession; compared to Westerosi inheritance law, the Iron Islands' succession rules are even more disadvantageous for you. As for the kingsmoot, historically there has never been a female leader; added to your recent defeat, it is equally disadvantageous for you."

"Maester, you probably forgot, the previous Prince of Dorne was a woman, and Dorne isn't on the continent?" She refused to yield.

The maester did not respond to her.

"Lady, since you say all captains and leaders will swear fealty to you, let's take the iron folk at Kalin Bay as an example. If they swear fealty to you, you can lead them back to the Iron Islands; if not, you can choose to return and remain a captive, or stay and garrison with the Kalin Bay garrison; of course, you could also flee with the garrison's help—it's up to you."

"Aren't you afraid I'll just flee directly from Kalin Bay? Uncle Victarion can leave, and so can I."

"Of course. If you try and fail, I'll put your head together with Theon's."

"I can't wait to return to the Iron Islands." She laughed. Kalin Bay meant something to King Balon who wanted to rule the North, but not to her, nor to any iron folk stationed there. The garrison had a legitimate opportunity to get away from the poisoned arrows of the swamp demons; they were happy beyond belief.

She wasn't taken back to prison, nor was she dragged before the heart tree to be beheaded. Damn the cripple.

She was led into a room decorated elegantly and extremely warm.

Servants brought her passable meals overnight, and the maid, according to her status, prepared fitted leather trousers and a cloak embroidered with gold sea‑monster motifs. She suspected these were things Theon had once used.

She also asked for bathwater, which the servants quickly brought; she bathed luxuriously, as if she could wash away defeat and pain together.

Afterward she lay down on the bed, no longer grieving for the dead iron folk nor heartbroken over her dead lover; soon she fell asleep, though she had thought it impossible to sleep.

The next morning she was awakened by barking dogs; at that moment sunlight streamed into the room. Only then did she have leisure to examine the room closely.

The walls were hung with various velvet hangings; by the window stood a long oak table, its surface holding writing brushes, ink, and prepared parchment; on the other side were placed a candlestand and a fire‑starter. A wide chair upholstered in fine leather was comfortable and soft. The narrow side cabinet was filled with various books.

Beside the bed was a small round table with several equally soft stools; fruit was placed on the stools. Up to this point the room was elegant and comfortable. But the bare walls were also fitted with various swords, spears, polearms, bows, and even a pair of flails, giving the elegance a touch of mischief.

Besides the weapons, the side of the wardrobe was decorated with various fittings. On the corner of the cabinet she saw a silver badge clasp shaped like a sea monster; she instantly realized this room was exactly her brother Theon's lodging in Winterfell.

Aside from the bed she had messed up, the room was clean and tidy, everything in order. On the small table beside the bed lay various trinkets: a clay horse, a bronze finger guard, a jade beauty figurine, a naturally carved stone strongman—comically posed, making her want to laugh—most numerous were the iron, copper, silver, and gold badges in the shapes of ice wolves and sea monsters, large and small, arranged horizontally and vertically… they were neatly lined up together.

Besides that, there was a neat stack of thin parchment sheets recording various scores and lyrics; anyone who looked could tell the author had expended great effort here.

She felt she had never truly known that brother.

But then she thought it was all deliberately arranged by the Blood Wolf Woman, so she hurried out of the room, vowing never to return; yet she soon regretted it. She had thought she would rest awhile in Winterfell, but after a little tidying, the Blood Wolf Woman early that morning took her and her cavalry south.

The Blood Wolf Woman prepared a sturdy chestnut mare for her. Asha rarely rode horses; her familiarity with them was far less than with ships, but even with a little knowledge she could tell the horse was extraordinary. She didn't want to stare too long and act startled. After promising obedience, she was allowed to mount freely; she leapt up, holding her head high in the cavalry throng, looking more like a queen.

The plains and hills of the North stretched endless, white clouds drifting far away, merging in the morning light. Asha felt marching against the North was the biggest mistake; here there were only forests and pastures, rocks and hills, naturally a hunting ground for lions and wolves, with no place for sea monsters.

The icy morning wind scraped across her cheeks; before she used to envy men's nether parts, now she only envied what was above. If she could have a beard like Ser Rodrik's, perhaps this morning wouldn't be so unpleasant. But after a short while her face lost feeling.

