S6, Chapter 6: RAYMAR

PYKE, IRON ISLANDS

The night was grey with mist and fog and Raymar had now walked a little more than three miles. With the wind hitting against him, it felt like twenty. The dark green cloak he wore was full of holes, thus when he gripped the end of it and covered his face, it barely protected him from the piercing cold.

“This is useless.” He let his cloak drop back down, cursing the wind that made it fly. Every time he attempted to open his eyes, he would either squint or turn his face to the side, revealing, behind that uncut dark hair of his, a pale-skinned young man, roughly twenty years of age, twenty-three at the most. Born out of wedlock to a fishwife who died bringing him into the iron world, he had never truly known the exact day.

Twice as much hair had grown on his chin and above his lips than on his cheeks and neck. It made him look young and old, all at once.

Even if he had been able to fully open his eyes, it would have made no difference, the fog was too thick and the only map was carved in his memory.

Every three days, the destination was the same. Only the time it took to get there varied.

At times, it depended on the weather. If no one were around, he’d make a run for it and arrive before anyone else. Mostly, he took his time though, like a thief making his best effort not to get caught.

The fog had started to clear out as he was entering Lordsport. He could see the oars and mats of the docked ships rocking left and right, so hard you’d think they’d soon hit one another.

The docks had always been full of them: Long ships, Large ships, Small ships… Now they were scarce in numbers. Most had gone out to war and never came back.

“The war of the five kings, they call it. Four dead… Does that make our king the victor? Or does it mean there’s still one more to go for the war to be over?”

Docked away from the other ships, Raymar recognized Black Wind, Princess Yara’s longship. He had seen her before she sailed to war and three weeks ago, when she came back from it. “Out of every Ironborn who left, why did she have to survive?”

Aside from the shouting of the wind and the roaring of the waves crashing on the rocks, the shore of Lordsport was quiet. Only a few merchants and fishermen were traveling from ship to ship; mainly to store the still-fresh sea food for the morning fair.

A couple of rock wives were seen exiting the cabins with rapid haste, fully nude with only a piece of white cloth to cover themselves. I suppose being exposed to the bitter cold was better than the beating they would’ve gotten had they stayed inside.

Most times, their fault lied with their inability to properly satisfy their husband’s needs; sexual or otherwise.

To teach lesson, the men would ofttimes have their wives sleep on the cold wet muddy ground, only to wake them up before the crack of dawn, have them resume their sleep in a warm, comfortable bed, before quickly waking them back up again, and send them about their duty for the day.

A cruel practice Raymar thought to end one day, even though he hadn’t the slightest clue where to start.

His destination was close, real close. All he could think about was the strength of the wind and when he looked high up on the hill, the fog had lifted enough to notice the Great Castle of Pyke, the seat of self-crowned King Balon Greyjoy.

Originally built on a cliff jutting out into the sea, over time, the cliff had eroded, leaving the castle’s keeps and towers standing on three barren islands and a dozen small stacks of rock, surrounded by water; the towers, connected by swaying rope bridges. The keep, its towers, and walls were made of the same grey-black stone the rest of the island was composed of.

From where he was, the swaying bridges connecting the towers looked minuscule, yet he could see them rocking left and right almost as hard as the ships on the shore.

When the sky and sea were as angry as tonight, some men believed it a sign of the Drowned God marinating the miracles he would give his loyal servants who were iron enough to survive the storm.

Yet Raymar never saw none of it.

Perhaps, the Drowned God was never meant to heed the prayers of the small folk, but if by chance he were…

Contempt filled the white in Raymar’s eyes as he gazed upon the stronghold.

“One day, the Drowned God will answer the prayer of us all, his waves will be the highest they’ve ever reached, and your castle will return to the sea. You and yours will drown with it and you will finally learn that what is dead dies…and never rises again.”

A few minutes later, he had arrived. The inn was no larger than a regular one. In the aftermath of the Greyjoy Rebellion, In Lordsport, inns and lodges were rebuilt the same size, as to not make one owner envy the other.

He noticed only one horse was tied to the hitching rail. “Odd” he thought.

Raymar knocked on the wooden door guarding the stones. No answer. Yet he had heard chatter before knocking. When he now heard only silence, he remembered the knocks had to be in a specific order and with a certain speed: With the pommel of his hand, two quick knocks; then one. He waited a beat. Then three slower knocks, one after the other.

Raymar had never seen the man before; the one opening the door for him. He saluted him all the same even though the stern man did not return the courtesy.

As he entered he smelled the burning fish; a welcomed change from the constant smell of salt. A large fireplace warmly lit the large open room, and lanterns were hooked all over the stoned walls.

A dozen wooden small rounded tables were scattered all over, and a long rectangular one placed a couple of feet off the center of the room.

At that table sat seven men and two women: Ulfe sits in the middle, facing the door. At least fifty years to his name, built like an ox with light grey hair. He wears a poncho coated in wax and fish oil, cut short enough to reveal his bare veiny arms.

On his left sits Eldiss, younger than Ulfe by ten years at the least, hair braided three ways down the back of her neck. Slim of stature and tall for a woman. The navy blue markings on her arms made her stand out.

In front of her, his back to the door, sits Jorl. Sometimes called Jorl the Whale like the legendary ironborn raider from the Age of Heroes. Although the nickname may have been given to him ironically as he seldom looked the part; a scrawny man on the shorter side, with two fingers missing from his left hand.

“It’s not like he ever had any need of them anyway.”

To his right, the chair is vacant. And next to it is Kromm’s usual seat that no one ever dares to take away from him. No one was sure that Kromm was his birth given name, no one ever dared to ask. He never uttered more than a few sentences and most times, not making much sense out of them. A brute of a man, larger in size than any at that table; and the only one wearing armor.

On Kromm’s right, Ralf the Limper. Silent most times, legendary slow in combat, yet never lost a fight. His look was always menacing and he just may be the most loyal of the bunch.

Raymar didn’t remember the names of the other four, if he ever knew them at all. Two of them, he had only seen twice; the other two were new faces to him.

At least six of the nine had food in front of them; ranging from fish to mussels and leeks. As far as he could remember, the menu had never changed.

Right behind the long table stood the buttery and the pantry where Dykk and Harlaw were cooking the food. If they weren’t wedded man and wife, you’d believe them twins. Same long blonde hair on both their heads; a rare sight on the Iron Islands. Around the same size in height as well, tall and thin, light brown freckles on each cheek. Raymar hoped their talent with steel was superior to theirs with pots and pans.

ULFE: Ya late boy!

ELDISS: No later than m’self the last time. Ulfe, what did we just speak of?

JORL: Take a seat Raymar.

Jorl points to the vacant chair directly to his right. Raymar walks across the room in its direction.

RAYMAR: Apologies, the wind was —

ULFE: — Just as strong for the rest o’ us.

Eldiss looks at Ulfe, commanding with her eyes to calm his easily triggered rage.

