A Feast for Dragons by George R. R. Martin Page B

should command their
swords and sails. In kingsmoot, though . . .” Lord Rodrik shook his head.
“Beneath the bones of Nagga every captain stands as equal. Some may shout your
name, I do not doubt it. But not enough. And when the shouts ring out for Victarion
or the Crow’s Eye, some of those now drinking in my hall will join the rest. I
say again, do not sail into this storm. Your fight is hopeless.”
    “No fight is hopeless till it has been fought. I have the
best claim. I am the heir of Balon’s body.”
    “You are still a willful child. Think of your poor mother.
You are all that Lanny has left to her. I will put a torch to Black Wind if need be, to keep you here.”
    “What, and make me swim to Old Wyk?”
    “A long cold swim, for a crown you cannot keep. Your father
had more courage than sense. The
    Old
Way
    served
the isles well when we were one small kingdom amongst many, but Aegon’s
Conquest put an end to that. Balon refused to see what was plain before him.
The
Old
Way
    died
with Black Harren and his sons.”
    “I know that.” Asha had loved her father, but she did not
delude herself. Balon had been blind in some respects. A brave man but a bad
lord. “Does that mean we must live and die as thralls to the Iron Throne?
If there are rocks to starboard and a storm to port, a wise captain steers a
third course.”
    “Show me this third course.”
    “I shall . . . at my queensmoot. Nuncle, how can you even
think of not attending? This will be history, alive . . .”
    “I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living
sort in blood.”
    “Do you want to die old and craven in your bed?”
    “How else? Though not till I’m done reading.” Lord Rodrik
went to the window. “You have not asked about your lady mother.”
    I was afraid. “How is she?”
    “Stronger. She may yet outlive us all. She will certainly
outlive you, if you persist in this folly. She eats more than she did when she
first came here, and oft sleeps through the night.”
    “Good.” In her final years on Pyke, Lady Alannys could not
sleep. She would wander the halls at night with a candle, looking for her sons. “Maron?” she would call shrilly. “Rodrik, where are you? Theon, my
baby, come to Mother.” Many a time Asha had watched the maester draw
splinters from her mother’s heels of a morning, after she had crossed the swaying
plank bridge to the
Sea
Tower
on
bare feet. “I will see her in the morning.”
    “She will ask for word of Theon.”
    The Prince of Winterfell. “What have you told her?”
    “Little and less. There was naught to tell.” He hesitated.
“You are certain that he is dead?”
    “I am certain of nothing.”
    “You found a body?”
    “We found parts of many bodies. The wolves were there before
us . . . the four-legged sort, but they showed scant reverence for their
two-legged kin. The bones of the slain were scattered, cracked open for their
marrow. I confess, it was hard to know what happened there. It seemed as though
the northmen fought amongst themselves.”
    “Crows will fight over a dead man’s flesh and kill each
other for his eyes.” Lord Rodrik stared across the sea, watching the play of
moonlight on the waves. “We had one king, then five. Now all I see are crows,
squabbling over the corpse of Westeros.” He fastened the shutters. “Do not go
to Old Wyk, Asha. Stay with your mother. We shall not have her long, I fear.”
    Asha shifted in her seat. “My mother raised me to be bold.
If I do not go, I will spend the rest of my life wondering what might have
happened if I had.”
    “If you do go, the rest of your life may be too short for
wondering.”
    “Better that than fill the remainder of my days complaining
that the Seastone Chair by rights was mine. I am no Gwynesse.”
    That made him wince. “Asha, my two tall sons fed the crabs
of Fair Isle. I am not like to wed again. Stay, and I shall name you heir to
the Ten Towers. Be content with that.”
    “Ten