She glanced at the Blood Wolf Woman. The Blood Wolf Woman sat leisurely on her horse, moving with the horse's gallop, appearing to float on the horse, her thin cloak billowing in the wind; just a look made her feel colder. She turned her gaze away, no longer looking at her. She silently tightened her thick wool coat, wrapped herself in a fox-fur cape emblazoned with a sea monster sigil, but this only slightly eased the cold. She silently swore in her heart never to come to the North again.

"Madam, if you're cold, why not wrap yourself in this?" said the young man with brown hair, clean-shaven beard, handsome features, and deep violet eyes that instantly inspired likability; his warm smile made the surrounding chill feel a little less harsh—how long had it been since she'd seen a man like this? This item was something he had just taken off his neck.

Asha gave him a smile she thought was not bad, took the soft wool blanket the young man handed over, feeling its warm comfort. She lifted her cloak, wrapped herself in it in front of him, then smiled at him and expressed her thanks.

"You're not a Northern Border person." People of the Northern Border are never warm.

"Beautiful lady, I'm not even a Westerosi; I come from Qarth, my name is Gaxar." A person from half a world away.

"Qarth? I once sailed to Valyris, thinking that was the world's edge. And places even farther, I believed lay beyond the world, forever out of reach." She had once contended for dominance in the Stone Islands with the Lis pirates, and Valyris had merely been a stop on a hurried voyage then.

"In the eyes of Qarth people, Westeros is the world's fringe, while Qarth lies at the world's center, responsible for connecting east and west."

"Is it about communication or monopoly?" "The Northern Border is the fringe of the fringe; you, a person from the world's center, why come here? Could crossing ten thousand miles just be to give me a blanket? If so, I'll treasure it well."

"Madam, I follow my heart, and my heart follows beauty." He smiled again.

"A Stark girl? If that's the case, I wouldn't be pleased, oh." She laughed while looking at the boy.

"There are too many Stark girls; maybe she's from the Greyjoy family instead?" This remark made her burst out laughing.

Although he was a Qarth person, he spoke the common tongue extremely well; his attire and deportment didn't look foreign, and even the sword at his waist bore the bearing of a Westerosi knight, completely unlike Qel. Asha liked his boldness and enthusiasm.

"Do Qarth people also study swordsmanship?" She fixed her gaze on his sword.

"I have been practicing swordsmanship under my father's guidance since childhood, and by the time I came of age I could already defeat the royal family's sword attendants." Asha noticed him purse his lips, "But I have never won against a certain Stark girl." He still smiled, though it had grown wan.

"Oh, that's pitiful—being defeated by a woman must surely be hard to bear? I recall when I used a throwing axe to beat Iron Islands men, their faces flushed red; some hid their heads in the sand out of shame, some cursed and insisted on jumping into the sea." Asha pulled her cloak back on, "How are you? Do you blush with embarrassment, tears of sorrow streaming down? I remember Qarth people crying cutely."

"Haha, you're quite interesting. I did indeed tear up then, but those were tears of awakening." Asha instantly lost interest; if the Blood Wolf Woman had already conquered him, this game wouldn't be fun.

"We Iron Islands folk love the throwing axe; only men who throw it with precision win the favor of Ironwomen. When you have time, practice the axe—men should train the sword between their legs more." Asha threw him a flirtatious glance and hurried away.

He laughed, unaware he had been cast aside.

The whole squad suddenly sped up, and she quickly kept pace.

At noon, the large contingent slowly crossed the bridge over the White Blade River, then paused briefly outside Seagard for a rest. The vast cavalry troop had half its horses riderless, which Asha noted.

During the respite, she went around the troop to the Blood Wolf Woman's side.

"How much do you know about your uncle Euron?" the Blood Wolf Woman asked.

"Among Balon's peers, not one is normal; Euron belongs to the abnormal sort that's good-for-nothing." "He's a priest of the Drowned God. What's up—does he also want to be king of the Iron Islands?"

"The maesters of House Seagard received word that your uncle Euron has issued a summons from Great Wyk, hoping to reopen the kingsmoot—well, responders gathered in droves, a mighty show; all who support the kingsmoot are flocking to Great Wyk, and Crow's Eye Euron will likely hate him, having to suspend the crown he's already worn—no one likes that."

"The Iron Islands have a tradition of electing their leader."

