章 62: Asha Greyjoy III
293AC
Asha had been greatly annoyed, to put it lightly, that she had been forced to join with the Greenlanders in pursuing her kinslaying basted of an uncle.
At first, it had been an annoyance at the fancy, silly fleet that the Baratheon boy had brought, "The maiden fleet" his sailors called it, and no maiden would survive an encounter with the iron born with her maidenhead intact. A boy of twelve who as she had confirmed was on his first real sea-voyage was going to try to match Euron Greyjoy? The idea was preposterous.
Then they got into the wind and it became clear that not only was the maiden fleet managed by far more capable sailors than she would expect, it was also faster than her own Black Wind, it was even forced to tack in order to avoid leaving her behind.
It was insulting, not to mention disturbing, that the Prince of Dragonstone commanded such ships. What would her father's navy have if not for speed to aid it? She suspected that much like during the recent rebellion, they would have nothing to stand against the Greenlanders more massive ships without their advantages.
The thought made her grind her teeth. Her uncle likely knew of these ships, and it was clear now why he thought marrying to the Stag prince was a good idea, but she doubted it would ever be that simple. Even now the boy looked at her with disdain, and at all times kept watchers on her ship.
She could tell her men were restless, but she had sworn a blood oath with them to see Euron dead, and see him dead they would.
The fleet sailed through the night, the white hulls and sails of the maiden fleet visible throughout the long night in the pale light of the Gibbous moon which hung above their heads. The black night waves sloshing gently against their hulls as they drove through the clear ocean like great sea-dragons. She was reminded faintly of the legends, of the serpent Nagga, who the Grey King slew so long ago before setting his throne in her skull.
She found her mind lingered on stories, of myths and legends.
If her uncle spoke the truth and could see into the future, did that not make him a legend himself? Could she slay a beast like her uncle?
Could the Prince?
It was all in question in her mind, and kept her from even what small sleep she ought to claim, instead she spent a fitful, restless night, her blankets soaked with sweat as she remembered the glare in her Uncles eye, the way he had spoken so madly, and her axes' failure to land.
She shuddered at the memory, clutching herself tightly. She was glad that the blanket covered her movements, for she would not want to scare the men more than they already were, that current of fear beneath the surface only grew in the depths of darkness.
She awoke from her restless failures to slumber to an odd burning smell, at first she thought it was a fire, but asking one of the older veterans she learned it was the smell of the Brimstone River. After donning her armor, a coat of plates that had been taken from some Greenlander knight during the rebellion, she walked onto the deck.
The sun was just begging to rise when a shout rose up from the Sword of Baratheon, the Prince's enormous flagship, and she turned her eyes to their heading in response.
The faint shape of a great longship in the far distance greeted her, and she could feel a wicked smile begin to form on her face.
Here she would claim her uncle's head, and never suffer another sleepless night again.
She raised her ax into the air and let out a guttural, bellowing cry, which was echoed by her men, even as the other ships in the fleet opened their own sails to full in pursuit and she smiled at the sound of her oars crashing into the water.
It was time to hunt herself a crow.
The chase began in earnest with the sounding of the bells aboard the maiden fleet, and she could barely restrain her curses as the great white vessels pulled a he's of her, their sails better suited to tacking along with the southerly wind which now accompanied the fleet eastward. It was only a small consolation that her Uncle suffered the same handicap.
Indeed, she was forced to grit her teeth and stand there powerless as her rowers began to advance, she knew that the same was likely true of her Uncle's own vessel.
She was wrong.
Rather than stick to the coastline, the Silence began to turn, presenting a far wider silhouette in the dawning red sun. It's sails filled with the southerly wind.
'He's Mad.'
To depart the coast went against everything she had been taught, so many Reaves had been lost that way, for once one lost sight of the land you might never find your way back, all that awaited the unlucky on the open ocean was the Drowned God's embrace.
The White ships seemed undeterred, bolstered even, as they could now put their full sails to use, pulling further and further ahead of her, driving towards her uncle.
She could see the hesitation on her men's faces, the fear of abandoning the coast in favor of the open sea and all its nightmares, as even the Iron born feared to do.
She had one chance to turn back. To hug the coast and live.
It didn't even cross her mind until long afterward that she could even turn back, after a night of seeing her Uncle's laughing face her blood boiled and her mind was full of fire and death.
"ALRIGHT YOU BASTARDS, FULL SAILS." She roared out over the Din of the Ocean. "NO GREENLANDER SONS OF WHORES WILL OUTDO US TODAY."
The men roared, their voices coarse and their hearts one, the Black Wind turning to its new intercept.
"FOR HARLAW, FOR THE READER. FOR THE KRAKEN."
Her Uncle had escaped once, by sorcery or magic, or luck.
'Let's see if it holds out for him again.'
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