ULFE: Time ain’t our brother tonight. When I say nightfall, I mean nightfall.

“We’ve been coming here for months. What’s the rush tonight?” Raymar may have been afraid of the answer to that.

He takes a seat next to Jorl the Whale, face to face with Ulfe. Kromm taps Raymar on the shoulder; up close, his breath stank of piss and salt.

KROMM: Ale?

Raymar nods as Kromm serves him until the liquid spills on the table. From the kitchens, the woman wails.

HARLAW: Me and Dykk are done for the night. What does the bastard want?

RAYMAR: The usual.

DYKK: Change wouldn’t hurt ya, ya know.

Her husband interjected as he started cutting the white fish; it looked like the animal had been out of the cold for quite some time.

Raymar didn’t respond to the remark and sipped on his ale instead. The room had a curious mood. The angst and worry in the people at the table showed more than they probably had wished. Even seeing Dykk and Harlaw cook faster than usual made Raymar weary and in his turn, he started to shake, controllably.

RAYMAR: Did I miss anything?

ELDISS: We were waitin’ for ya.

Raymar takes a bigger sip of ale as silence lingers a little too long.

JORL: The ale treating ya fair?

Jorl asks as he takes a gulp of his own. An unusual question coming from Jorl. Should Raymar be worried about what’s in the drink?

RAYMAR: It’s ale… it’s good.

Raymar takes a bigger sip as Ulfe breaks the silence.

ULFE: We’ve gotten orders from the Gardener.

Raymar almost choked on his ale. “What? When?”

RAYMAR: From the Gardener? From the Gardener himself?

ELDISS: Not directly hisself, o’ course. He made contact with The Digger and The Digger sent one of his men across the land to deliver the message.

The Gardener had never sent anyone anywhere, let alone to the Iron Islands. And The Digger had never sent anyone in person either. Since the beginning, orders had come in form of coded scrolls, with drawings in place of letters and letters in place of punctuation. Yet, this was an order The Digger didn’t trust a raven to carry.

ULFE: Ralf met with the boy, the messenger.

Raymar turns to Ralf who confirms by nodding slowly. The Limper never said much but spoke plenty with his stare. Sight of DarkSalt some called him; never to his face however. He was so slow with axe and sword that many assumed the only way he killed his enemies was with his eyes.

Ulfe leaves a quick silence but Raymar quickly interjects.

RAYMAR: What are the orders?

ELDISS: A seed must be planted…

ULFE: Tonight.

“Tonight? How?” The words wouldn’t come out. And why was everyone staring?

Harlaw came marching behind him, holding out a plate where only smoke was visible. It clinks on the table as she drops it in front of him: Burnt fish with a couple of leeks on the side.

HARLAW: That ought to help swallow the nerves.

“Why me?”

RAYMAR: I am to plant a seed tonight? Which one?

ELDISS: The princess.

RAYMAR: Tonight? Meaning tonight, tonight?

ULFE: As I said, time ain’t on our side.

Raymar’s controllable shake quickly became a little more uncontrollable.

JORL: You are one of us, ain’t you not?

RAYMAR: What?

“Since when are YOU one of us?” Raymar wanted to retort as he glared at him from the corner of his left eye.

ELDISS: How dare you question his loyalty? Ray’s been with us from the start.

She stared at Jorl right in the eyes. If Ulfe was the father of the lot, Eldiss was the mother.

JORL: Meant no offense by it, o’ course.

Jorl said as he slightly bowed his head.

ULFE: T’night is time for ya to really prove y’self, boy. Not to us. To The Gardener himself. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Tis the night you’ve been training for.

“I never trained for this. Why me? Why not Jorl? He has more experience. I’ve never seen him lift a finger for us and he’s been here longer than I have. I can’t kill her. How do I even get to her?”

Raymar was doing his best not to shake and he dared not say any of it. He had to be loyal, strong and brave. It was an honor to be bestowed such task, a move Planters of the Gardener around the world have all been waiting for.

ELDISS: We believe you ready Raymar, do you believe you ready?

“No!”

RAYMAR: Yes… But why tonight? Why the rush?

ELDISS: We ain’t Diggers nor Gardeners.

ULFE: Ain’t our place to challenge orders.

Raymar grabs his mug full of ale and starts gulping it. When he turns to his right, his eyes fall on a vacant chair. Ralf the Limper had slipped away and was just coming back from the corner of the room with clothing in his arms which he then dropped on the table next to Raymar. The young bastard was shocked to gaze upon the outfit of an Iron Guard.

ELDISS: The seed must be planted t’night.

ULFE: Ralf acted quickly. Orders are orders. Amongst the hundred night guards, t’night one will be missin’. That one had no companion. If all goes well, none should notice until morning.

JORL: If they ever notice at all.

ULFE: We ain’t gon’ take that chance. Or any chances of any kind.

Raymar took a bite of the fish getting cold in front of him. The taste was bitter and ironically, it was lacking salt. He wanted to spit it out but didn’t want to insult. And he had had nothing in his stomach since the early morning. He forced himself to swallow.

ULFE: When I’m done talkin’ here, you’ll put on the guard armor and leave the inn faster than you’ve arrived. Whether you leave here with a full stomach or not is up to you. We understand each other?

Raymar only nods as he looks at his plate, practically untouched and his glass half full which Kromm serves to the brim again.

RAYMAR: Why the princess? Why not the king himself?

ULFE: The king’s well too guarded. Inside his chambers, outside his chambers. All three parts of his tower, crowded with guards.

The princess has the skinny tower to our advantage. Only one sentry guard at that outpost. Her neighboring towers are fully guarded, but they’ll be far enough for what y’need to do.

Once you walk into her tower, you walk straight, her chambers is the first one you see, can’t miss it.

The bitch knows how to fight, f’sure. It’s her badge of honor. She doesn’t keep guards in or out of her room, Ralf made sure of that.

Raymar slightly turns to Ralf who gives his signature nod.

“Ralf has been in her room? Why hasn’t he done the job right then and there? Right, he wasn’t ordered to. No orders, no execution. That’s the way it goes with Ralf. The only way it goes. But why wasn’t he ordered to?”

Raymar turns back to Ulfe.

RAYMAR: Say I kill the one guard. I walk in the tower. I open the door to her chambers, gently. I take off m’ boots, and one small quiet step at a time, I make m’ way to the sleeping princess, til’ I get close enough for m’ dagger to reach her throat… What if she wakes before that happens. What if she wakes when I open the door? Or midway to her bed? What if she can’t sleep.

ULFE: No, Raymar. Y’don’t take off y’ boots and open the door gently. You’re a damn sentry and you’re there to protect her.

You walk straight and loud and you open the door to her chamber because your duty is by her side when danger is knockin’. You tell her of the danger when you walk in. You get close to her because you need to protect her, die for her if must be. Am I makin’ sense?

RAYMAR: She won’t be fooled.