"Avoiding civil war among the Iron Islands, that's a fine tradition."

"So what do you think of this kingsmoot?"

"The kingsmoot was originally my opportunity, but now that you've defeated me, the ironborn probably won't favor me. In my view, the real contenders are only my two uncles."

"You've given up?"

"What else can be done?"

"The fate of the Iron Islands is hard to say. One of those two is mad and cruel, the other lost in ancient ways. Both will only make the Iron Islands bleed more, suffer more, create more widows and orphans. Perhaps only then will they recognize your worth."

How do I need you to educate me?

"Education? I'm just worried, I guess. If the Iron Islands behaved a little better, I could be much more at ease." She looked toward the distant hills. "The whole North is watching Winterfell, but my enemies are spread all around, scattering my strength." The she-wolf suddenly stood up and said to her, "Tomorrow, whether you succeed in persuading the ironborn or not, I will take Claw Bay. If you succeed, they will leave alive; if you fail, their heads will be placed on stakes along the road, just as you saw in Deepwood Motte."

"Hmph, aren't you afraid of the Iron Islands' revenge?"

"Revenge? I tell you, those qualified to take revenge are the North and all of Westeros; it has never been the Iron Islands. For the peace and stability of the Seven Kingdoms, I don't mind wiping out the Iron Islands' pirate families root and branch—things the conqueror didn't do, things King Robert didn't do—I will do them!" Asha only felt the she-wolf was arrogantly over the top.

"You think winning a few battles lets you run off at the mouth? Let me see, how many battles has Robb Stark won?" Asha made a counting gesture.

"This isn't arrogance, it's a threat and a warning." The she-wolf woman's eyes were icy, but that only made Asha dislike her more; the North was already leaking wind on all sides, weather-beaten, and issuing such a threat was pointless.

"A threat that cannot be carried out is arrogance."

The she-wolf woman said nothing, walked away from Asha, and issued orders.

"... Move forward quickly... Gashar, you lead the right-wing cavalry south along the White Blade River; if you encounter... Bolton..., then... harass them, never allowing them to cross the river.... Send orders to Wil... the main cavalry will block from the south...." Asha only heard her issue the orders quickly, as if she could already see the enemy army.

"Follow me." Asha heard her shout at herself.

Asha did not notice anything unusual.

Asha saw a large group of cavalry begin to disperse according to the bugle and banners, as if preparing for a temporary encounter battle, but Asha did not know who the enemy was. She followed the she-wolf woman's three or five hundred cavalry squadron racing south along the King's Road, dust swallowing the road. After only a moment, she no longer felt cold.

In the mountains and on the beach of a river called Greywater, she encountered the "enemy." Asha rode her horse and stood with the she-wolf woman on a slightly higher slope, seeing the young man who had given her a blanket leading a handful of cavalry repeatedly harassing a unit attempting to cross the river; although it had no effect, it obviously slowed their crossing speed. Bolton's infantry guarded the river crossing force at the river mouth, with small detachments of archers scattered inside; judging by that alone, the defending commander was not weak either.

The bridge was planked with wood, narrow and winding; Asha saw that only a handful of soldiers stood on it, bearing the flayed man's banner, retreating to the far side of the river. Besides the flayed man's banner, she seemed also to have seen the double-axe banner of the Barrowton Dustin family.

The cavalry led by the she-wolf woman seized a high hill and did not prepare to move forward to assist. Soon Asha saw another troop of cavalry emerge from the south bank opposite, directly charging the Bolton forces that had crossed the river. The Bolton soldiers who had crossed were unable to respond: some panicked and fled back onto the bridge, some fought to the death, some fell into the river. When the fighting on that bank had completely died down, the she-wolf woman moved out. They crossed the hill and stopped a few hundred meters from the riverbank, fully exposed to the Bolton army's view.

"Tell the Boltons across the river, surrender and you will not be killed."

The wind howled between the mountains, hills, and river; Asha did not know how long she had waited before receiving a reply. Meera gave her no time to think about what had happened.

"Light it, fire!" The east-bank cavalry moved first, launching fire arrows that set the wooden bridge ablaze.

The she-wolf woman ordered a bonfire lit before the lines; the dry, low shrubs and weeds on the riverbank, blown by the gale toward the Bolton troops, burned wildly, forcing the Bolton forces to continually shrink their defensive perimeter to avoid smoke and flame, but as the fire drew near, many Bolton soldiers were forced to retreat into the river water, and their defensive formation could barely be maintained.

