The North's Revenge? - Asha Greyjoy from Game of Thrones Fic Part 1 of ? (NOTE: Clash of Kings Spoilers!)

[Enkidom]

Fandom: George RR Martin's "A Game of Thrones"

Disclaimer: I do not own the character Asha Greyjoy or the Game of Thrones world. The only two OCs in this chapter are Eldrin Snow and Magon Blacktyde (and they use Mr. Martin's world/naming conventions).

Note: I use Asha's name from the books, in the television series, Asha is called Yara to avoid confusion with another character, Oasha.

As always, feedback is very much welcomed! Special thanks to TheCakeisaLie for beta reading.

ETA: Sincere apologies, SPOILER ALERT: This story takes place during the events of Clash of Kings, and refers specifically to events that occur in that book.

Chapter 1

It had been said of Asha Greyjoy, daughter of Balon Greyjoy, Lord of Pyke, and captain of the longship Black Wind, that she had been born with salt water flowing through her veins instead of blood, though of course the same could be said of many of the Ironborn from the harsh islands off Westeros’ coast. Whether this was true or not, she missed the biting shock of the salt spray in her hair and the glorious dichotomy of the solidness and surety of an oaken deck beneath her feet and the knowledge that that assuredness could vanish at any time should a particularly vicious wave strike in the middle of one of the sudden squalls that seemed to batter the Iron Islands and their surrounding ocean with greater and greater frequency. Instead she was sitting in a land lord’s castle on the shores of the frozen North of Westeros, pursuing a war that seemed to have more to do with her Father’s preoccupation with having bent his knee in defeat to the Starks in a past failed rebellion than with the vulnerability of the young “King in the North” Robb Stark’s domain while Robb was attempting to avenge his own father’s death at the hands of House Lannister further South. Perhaps the Starks’ words were correct, perhaps winter really was coming, she reflected with a slight shiver. Then she crossed her long legs, slightly bowed from the majority of a young lifetime spent at sea, in order to make herself more comfortable in the unfamiliar lordling’s seat in front of the roaring fire in her bedchamber and reached for the wooden trencher beside her. A messenger raven stared at her with a beady, gimlet eye until she threw it some leftover oatmeal and bacon fat, then it cawed once and started pecking at the food greedily.

She didn’t particularly like Deepwood Motte, the castle she had captured from the Starks’ bannermen, the Glovers. While it was readily defensible, and its community was relatively prosperous, it felt too big and too empty, even when full of cursing, boasting ironmen. In addition, the blood red leaves of the weirwood tree that grew outside her chamber window cast angry russet patterns on the floor in the low Autumn sunshine. Asha didn’t mind having Glover blood on her rope calloused hands, she already had plenty, but in the North the weirwoods had a religious significance and the patterns seemed somehow threatening, telling her that the Drowned God, the God of her people, had no place here. There was one more thing, ever since a few days after landing, Asha had, from time to time, but with increasing frequency, felt heavy headed and prone to random volleys of violent sneezing or watering eyes, which infuriated her. She had paid the iron price for a constitution that a dray horse would be proud of and certainly did not like displaying any weakness in front of her crew. An Ironborn woman captain was a rarity and she had literally fought, bled and killed for the respect of her command, vulnerability was not a word that one easily associated with Asha Greyjoy. Besides, when a particularly violent sneeze struck without warning in the middle of a pitched battle it had been a very dangerous moment. It was almost as if the North was taking its revenge for the temerity of the Ironborn in going to war on its wardens, House Stark.

With an absent-minded sniffle and an annoyed swat of her hand across her long, slightly-crooked-from-being-broken nose, which had felt prickly and itchy most of the morning, she unrolled the letter that the raven had been carrying. At first Asha read in silence, apart from the occasional sharp sniff, until she reached a point about half-way down the page. Then she stopped suddenly with a sharp intake of breath. In the cold of the Northern autumn, that proved to be a mistake.

“Blacktyde, get your ug…uh…IH...AAAARRRiiissshhhUU…uh…uh…AH..AAARRRiissshhhUUU, ESHHHHuu...Damnit…your ugly arse in here!” she ordered, her breath steaming in the morning chill despite the fire, as she took another angry backhanded scrape at her nose, which still itched abominably despite the sneezes.

Magon Blacktyde, Captain of the Blood Tide, had sailed with Asha since she had received her first command, and she always felt a surge of affection when she saw his battlescarred face with its unkempt salt and pepper beard and beetling, bushy eyebrows. He answered her summons with his usual promptness, hastily ripping chunks from the remainder of a loaf of bread dripping with bacon fat with his broken teeth.