ULFE: Why wouldn’t she? Has her life ever been betrayed by one of her sworn sentries? Has she any reason to suspect anything or anyone tonight? You’ll be covering her rear as she’ll want to cover her front. I don’t think I need to describe t’ya what should happen next.

Raymar is in his thoughts, thinking of all of the possibilities that could go wrong.

ULFE: Then you leave right where you entered. Do not run. A confident steady pace, one step at a time until you reach your horse. Then you go home and we regroup in three moons.

“Home…” Raymar’s home was nowhere in particular. At times he slept in vacant inns. Sometimes, he had money for a finer bed. But most times it was the wet ground for him. Cold and alone.

The people in this room were the only family he’s ever known. Home was here, with Ulfe and Eldiss, Kromm and Harlaw and Ralf, even with Jorl unfortunately.

As fearful as he was, Raymar was more determined to do what had to be done.

ULFE (addressing the room): When the salt bitch dies, our generous king is stripped of heir. The islands will be weaker. And he’s not getting younger.

New orders’ll come down and we’ll take as much care for him as he cared for us. And then the seeds will grow as The Gardener promised. The islands will be rebuilt and this time, we will all choose the way it looks. I promise you brothers, sisters. The end of tyranny is near —

JORL: — I hear the iron prince is still alive.

Everyone at the table turns to Jorl. Even Harlaw and Dyyk. Ulfe gives an aggravated look.

ELDISS: And when was the last time you laid eyes on the young prince, Jorl?

One of the men Raymar had only seen twice uttered the first word of the night. He had a deep voice that did not match his physique.

DEEP VOICE: Word on the docks say he returned a couple days back.

Everyone turns to the skinny man with the deep voice.

ELDISS: You seen him?

DEEP VOICE: Not with me own eyes, no.

Ulfe shakes his head in disbelief.

ULFE: Lies!

The woman seated next to the one with the deep voice, Raymar had never seen before. All over her pale face, she had scars as black and large as her eyebrows.

SCARRED WOMAN: Aye! But t’was no iron prince. Only his ghost they say. Spooked some fishermen and they wives.

JORL: All the iron prince can be is a ghost. If tales tell true, them Northerners snatched his iron pillar. His rocks and salt with it.

Ulfe bangs his fist on the table.

ULFE: Do we trust the tales of fish-men now?! If little Theon Greyjoy has truly returned to us, we’ll know soon enough. And we’ll deal with him when the time comes. Until then, our only focus is on the task at hand.

Ulfe lifts the right sleeve of the guard outfit, revealing a small leather satchel.

ULFE: Open it, boy.

Raymar does as he’s told and grabs a bundle of keys, five of them jingling, all locked in a charred metal ring. Ulfe points to the second one, counting from Ray’s right side.

ULFE: That’s the one for the door at the bottom of the skinny tower. The one that will lead you to the spiral stairs leading you to the bridge.

Raymar nods as he focuses on the key to make sure he doesn’t forget.

ULFE: The last key…

Ulfe points to the last key to Raymar’s left.

ULFE: That one most likely won’t be of need, and as I’ve said, we ain’t taking chances. In case her door is locked, that’s the one to open it.

“In case… And since when do guards have the keys to the chambers of Lords, let alone the Princess… They don’t. So how?” Raymar turned to Ralf and given his look, there was no need to ask.

JORL: Easy enough eh?

“If it’s that easy, why don’t you volunteer?” Raymar ignored Jorl’s comment even though all he wanted to do was elbow him in the teeth. Bloodying that smirk of his would do him good. Raymar had always hated that smirk, ever since the first day he laid eyes on it. The constant arrogance, the condescendence… He hoped one day, someone would put him in his place.

ULFE: Ya a sentry tonight, Raymar. When ya arrive at the skinny tower, the lone guard will ask what your business is. You are to tell him that guards have doubled on ev’ry tower. There’s rumor of a threat you tell him. No reason not to believe you. No one has attempted anything like what you’re about to do. And that’s why it’ll work!

When ya close enough to him…

Ulfe takes out a long dagger from his belt and drops it on top of the guard outfit.

ULFE: The neck is clearer. Visible skin. No mail or chain or plate protecting it.

Ulfe shows him the spot he wants him to hit: The side of the neck, right under the ear.

ULFE: Make it quiet. You don’t want to alert the guards on the neighbor towers.

Raymar’s legs are now shaking uncontrollably. He gave up a few minutes ago on trying to hide it.

RAYMAR: What if… What if the lone guard is not positioned on the tower? What if he’s walking up and down the bridge. What if he’s on the other side of the bridge guarding her tower? What if he’s inside her tower?

Raymar puts a piece of fish and his mouth hoping chewing would calm the nerves.

ULFE: It makes no matter where he is. As soon as he sees you on the skinny tower, he will come to you. He will wonder who you are and why you here. And waking up their princess for no fair reason is not what they’re paid for.

RAYMAR: What do I do with the body?

ULFE: You hide it. You throw it. Play it as it comes. No amount of planning will prepare you for this. You must act on your instincts Raymar. They’re better than ya think.

Jorl sniggers at that remark.

ELDISS (to Jorl): Ya got something to add?

JORL: Just clearin’ m’ throat.

Jorl bowed his head as Raymar kept questioning why The Whale was not sent in his stead.

ULFE: Any final questions?

“What happens if I get caught?” He knew the answer to that. It’s the last thing he wanted to think about yet he could already see himself on the wet sand…

For a slight moment, he thought he wanted to know if the answer would be different coming from Ulfe or Eldiss. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to hear any answer from anyone and although he had plenty more questions ruminating in his head, he quickly realized they would not relieve him of his duty, only waste more time that he already didn’t have much of.

Raymar nodded his head left and right, signaling to Ulfe he had no final questions. Ulfe nodded his up and down.

ELDISS: When we plant the seed, the garden grows…

Ulfe joins her.

ULFE and ELDISS: The trees, the flowers, the plants, the weed…

Raymar adds his voice.

RAYMAR, ULFE and ELDISS: Only we can make it so…

Jorl joins the choir, and so does the scarred woman and the deep voiced man. Ralf is the last to join, with half of the enthusiasm of the rest of the room.

EVERYONE AT THE TABLE: For one day, the new sun will rise. And the new born, high or low, will make no difference in our eyes.

The volume gets louder and the two cooks, Dyyk and Harlaw have added their voices.

EVERYONE IN THE ROOM: And the new born, high or low! will make no difference in our eyes.

“What is dead may never die! But rises again, harder and stronger.” is what they would’ve added when all of this started. But the words were condemned now. They were filled with the false hope and delusion of the high lords in their high castles. And for the future to bloom, the past had to wither.

Everyone rose and clinked their glasses together before finishing the ale and taking their leave.

Once outside, Raymar finally understood the reason for the single horse straddled to the hitching rail. The Greyjoy guard armor fit him as if it was custom made. A long dagger and a short axe at his belt.