At the river crossing, dry grass and branches were everywhere, with weeds beside them half a person tall. The ignited sparks quickly turned to flames in the gale, the flames became a blaze like a fire dragon racing with the wind, slamming straight into the Bolton troops; instantly the layered infantry defenses began to collapse. At that moment, the cavalry attack horn sounded.

Asha stared at the she-wolf woman as if seeing a ghost, wanting to know what was going on. But the she-wolf woman ignored her, fixing her gaze on the Bolton soldiers hacked down by the cavalry.

There was nothing much to see. The cavalry rode back and forth three times, and the soldiers all laid down their weapons and surrendered. The commander leading the troops was dragged on horseback by Gashar and brought before the she-wolf woman; his face was covered in ash from burning vegetation, mixed with fresh blood from blows, making it the finest garb of a defeated commander.

Asha noticed the she-wolf woman glance at Gashar, as if wondering why he had been brought before her.

"Order Ser Jorah Seaworth to take Lord Royce and the surrendered Bolton soldiers back to Seagard. Release the surrendered Barrowton troops. Who won the honor of the last melee?"

"Goldencloak Wil." Gashar laughed loudly.

"You should have burned the battlefield earlier; perhaps he wouldn't have had to burn the bridge. So you will take his place in arranging the wounded and handling the corpses." She seemed dissatisfied with Gashar's loud laugh, saying, "Wait for Wil to cross the river, then go all out south."

"Are they withdrawing from Crackclaw Point?" Gashar asked.

"Quite right. I suppose the White Harbor troops also withdrew from Crackclaw Point." The she-wolf woman replied, one hand gripping the reins, the other touching her sword hilt, "Speed is the essence of war."

Asha sat on a clean stone on the battlefield, watching soldiers coming and going to tidy the field and Wil's people on the far bank clumsily repairing the burned bridge bit by bit, then slowly crossing.

She felt frozen to the bone, cursing the North ten thousand times in her heart, and herself even more. After listening to two hours of howling wind, they finally formed ranks and continued south, bearing Seagard's axe banner together. Asha estimated that at this point there were at least fifteen hundred cavalry and even more horses.

Two days later, they reached the causeway of Crackclaw Point. Asha knew her mission had finally arrived.

She rode the mare, bearing a white peace flag and a gold-yellow sea monster flag, slowly along the causeway toward the famed "castle."

It is said that anyone wishing to pass the causeway must thread through several crooked towers. If the Starks are correct that the causeway is the only land route linking north and south, then no description of Crackclaw Point's importance could be excessive.

She did not ponder whether the mission would succeed. This castle meant nothing to her, nor to the ironborn; she wanted to free them from here. To calm her tension, she turned her gaze from the causeway to the wide expanses on either side.

Along the causeway, bubbles occasionally rose from the land, letting her recognize that it was indeed a perilous marsh.

If the legends are true, the endless mire of the Neck has swallowed countless kings, lords, and soldiers, and it is their bravery that continually adds to the legend of this stronghold.

The marsh also had some tall trees and low thickets, but mostly grass taller than her horse; she believed the land around those thickets must be solid, yet they were merely isolated patches scattered about. She also saw yellowed grass blades growing from the marsh, drifting listlessly on the mire awaiting decay.

This is truly a loathsome place.

Legend says that if invaders enter the realm, the marsh devil will smear mud all over its body and shoot deadly poisoned arrows at passing foes; even if they dodge the arrows, they still face quicksand, mire, and bloodthirsty giant lizards, and even the castle they wish to conquer is built on land that floats, making it unfathomable.

She gradually approached. Seeing the sea monster flag flying high above the battlements, the gate of Crackclaw Point's passage swung open slowly as she drew near; she ignored left and right, riding her horse forward, from the bright glare of the wind into the cold gray gloom.

Decay and filth are the tone here; all sorts of stinks and urine odors fill the place. She hardly wanted to stay a moment. She heard the gate behind her close again slowly, and it grew darker.

The castle's interior is all connected; if this were also the causeway, passing armies would face arrow storms from all four sides of the fortification.