“Sure Captain. What is it? Not catching a chill are you? Couple of weeks on land and you’re already turning into one of those Southron doxies? You want me to fetch you some mulled wine and rosewater? It’s the fashion in King’s Landing according to Lady Glover,” Magon responded gruffly, but with undertones of his familiar rumbling chuckle.

“Do you want me to ram my axe where the Drowned God split you, Blacktyde? I’m fine, keep your mind to your own business. It’s my idiot brother, Theon,” Asha shot back with much heat but little fire, at least little fire directed towards her captain.

“What’s he done? Surely even having suckled at the Direwolf’s teat he can’t fail raiding fishing villages with one ship? Besides, he’s got Cleftjaw as his first mate , Dagmer’ll steer him away from any hidden shoals, with a good clout ‘round the earhole if necessary.” Magon’s comment about suckling at the Direwolf’s teat was a none-too-thinly veiled reference to Theon Greyjoy’s years as ward of Lord Eddard Stark, the former Warden of the North and Robb’s father. Most of the Ironborn involved in the invasion of the North wondered exactly where his true loyalties lay.

“No, Theon’d be well capable of that. The proble…Eh…EH…Uhh…Uhhh…Eh…AAARRRRissshhhUUU, ESSSHHHuuuu….EHHHHHsshhhhhUUUU…damnit, the problem is that he isn’t raiding fishing villages, he’s got Dagmer marching on Torrhen’s Square attempting to force a response from Winterfell. Then he’s going to try and take Winterfell itself. It’s about as idiotic a plan as I’ve ever heard. The current “Warden of Winterfell” is a crippled seven year old boy who isn’t going to know how to respond to our raids, this’ll bring “The Young Wolf” running back from winning battles against the Lions down South in less time than it takes to unlace your britches and piss in the brine.”

“The lad doesn’t lack for balls…brains though, now that’s a different matter. There’s no way that he’s going to be able to hold Winterfell even if he does take it. Even without Robb Stark, he’s going to be up to his neck in Mormonts, Flints, Norreys and Wulls if nothing else,” Magon replied, ticking off the most loyal of the Stark bannermen one-by-one on his fingers as he did so. “I’m surprised Dagmer agreed to the idea.”

“ Dagmer always was a bit too soft when it came to Theon. I just hope that he doesn’t expect us to clean up after him when the North is up in arms…Ehh..huh…HeHRRRRIsssshhhhUUUU,” Asha spat, before she was overcome by another powerful sneeze.

“Are you sure you’re alright Captain?”

“Yes.” Asha growled, sniffing noisily, “and we’re done here, warn the other captains that there may be trouble. And if you see him, send up Eldrin.”

Magon grinned at Asha’s final order. Eldrin Snow was a scholarly, bookish Deepwood Motte lad who at some point had been training to become one of Westeros’s guardians of lore, the Maesters. He seemed to have become rather smitten with Asha, despite the rather obviously one-sided nature of the infatuation. His advice had proven sound though and the taunts and jokes of the Ironborn were becoming less cruel day by day.

“Thinking a roll in the spray will clear your head of that chill?”

“Do as I say now, Blacktyde, and don’t push your luck,” Asha commanded, veiling humour with a mock reach for the axe hanging at her left hip.

Always quick to obey his captain's orders, Magon turned and departed with a final nod of his head. Asha, meanwhile, was left to contemplate the foolishness of her brother’s pride, the ever shifting patterns cast by the Weirwood tree and the incessant itch deep in her nose. Maybe Eldrin would have an answer for the last of those, at least.

[Deadsh0t]

As an avid Game of Thrones fan, I can quite safely say that this is brilliant. Wonderfully in character for Asha, as well.

[count tiszula]

What a brilliant piece. Those of us too mean to pay for Sky may be unfamiliar with the details of the background, but this could scarcely be a better way into it. And how can anyone resist a character named Asha? And the masterful lady captain with a powerful allergic reaction is of course the stuff of which all our dreams are made.

I can't wait for even sneezier sequels.............

[TheCakeIsAlive]

Absolutely beautifully written. Think the uhm... spellings fit Asha very well You really got the language and feel of the series down to a T (if that is the right expression ). Think it's wonderful you've incorporated the weirwoods in the story.

Very much loved reading it.

[Enkidom]

Thank you all so much, the feedback is very much appreciated and means a lot to me. Count, you might well enjoy the books, they're certainly worth looking out for (and indeed,I'd choose them over a Sky subscription!).

[Garnet]

Aw yes, very nice! Glad to see some more book-based ASoIaF fics. Very in-character, good job!

[ellwren]

Good story and in character.

Poor Asha. Theon's not the easier brother to have.