The fog had cleared a little and light rain had started to fall as he was tightening the saddle on the horse. The rest of the clan was coming out of the inn, one after the other, leaving in their own direction without a glance in his. He couldn’t help but feel alone, maybe used. Ulfe and Ralf were speaking inaudibly next to the door as Eldiss was making her way towards the horse.

ELDISS: What you’re about to do means a whole lot to all of us, ya know that right?

Raymar nods.

ELDISS: You are part of us Raymar, never forget that. Don’t be fooled by the false modesty inside the room. Ulfe’d gladly go himself if he’d fit the part.
You know he can be cold and hard but if you succeed tonight, not only will you restore some balance to our cause, but the death of his daughter will be avenged. He will see you in his highest regard. You will be by his side until we live to see the new sun rise or die, attempting to make it shine.

That made Raymar smile. He looked at the door and saw Ulfe patting Ralf on the shoulder before The Limper vanished into the night. Ulfe, the grey kraken as some called him, agitated and nervous, nodded in Raymar’s direction before he too, disappeared on his way.

ELDISS: Kill the bitch and get back to us quick. We need you here. More than you know.

Eldiss gave Raymar a motherly kiss on the forehead before taking her leave as well. Alone he was now, with the wind. Not as strong as it was, yet still, it made him shiver.

He rode upwards and upwards only. Following the highest light on the tallest tower. One muddied hoof at a time. The rain was falling faster, and the hill was steep.

“Jorl! This was Jorl’s doing, I’m sure of it. Makin’ sure none of his pretty limbs got dirty. The task was his. The armor would’ve fit him just as well as I. He’s more skilled than I am and he knows it. They all know it. What game are they playing? Why me? Was there even an order? No, Ulfe wouldn’t lie. Nor would Eldiss. Especially not Eldiss…”

Eldiss recruited Raymar when he was just a teen, and stuck up for him ever since. She lost a son around the same age, and perhaps that was why she felt so close to him. He always confided in her and she was always there to listen. She had never betrayed him…

“Until now? Was tonight the night? No, Ralf wouldn’t have killed a guard for no reason. They know too well the consequences… Ralf… Why not Ralf? He’s the most careful man there is… No, Ralf wouldn’t work. He can’t run. If something goes wrong…”

“Then why me? What did Jorl tell them? Jorl the fucking Whale… Jorl the Squid, more like.”

He wanted to turn the horse around. Gallop down the hill, all the way to shore. The remaining of his coins could buy passage south. “Where would I go? Anywhere. Lannisport? Oldtown? Dorne?” Raymar had never left Pyke, let alone the Iron Islands. He knew a world out there existed yet had not the slightest idea what it looked like. He imagined it was less dismal and bleak than the giant swimming rock he called home.

He doubted the six or seven coins in his pocket would be enough to buy passage anywhere. Maybe he could steal a ship. A small ship, unguarded. Plenty of them on shore. A rowing boat is easy to snatch in the middle of the night. Though he wouldn’t go too far before being keeled over by the Drowned God.

Would people even notice his absence? Or care? Would he be missed? He hoped Eldiss would, the first few days at least.

Even if he did manage to flee this godforsaken rock, as ignorant and naive as he was, he still knew the world out there was just as cruel to the lowborn, and even more to the bastards. Add one to the other and you have the poorest specimen in all the Seven Kingdoms.

“I could sail North…to the wall. No judgement there.” He’d heard of many seamen sent up there for various crimes. In truth, most were happy to go.

“I could start anew amongst a family of brothers. A bed to sleep in at night…every night! Meat and mead at the table every day! Stand atop the wall and gaze upon the world, all at once…”

A swoosh of cold hit his face hard and brought him back. The skinny tower was in front of him. Looking like the hand of a giant whose fingers had been ripped apart one by one until only the middle one survived. And even the middle one had been scratched out from the sides. It looked like a finger, extremely long and extremely thin. The tower was true to its name. No wonder only one sentry could hold it.

The tower had two bridges connected to it. One that led to Yara’s tower; the other that led to a larger guard tower with four sentries holding it.

As for the skinny tower, Ulfe was right. Only one sentry, walking up and down the swaying bridge.

Raymar was still on his horse, at a blind spot where he couldn’t be seen from above, his heart pulse beating faster than the raindrops hitting ground.

“If that sentry alerts the other four, I’m as good as dead. I have to wait for him to be closer to the skinny tower than Yara’s. He needs to be able to hear me and see me and not be alarmed…or threatened.”

Raymar hitched his horse to the stone. The rain was hitting so hard it had turned the light grey stone to black. The wind was whipping even louder; even if the horse neighed, he wouldn’t be heard.

He wondered why no one was guarding the bottom of the tower, and then he remembered that no one had ever attempted to do what he was about to do.

From his satchel, he takes out the keychain. Holding the third key, counting from his right, he attempts to enter it in the keyhole. His left-hand holds his right to reduce the shaking, but the key seems not to fit.

“What? Why?” He quickly jogs his memory and remembers that Ulfe pointed to the second key, counting from his right. He swiftly switches to that key and as that one locks itself into the hole, his shaking is too significant for him to turn it.

He lowers his arm as he tries to calm his whole body, eyes shut, breathing in and out as the rain was showering the sweat. “It’ll be over before I know it. In and out. In and out.” He kept repeating until he was calm and steady enough to turn the key to the right, unlocking the wooden door. Inside the tower, it was a perfect circle, with torches lighting the way upward the spiral stairs.

The long way up began, and every step forward he took, he wished they were backward. He tried to think of nothing else but the assigned objective and as he got to the top, amongst the rain and wind, he could faintly hear the footsteps of the sentry.

They were close, real close. Raymar had reached the end of the stairwell and if he took another step, the top of his head would feel the cold breeze.

Even though that was where he was headed, he needed to wait for the right moment. And the right moment was when the sentry was just a few feet away from reaching the outpost of the Skinny Tower.

When he looked up at the opening, he saw nothing but the high ceiling made of wood and rocks.

The sound of the steps faded. Raymar tried to listen but he could only hear the screaming match of the elements sharing the sky. That could only mean the sentry was on his way to Yara’s tower. Raymar wanted to take a peek to make sure, but he was too frightened to be wrong. “It’s okay, it’s okay… all I have to do is wait.”

The shaking had returned, all over his body this time. His thoughts were running amok. He had lost control of his mind and body and decided to solely aim his focus on the sound of the steps he knew he would soon hear again. Until he felt a chill on the back of his neck…

“Behind me… he’s behind — ”

Raymar turned quicker than lightning when he only fell on a wall of stone, too close to him to even fit another being; and a black rat, squeezing himself into the crack.

Raymar took deep breaths, until one of his exhales rhymed with the sentry’s footstep.

“He can’t- he can’t be too close or he’ll be alarmed just the same.”

The footsteps were getting closer. “Now.” he kept repeating, motionless.