A soldier blocked her path, his eyes fierce, Thus include Character: Thus include Character: Thus include Character: Huzilacha, wearing mismatched helmet and leather armor, like a crab tossed into a latrine. He was indeed a crab, his crest a devouring monster crab, Asha noticed.

"Do you know who I am?" she said with a smile, facing the man before her, as if utterly indifferent to this environment, even enjoying it.

"Asha Greyjoy, or the North's lackey?" he sneered.

Asha drove her elbow hard into his face. The man staggered back a few steps but did not fall; he clutched his face with one hand, crying out, while drawing a dagger with the other.

Asha still smiled, drawing her own dagger from her breast with a flourish, "Who am I?"

He turned his head away in anger and walked off.

Following the soldier's directions upstairs, she walked toward the upper level of the blockhouse. The light up there was considerably better, but the stench remained, merely a simple rot, the pure odor of decay. She saw many ironborn warriors sprawled on the floor, some listless, some completely immobile, a few sitting, kicking their feet in boredom, indifferent to her arrival. It is hard to imagine how awful the environment is; they are surrounded by enemies inside and out.

"Who's the chief?" Asha thought to settle the matter quickly, "Are they all dead?"

Here she saw several house sigils: Greyjoy, Shaw, and Merryl, but no more. As for acquaintances, she had not seen a single one.

"Come with me." A soldier gestured for her to continue upward.

Higher up, the view was no better. A man wrapped in leather armor lay on a bed covered in rags and stains, his face drenched in sweat, fighting a high fever.

Should she negotiate with such a person? Better to kill him and get a replacement. She endured her disgust and watched from the side.

The soldier helped him up; Asha noticed his wounded arm—just a small cut, but already severely inflamed, with no clean water or medicated liquor, heaven only knows when he will die.

"Are you the leader here?" Asha disliked the smell, but she felt she could show it, "What's your name?"

"Lorcan Renn." He said weakly.

"I hope your will is just as weak." "You know who I am, Asha Greyjoy."

"I am the daughter of Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands." He knew that. Though he was indeed weak, he struggled on, "Why have you come here?"

"To save you." "I was captured by that northern bitch." Admitting that still pained her, "I promised her that if I could persuade everyone to surrender, she would let us go, back to the sea, back to the Iron Islands. I agreed."

He struggled to spit a mouthful of phlegm at her. Asha dodged in disgust.

"The Ironfolk will never surrender!" he shouted fiercely.

Damn it, if the Ironfolk truly refuse to surrender, ten years ago her head should have been hanging on the city wall. "Relying on you weaklings to guard the city?"

"I have city walls and soldiers!" he almost fell out of bed.

"You have nothing but cannon fodder."

"You dare mess with army morale? I can have the soldiers execute you." He said loudly, his soft hammer tapped on the wooden board; these words and actions drained his energy.

"What can you do?" Asha lunged forward, grabbed his hair, dragged his chin, and pulled him off the bed. She could easily twist his neck, but she didn't, feeling only disgust, and casually threw him aside. He tried to struggle up, but was powerless; he was indeed ill.

At that moment, a group of soldiers surrounded them, not knowing how to react. Asha ignored them, saying, "I am the sole surviving child of Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands, his appointed heir; if the high fever hadn't addled you, I would now be the Queen of the Iron Islands."

"You're not," he panted, "Victarion is. Only he..."

Asha kicked him in the stomach; he clutched his belly, spat out some unknown liquid, rolled to the other side, and swallowed the rest of his words.

"He has abandoned you, left you here to die; you had better realize that!" She actually felt furious, "Gather the surviving Ironfolk," she told a nearby soldier, "Tell them I will bring them home."

The rest went smoothly; no one questioned her status and authority. It felt great.

Two hours later, they lowered the high-flying sea monster flag, and brought out nearly a hundred Ironfolk who leaned on each other like ghosts, slowly leaving the castle. She felt some regret; when she had promised the Blood Wolf Woman, she had offered various reasons to convince the garrison, but in the end none of them were used.

The Blood Wolf Woman kept her promise. The Ironfolk happily walked toward the riverbank and boarded the Hotwave River.

After boarding, she stood at the stern and looked back.

On the causeway, cavalry galloped, kicking up clouds of dust; flags fluttered in the dust on the causeway, and in the sunset they looked like a charging blood-colored giant wolf.

"She will take revenge, and so will I."