“Now!”

He let the shaking trickle down the spiral stairs as he walked up into the open space that could squeeze four men at the most. The strength of the wind turned his gaze to the left where he came face to face with the sentry who was still on the bridge, a few steps away from the ground. For a moment, the sentry froze, and so did he.

SENTRY: Who goes here?

The sentry made sure his voice was louder than the rain and wind, while Raymar made sure to keep his back as straight as the tower he was standing on.

RAYMAR: They…they didn’t warn ya? Guards have been doubled tonight.

SENTRY: Can’t hear ya.

The rain had become tears on the sentry’s face and the wind was making everyone go deaf.

His gloved fingers clenched on the hilt of his axe as he was approaching Raymar who was frozen where he stood.

The bridge swayed left and right but the sentry didn’t seem to be bothered by that. When Raymar looked to his right, he saw the neighboring outpost with the four sentries guarding it. They looked like shadows of themselves from where he stood, still, they were there and they could see him if they cared to look; three on the platform and one patrolling their bridge.

SENTRY: Y’ got a message for me or somethin’?

The sentry had arrived on the roofed outpost. Under the stoned ceiling, everything seemed quieter.

RAYMAR: N…no message… They uh, they said to double the guards tonight. I’m to stand sentry with you. I was told there may be a threat.

SENTRY: A threat? What kind o’ threat? To who?

RAYMAR: The princess.

SENTRY: I wasn’t made aware o’ that.

RAYMAR: They…they just told me.

The sentry looks around him, trying to find anything suspicious. When he doesn’t find any, he looks back at Raymar.

SENTRY: Listen’ here, I ain’t looking to give offense. I been the only one standing guard for the princess. I ain’t ever need no help and I ain’t afraid of threats.

RAYMAR: I’m just followin’ orders.

The sentry was close enough. Half of his neck was naked skin. One quick stab of the dagger and the deed was done. Raymar’s shaking found him again, in his left leg this time, quickly climbing up to his chest. When he tried to control it, it made it worse and the sentry noticed.

SENTRY: You okay?

RAYMAR: Cold. Freezing.

SENTRY: Aye, it’s cold. Nothing new.

RAYMAR: Colder up here… than down there.

SENTRY: Have I seen you before?

RAYMAR: I don’t think… I don’t think so.

SENTRY: Where you usually stationed?

Raymar’s heart was thumping like a beating drum, so loud he feared it might alert the other four sentries.

RAYMAR: No…nowhere in particular. They gave me the uniform a few days ago. They sending me left and right.

SENTRY: They sent a rookie to help me manage a threat to the princess?

The sentry points to the dagger on raymar’s belt.

SENTRY: You even know how to use that thing?

The tone of his voice was ironic and rhetorical and Raymar was too focused on his trembling limbs to give a proper response.

SENTRY: They double the guards on all outposts you say?

The sentry turns to look at his four colleagues on the neighboring tower and takes a step forward.

RAYMAR: That’s what they said.

The sentry turns back to Raymar.

SENTRY: They’s only one way a threat can go near the princess and it’s through this bridge.

He points to the bridge a feet away from him.

SENTRY: And through the tower we’re standing on. This tower can barely fit the both of us. Whoever tries to climb up here, I’m pretty sure I won’t miss him.

The sentry turns his gaze to the neighboring tower.

SENTRY: And If they more than one, It’ll be no trouble callin’ out my four companions o’er there. Or eight tonight I assume. If as you said, they double the guards everywhere.

He looks back at Raymar as he wipes down the spit from his chin.

SENTRY: Now you can go and tell whoever sent you here that I can manage m’self just fine.

The sentry didn’t wait for Raymar to leave, he took a few steps to his left, looking back in the direction of the neighbor tower, probably wondering when the other four were going to show up. It did seem a little suspicious that they still hadn’t come.

SENTRY: What sort o’ threat you said —

Before he could finish asking the question, the sentry had already moved his entire body two quick steps to the left, attempting to avoid the blade rapidly swinging at his throat.

Arrrrh! A soft breath of pain as he places his hand on his neck, red strings slipping through his fingers. In a state of shock, he touches his neck, looking for an opening, and quickly realizes the cut isn’t deep enough. The dagger only pierced a tiny hole.

Raymar immediately lunges for his heart but the blade gets trapped in the chain mail. With the full strength of his forearm, the sentry disarms him, making his dagger fly out of the outpost and become one with the rain heading straight for the rocks.

He quickly regains his wits, and as the sentry is about to unsheathe his axe with his right hand, Raymar has already unsheathed his, and as firmly as he can, he plunges it in the sentry’s right shoulder.

Raymar shoves him to the ground before he has time to cry or yell or shout, quickly using his right hand to cover his mouth.

They are now hidden by the stones; if the four sentries were to look at the Skinny Tower, that’s all they would see.

Raymar wondered if they had heard the clamor but he assumed they only heard more of the storm.

Raymar had both his knees on both his arms, pinning him to the ground. The axe, still stuck in his shoulder. The sentry’s feet were banging on the wood, as loud as he could, hoping someone would hear.

Every time Ray tried to grab the axe with his left hand, his right knee was in the way. He could grab the handle but every time he attempted to pull the steel from the shoulder, his right hand would slip from the sentry’s mouth as his head was moving uncontrollably. And when his lips were free, a cry of agony would spill and Raymar had to shut the hole as quick as lightning. He couldn’t get ahold of the axe and his strength was weakening.

He brings his left hand to the sentry’s nose, now two hands covering his airways. Pushing. Pushing hard. As hard as he can. The sentry gesticulates left and right; right and left, until his teeth manages to find the palm of one of Ray’s fingers.

He bites as hard as he can. Raymar lifts his neck up, biting on his own teeth, making sure only a faint sound of anguish slivers out. The blood pours out of his finger and into the sentry’s mouth, and before long his tolerance to pain reaches its limit. He has no choice but to pull his hand away from the grasp of his jaw which makes the sentry’s screams loose and free to roam the storm.

With his unwounded hand that becomes a fist, Raymar punches the sentry in the face repeatedly, hoping the sound of broken bones would be quieter than the screams of torment. Some of the punches landed on his jaw, but most hit his nose.

After a bit, a squirt of red lands in Raymar’s eyes as his hand becomes numb.

Ray shakes his beaten hand in the wind before wiping the blood from his eyes.

In front to him, blood was spilling down the sides of the sentry’s cheeks like molten lava from an angry volcano.

Before long, the sentry was screaming again, louder this time, with tears joining the stream of blood. Raymar was struggling to shut his victim up, this time using his unscathed hand, when he noticed the tiny open wound in the center of his neck, the one cut from the swing of his dagger.

The puncture could easily fit the end of a little finger. While his right hand was busy on the airways, his left was attempting to dig a larger hole in his neck; he plucked in his fifth finger and twisted it. The cut grew and he could fit a second one. And then a third. He kept twisting and pushing and twisting and in the bright of night, the red was the only color that stood out, and it was spilling like an ocean through a broken dam.

When he pulled them out, Raymar’s three fingers looked like pencils brushed in paint, drooling red at the end of them.

The sentry was as still as the wood he was laying on. Raymar had never seen death this close. Now was not the time to panic… “Did they hear? Are the four sentries on their way?” Raymar couldn’t hear the footsteps. “They’d be here by now. I’d already be dead. Or worst, taken…”

He took a few deep breaths before washing off as much of the blood on him unto the sentry’s robes. He did the same with the axe lodged on his shoulder; after unloosing it, he cleaned it on the corpse’s robes and sheathed it back on his belt.

He was still on his knees when he looked straight and saw the bridge swaying left and right. The swinging was softer as the storm wasn’t as agitated.

Before standing back up, he straightened his helmet and smoothed his clothing. A few deep exhales and as he stood on his feet, lightning came roaring and it made him jitter.

He rapidly regained his balance and looked to the right to see the four sentries in the same position he left them in; perhaps two of them had exchanged places. Raymar thought one of them was looking at him, or he may have just been looking in the void.

Ray proceeded to walk unto the bridge, but before he took his first step, he stopped to look down. The bastard had never been afraid of heights but the large gap between him and the rocks made him realize what one hurried misstep could carry out.

He looked back at the corpse he had pushed lean against the stone, hoping that if someone patrolled the area while he was in Yara’s Tower, they would overlook and miss it.

“If one of the sentries decides to walk over here because no one’s guarding the skinny tower, and if they decide to really look, I’m done for.

If I throw the body off the cliff, they won’t find it until the morrow. But if someone sees me throwing it. If one of the sentries sees the body fall… or if they hear it break when it reaches the rocks… The rain and winds are strong and loud. They might not hear. And even if they do, it could be anything. A piece of stone falling from one of the towers… No, but they could still see the body fall, the fog isn’t thick enough. And they can see me pull it out if they care to look. The mission will fail and I’ll be as good as dead. Or worse…”

Raymar took his first step onward and walked the bridge with as much confidence as he could muster. He refused to look right or down. His eyes kept on the large stone pillar in front of him; a dark oval archway for an entrance. The swaying made him lose a step here and there but his balance was steady overall.

His heart skipped a beat when he entered the dark hallway. He knew Yara’s chambers was a few feet ahead and the tingling in his left arm was making itself known. A few lit torches were lighting some of the grey hall but most of it was left to darkness.

Her door was right in front of him but as he got closer, he saw the shadow of a human underneath the torch.

“Another guard! How? Ulfe said she slept alone. Ralf said… Is this a trap? I have to turn back. No, it’s too late. He’s looking straight at me. I have to keep going.”

Raymar’s whole body was vibrating as he halted right in front of the guard. A golden kraken embroiled on the heart of his coat.

There was silence for a moment as neither of them spoke. The guard was cold in his look and frozen in his stance. He was as still as the stone behind him.

RAYMAR: They told me… there’s… there’s an increase of guards for tonight. I am to join with you for duty.

Raymar wasn’t sure of the words coming out of his mouth but they were coming out just the same. The guard didn’t move an inch, his arms glued to his robes. Only a slight head gesture gave Raymar the signal to place himself opposite him, on the other side of the door. Ray’s shaking turned mild, loud but hidden inside, and when he turned his head sideways to calculate the distance between him and his partner, he realized the door was slightly ajar.

The voices were unclear at first, but they got closer.

“What is…? What is he doing here? Is that why there’s a guard outside the door? But if he’s here, why aren’t there more guards?”

Ray didn’t know what to do… There was nothing to do, but stand there. Stand and listen.

BALON: What is dead may never die.

YARA: What is dead may never die… but they did. And our invasion died with them. Deepwood Motte was our last stronghold on the mainland.

BALON: Then we will take more.

YARA: Why? For more pinecones and rocks?

BALON: Because I order it.

YARA: We can defeat anyone at sea. But we’ll never hold lands and castles against mainland armies.

BALON: Not if our captains defy my orders, abandon their posts, and sacrifice our men on foolish missions.

YARA: I won’t apologize for trying to rescue Theon.

BALON: And where is he?

YARA: Where is your kingdom?

Silence ensued for what seemed like a while but in truth, it may have just been a few seconds.

YARA: We took those castles because the Northerners marched off to war. That war is over. The last time we provoked them too far, I watched from that window as they breached our walls and knocked down our towers. I lost two brothers that day!

BALON: And I lost three sons! The war of the five kings they call it. Well the other four are dead. When you rule the Iron Islands, you can wage all the peace you want but for now, shut your mouth and obey or I will make another heir who will.

Before Balon even finished his sentence, Raymar could hear the footsteps approaching and before he had time to shake, King Balon bursted open the door, and as the Guard with the golden kraken was about to follow him.

BALON: No one follows me! Make sure the Princess stays in her quarters.

He didn’t even glance at his guard, and probably didn’t even realize that there were two of them. His tone was stern and the guard straightened himself back up. Before long, Balon had vanished, in the dark hallway leading to the swaying bridge.

Yara was alone now; if there wasn’t any more guards inside. He could take his tongueless partner, quickly, axe to the throat. “Maybe he’ll be quicker though.”

An axe is no dagger; and that weapon was now among the rocks.

Yet a more pressing concern arose in Ray’s mind. Balon Greyjoy was on his way to the swaying bridge. “If he crosses and finds the body…”

Ray did not think twice and left his post. He did not look back either, nor did he hear footsteps behind him. It seemed this guard took orders to the letter.

When Raymar was at a comfortable distance from him, he walked faster. Yet he still couldn’t see Balon in front of him.

“Did he already cross the bridge? Did he find the body? Should I walk back? Should I run?”

There was no time for the shudder to return. He had to move faster. The sound of rain and wind was getting closer, and when he arrived at the archway, he caught a glimpse of the tall figure; dirty grey hair falling to his knees, grey long robes brushing the wooden planks.

Raymar quickly looked to his left to see the four sentries still at their post. The king was right in front of him, drifting on the wet, swinging bridge.

One foot after the other and Ray was on the bridge himself. The rain was hitting hard and the drops were numerous; he could barely see his prey. “If he reaches the other side, it’s over.” His left foot started to shake “No” he refused to indulge it. He grabbed the small amount of courage he had left when he unsheathed his axe and ran as steady as he could.

Balon heard the steps behind him. He turned around to see a brandished wet axe aiming for his head. The king’s instinct made him lift his arm up, covering his face and he could only feel the steel swiftly cracking the bone of his left forearm.

His cry of pain was loud and clear and in the corner of his eye, Raymar could see the four sentries had heard.

Balon jerks his left arm out of his grasp, he unclenches the axe out of his broken bone and in a rage, he swings it at Raymar’s neck, trying his best not to lose his balance.

Raymar takes a few steps back avoiding the swings until the handle of the axe ends up right above his head and he manages to grab it. In vain, Balon tries to pull the weapon from his grip. Raymar grabs the king’s forearm where the fresh cut was filling with rain; he presses on the wound, tightly, making him scream even louder. Ray then seizes the upper part of his robe and shoves him on the dangling rope. Balon grabs Raymar in the same fashion and places him in a similar position; none of them are letting go of the axe handle.

Three of the four sentries have picked up the pace and are now walking with haste on the neighboring bridge; still cautious of the swaying and the slippery planks. The fourth sentry has probably entered a tower to alert other guards.

In a sudden haze, Raymar lets go of the handle and grabs Balon by his wound again. With his other hand, he makes a fist and punches him in the jaw. The Grey King loses his balance and with all of the strength he can muster, Raymar topples him over the rope.

The fall seemed to take a lifetime but before long the body had become the size of a finger and quickly after, the crack on the rock sounded like a small branch ripped from its trunk. Raymar’s breathing had rapidly decreased.

His eyes were fixated on the tiny broken body; as much as he could see beyond the mist.

The thought of jumping came to him when he saw the three sentries starting their way down the bridge he was standing on. Two had axes, the one in front, a spear.

Raymar had forfeited his axe with Balon. The only weapons he now had were his hands and they were too tired to clench into fists.

He grabbed the rope with two tight grips and elevated himself above it but when he looked down, he couldn’t go through with it. The fall, the distance, the time he’d still be breathing. He knew he’d regret it halfway.

He put his feet back and took the decision to run in the direction of Yara’s tower but before he could reach the archway, the princess came out of the dark and stood right in front of his eyes; the loyal silent Greyjoy guard by her side.

Raymar halted as he heard the footsteps of the three behind him. There was nowhere to run to; although there was still time for him to reach the rope and jump. He had planted the seed, the wrong seed perhaps yet there was no such thing. He had cut off the head of the snake; in his mind, it was far better than ripping at its tail. His duty was done and now it was time to rest.

“Unless…”

Yara was processing the situation and quickly understanding what had just occurred.

She wore a leather tunic and pants made of cloth. A long sword in her hand and her sheath was absent from her belt.

“She’s right in front of me. A foot away from me.”

But Raymar’s hands were weaponless.

“My fingers… her eyes… If I’m quick enough…”

Before he even had time to finish his thought, the pommel of her sword had reached the corner of his eye and all he could see was black…

It was difficult to open his eyes. He could feel the swelling all over them and on his entire body as well, as he was being dragged on the muddy grass. The little he managed to open with only one of his eyes, he could see the clouds were gray but the light was there and that alone made him smile.

He couldn’t remember how long it’d been since he saw any kind of light. Was it four days or five or fourteen? Days and weeks start to blend when you dwell in a windowless cage.

Every wound on his body; every cut, every bruise is a name he didn’t give up. He was proud of that. No matter how tempting it was to sell Jorl out, his loyalty always got the better of him and giving Jorl meant giving Ulfe and Kromm and Ralf and most importantly Eldiss.

In his whole life, he had never been in so much pain yet he understood it was the price to pay.

“If Jorl had been sent and failed, he would’ve ratted on us all…”

He wore iron manacles on his wrists and a matching pair about his ankles, joined by a length of heavy chain no more than a foot long. Two guards were holding him by both his arms, letting his shackled feet drag on the ground.

He could see a crowd getting closer. Or was it him that was getting closer? His vision was still a blur.

A crowd of warriors and a smaller crowd of common folk. At least a hundred of them, if not more, making a semi circle in front of a rock. Facing them, stood a Drowned Priest, in his sea colored robe, shouting indecipherable words, using grand gestures.

Only the Kings’ Moot attracted such a crowd; high and low born alike. Raymar had never actually seen one before. When Balon was elected king, the motherless bastard wasn’t even a thought.

When he got closer, most of them were staring and some of them, whispering loudly amongst themselves. His vision was getting clearer. Although he couldn’t hear a word, he was trying to see if he could locate any of his friends. Ulfe? Eldiss? Kromm? Ralf? A hundred people and not one face he recognized.

This shouldn’t be a surprise after all, it was probably too risky to attend this event, although hiding in plain sight was what they usually did.

The guards put Raymar on his knees, on the right side of the rock, far enough as to not be a distraction, yet close enough to hear what was being said if they talked loud enough.

Yara arrived from the distance, this time she wore the full armor. Raymar counted six guards encircling her but there were probably more in her back. She halted among the people. With fierce and serious eyes, she locked her sight on the drowned priest and after a bit, the chatter ceased and the wind took over.

DROWNED PRIEST: We speak in the presence of the Drowned God. In his name, we gather today to choose a new king as our leader. Who here makes a claim?

Silence for a moment, then Yara moved towards the rock and took a stand in front of her people; two guards on each side of her.

YARA: I am Yara Greyjoy. Daughter of Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands. I claim the Salt Throne.

Ray didn’t even get a glance from her. Two more guards joined her retinue, they were more spread out so the people could see her but they kept their distance close enough.

Raymar peered at the crowd again. His left eye was slowly opening now. Eldiss? No, that wasn’t her. Just a very strong look alike.

IRONBORN WARRIOR: Not once have we ever had a queen.

YARA: There are many things we’ve never done. The great Lords of Westeros pay us no mind. Until our little raids buzz through their kingdoms long enough to become a nuisance, then they swat us down. They conquer us. Humiliate us. And go right back to forgetting we exist.

We are a sea people. Our god is a sea god. When I am queen, we will build a fleet the western world hasn’t seen since —

IRONBORN WARRIOR #2: You will not be queen!

YARA: I am not finished!

IRONBORN WARRIOR #2: Yes you are!

The warrior steps forwards. He had grey-white hair and you could see the hardness in his wrinkles.

IRONBORN WARRIOR #2: A woman cannot lead us. Why should we give you the Salt Throne when Balon’s last son and heir still lives?

YARA: I regret to say this Willard, but my brother is dead.

Old Willard turned his gaze towards the end of the crowd, soon everyone did the same, all wondering what he was looking at, Yara most anxious of all.

A man moved from the back. And he approached the rock, the crowd letting him pass. They looked him up and down and gasped. “That’s not him… Theon… It’s Theon… Prince Theon… Didn’t I tell you” The crowd was loudly murmuring to one another as Yara froze in disbelief.

Raymar had a hard time seeing him clearly at first, but when he stood next to his sister the image was more distinct. He did not look the princeling he once did. He wore brown leather clothes under a lichen-green cape made of wool, similar to the one Raymar wore when he entered the inn, except this one didn’t have holes in it.

His unwashed auburn hair was touching his shoulders; he had never let his hair grow this long before, at least not that Raymar had seen.

He looked as if he hadn’t showered in months, yet he was alive, standing next to his sister in front of the people of Pyke.

Yara’s frozen look of anxiety was all that needed to be said. It seemed she gazed upon a ghost, counting the seconds, hoping he’d disappear as quickly as he appeared.

Not only was he flesh and bones, but it seemed like he was about to take the one thing that was now hers by right.

In silence, Theon peered at the crowd and the crowd peered at him.

THEON: I am Theon Greyjoy… Last living son of Balon Greyjoy.

His tone was hiding the lack of confidence he once had. Yet he stood his ground.

THEON: I have been absent…for far too long. Pyke is my home. Always has been, always will be, until I join the sea.

Some cheers, heard in the crowd.

THEON: My father… My father was not a good man…nor a wise one. He got us into wars we couldn’t win. For pride and title, no matter the cost.

Yara was frowning. From the distance, it looked like she was about to burst.

THEON: Our next ruler will have to understand what we’ve always been about to lead the ironborn into a just and prosperous future.

“Aye!” the crowd exclaimed.

THEON: My sister is right. We need to rebuild our fleet. We need the largest fleet. The greatest in the known world. We are Ironborn and it is time to remember who we are.

This time, the Ayes were welcomed by mild applause.

THEON: There is but one that can accomplish what we want.

The young prince turned to his sister. No words came out of her mouth but her quiet smile and watery eyes said it all. Theon extended his hand in her direction.

THEON: Yara Greyjoy, first daughter of Balon Greyjoy, is our only rightful ruler!

The crowd looked at each other as they started to nod one by one. Theon turned to the crowd.

THEON: Those of you who have sailed under her… You know what she is!

“Aye!”

THEON: She is a reaver!

“Aye! Aye!”

THEON: She is a warrior!

“Aye! Aye! Aye!”

THEON: She is Ironborn!

The crowd roared with excitement as Theon pointed to her yet again. Calm but stern.

THEON: She is our queen.

“Yara. Yara. Yara! Yara!”

The crowd chanted as Raymar was being taken away. It seemed our new queen had not wanted to put fear into her people’s hearts on her first day. If she had revealed who the man in shackles was and what he had done, who knows what sort of ideas she’d be implanting into those lowborn mind of theirs.

To them, Raymar was just another prisoner, but the bastard of Pyke knew the truth and it wouldn’t be long before he paid the iron price.

He was stretched by arms and legs. His feet and hands knotted with rope attached to wooden pickets encrusted in the ground; so tightly his hands and feet became numb in the first hours. His back scratched the pebbled sand and his crusty lips were almost kissing the sea.

On the first day, the water barely caressed the pebbles four feet ahead of him. Now he was used to the cold liquid driving up and down his damp clothing.

In the first couple days, at least a hundred people were witnesses, some debating wether thirst or hunger would take him first. Some went home at night to come back at the crack of dawn but most never returned. Death was long and boring to watch. On the fourth day, no one was left but Raymar and the crabs on his skin pinching him as soon as he flinched.

The weather had been gentle at first, although it made no difference in his head. Like hammers pounding on his skull, the dehydration had taken its toll. He yelled and cried and begged for two straight days and nights and no one moved a limb. And when no one was left to hear his plight, now and again some gulls would land atop the rocks and they would listen for a moment before flying off to more interesting endeavors. “Even the gulls are bored…” He thought, wishing he was one of them. “At least they’re free. Truly free.”

In reality it had only been three or four days that he’d been pinned to the beach, yet it felt like three or four years. Thirst, hunger and exposure were his companions, with him every hour of the day. He hoped somehow one or all of his companions would soon free him from this endless misery.

He looked for his friends again…his revolution companions. He didn’t expect all of them to show, but at least one of them.

A few hours ago, when the night was black and the only sound was the shattering of waves on rocks, Eldiss came out of the sea in front of him. A true mermaid from the legends. She didn’t look the warrior she usually is… she was thin and tall and glowing from the inside of her pale skin. Her long brown hair falling on a dress made from the white foam of the ocean. She drifted with the waves until she reached him.

He asked for her help but he knew she couldn’t answer. She kept reaching her hand but he knew he couldn’t grab it.

In case he did manage to miraculously escape, two guards were on land, checking on him from his rear. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear them bickering from time to time.

Eldiss kept him company throughout the night; she never uttered a word but her presence was comforting, as it’d always been.

Then came the morning mist and she vanished with it. Raymar reflected on it all. He couldn’t help but think they had sent him to his death.

“Did they know? Did they know what would happen? Did they know I wouldn’t talk? Is that why I was…chosen?”

He knew he would never get the answers but the questions persisted nonetheless.

“Jorl is a rat. Ralf is a mute. Kromm is a dolt. Ulfe cares for no one but himself…
I hope Eldiss actually cared”

“I hope she didn’t trick me into doing this. I hope she thinks I was really ready because I was. I killed the king. I killed the King of Pyke! The King of the Iron Islands! I alone, Raymar, Bastard of Pyke…”

He couldn’t tell if he had lived a good life, or a fulfilling one at the least. If he said yes, the popular opinion would probably disagree, and he would most likely agree with them. One thing he fondly looked back on was his bond with Eldiss and how she had been the only one to truly give him purpose in this rotten godforsaken life.

And now that he needed her most, she was nowhere to be found… He didn’t want to think about her no more. Her or anyone else. But then what else was left to think about?

“Everyone has a job to do.” Raymar reassured himself “Ulfe, Eldiss, Ralf, Kromm, Dyyk and Harlaw, the man with the deep voice and the woman with the scary scars… and this one was mine. No task goes according to plan. I could’ve failed entirely but I moved the cause forward by planting a seed, by eliminating an important force that stood in our way and that alone, is something to be proud of…”

Raymar clung on that thought for as much as he could. As the tide grew higher and the salt stung his eyes, his body was drenched and he could feel his own bones melting in the sand.

“It is time to sleep Raymar, sleep on your pebbles, let the gulls peck out your eyes while the crabs feast on your flesh. It is time to be quiet Raymar. Be quiet and die.”

He breathed in between the rushes of the sea and he knew it wouldn’t be long before darkness would be the only thing he sees.

He forgot about it all in this last moment and chanted the words:

“When we plant the seed,
The garden grows.
The trees, the flowers, the plants, the weed.
Only we can make it so.
For one day, the new sun will rise,
And the new born, high or low, will make no difference in our eyes.”

Those were the words of the Gardener and the Digger. “The words of our cause.”

Yet other words came to mind. Older words. Words of the Kings of the Ironborn. He knew those words were condemned among his peers, but no one could hear him now. And even if they did, what difference would it make.

“What is dead may never die, but rises again. Harder and stronger!”

It felt good to say it. “Perhaps the words are true. Perhaps the kings are right. Perhaps no one really dies…”

The water was well above him. He had very little time to breathe before the current came again and all he did was repeat the words, and when there was no more air to speak, he said them in his head.

“What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger.
What is dead may never die, but rises again.
What is dead may never die.
What is dead…”