[58] The Iron Islands
Chapter 58: The Iron Islands
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A frigid breeze nipped at my skin while I waited in the castle's training yard. Frost coated the earth, making soft popping sounds under my feet as I settled my mind for leaving. My beloved mount rested close by, her metallic-gold hide shimmering under the weak dawn light, wisps of vapor curling from her snout as she exhaled.
I noticed my magnificent Dragon still inspired awe and fear, her form catching the nervous eyes of guardsmen and peasants who'd assembled to watch us take our leave.
Yara stood bound beside me, her posture straight despite the ropes that secured her wrists. Despite that, she looked somewhat dazed, perhaps more worried about the incoming meeting than what she wanted to show.
[Image Here]
She's much prettier than her show counterpart. No, a whole different person. I noted, and perhaps because I was staring too hard, her daze ended and she caught me watching her. She quirked an eyebrow, that growing familiar smile appearing on her lips.
"Your dragon seems impatient," she observed, nodding toward Viserion who shifted restlessly, talons scoring the frozen earth.
“She's not. She's just annoyed that I'm going to carry another non-Targaryen above her,” I said, and she hummed.
The crunch of boots on ground heralded the arrival of Winterfell’s impromptu Lord, making me turn my head toward them. Hodor lumbered forward with Bran Stark in his arms, followed by his little brother and the elderly Maester Luwin, whose metal links tinkled with each step.
"Your Grace," the crippled boy said with a voice that was graver beyond his years. "We wished to extend our gratitude before your journey. Our home might still be lost to the squids if not for your intervention."
I gave a slight nod. "Having custody of this captive is thanks enough. She'll prove useful in negotiations with her father. Robb is a fine King, and as his younger brother, you show wisdom beyond your age. This alliance and friendship pleases me. As your Northern saying goes, the North remembers. I trust our friendship will endure when it matters most."
"We will," Bran assured me, then hesitated. "But about the Bolton forces..."
"They'll arrive within days," I confirmed. "Robb sent them before me. Even if they’re on foot, they should arrive soon. They'll help hold Winterfell from any future incident,” I glanced at the castle walls, where workers still repaired damage from the Ironborn occupation. "You'll need them."
Maester Luwin stepped forward, his weathered face creased with concern. "Your Grace, if I may speak freely?"
I was curious what a maester wanted to tell me. I was aware of the many theories surrounding them, about how they killed the last dragons, and about how they planned the death of magic like a grand scheme.
At my nod, he continued, "Alliances in Westeros are fragile things, built on shifting sands. I… we all know what unfolded between you two last night, and I'm not here to confront you for it. However, the Greyjoys..." his eyes flicked to Yara, "have proven particularly... unreliable allies in the past. No matter what you're planning to do with them be careful before turning them.”
"Careful, old man," Yara drawled, but I raised a hand, silencing her.
"Your concern is noted, Maester Luwin. But times change, and so do allegiances." I met his gaze steadily. "The world is reshaping itself. Those who adapt will survive. And Yara has adapted.”
The maester bowed slightly, though doubt still lingered in his eyes. "As you say, Your Grace."
Rickon, who had been fidgeting quietly, suddenly burst out, "Will you bring your dragon back? Can I touch it next time?"
"Rickon!" Bran hissed, but I laughed.
"Perhaps, young lord. Though Viserion isn't particularly fond of strangers."
We chatted for a bit more until movement caught my eye. Sansa approached quietly, her auburn hair bright against the grey morning. She stopped at a respectful distance, her face carefully composed.
"...Your Grace," she said softly. I found myself smiling hearing her address me by my title. Was she finally going to act cold? "I wish you safe travels."
The tension from our earlier conversation hung between us. I acknowledged her with a slight nod. "Thank you, Lady Sansa. Keep Winterfell strong in your brother's absence. Now, it's time we leave. Yara,” I said, and turned toward Viserion, who lowered her head with an irritated snort.
Her patience was wearing thin. I mounted smoothly, then looked down at Yara who'd followed me.
She raised her bound hands. "How exactly am I supposed to climb up there?"
"My bad," I shrugged, dismounting. I held her by the waist, and in one fluid motion, I lifted her, enjoying her soft hum, and placed her securely in front of me. She shot a smug look at Sansa, whose jaw tightened visibly.
"Hold tight," I commanded, gripping Viserion's scales. The dragon spread her wings, casting a massive shadow across the courtyard.
With a powerful thrust, we launched into the air, leaving Winterfell and its complicated politics behind.
****
The world looked different from a dragon's back.
Viserion's wings cut through clouds as we soared over the North's vast expanse. The landscape stretched endlessly below us – forests, hills, and frozen rivers woven together like some giant's threadbare tapestry. The air was thin and bitter cold at this height, but I barely noticed it anymore.
Yara sat rigid in front of me, her bound hands gripping Viserion's scales. Every so often, her shoulders would tense when we hit a pocket of turbulent air. I could almost feel the conflict radiating from her – the mixture of awe at flying on a dragon and resentment at her position.
"Quite the view, isn't it?" I said close to her ear, watching her suppress a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.
She turned her head slightly. "Different from a ship's deck, I'll give you that." Her voice carried a hint of grudging admiration. "Though I prefer having my feet on solid wood."
"I understand where you're coming from. I got used to it already, though. Dragon riding is just second nature to a Targaryen,” I said, observing her reaction as she shrugged.
"I guess it's a good thing that I won't be riding dragons often," she said.
"Won't you? As my Iron Queen, you'll need swift transport between the islands and mainland often."
She fell quiet. For once, she didn't flirt back. She spoke in a serious tone, "What exactly do you plan to do once you take the throne? Assuming you manage it."
I laughed, the sound carrying away on the wind. "If I couldn't take over a kingdom with a dragon this fine," I continued with a smirk, "You should be ashamed of moaning for me last night."
"Cheeky," she said, and I tightened my grip on her waist, making her breath catch. "So what's your answer?”
“My plans are simple enough. Unite the realm under strong leadership, and make it relish. The greatest Empire under the sky. Not just by mere words, but rather making my subjects happier. Fixing the society we live in. Make the lifestyle better for people… No more petty lords playing at kingship, among other things.” I spoke a bit more than I planned, but she didn't seem to dislike it.
"And the Iron Islands? Will you let us keep our ways?"
"You've asked that before.”
“And how much of your answer did you mean?”
I stayed silent for a moment and then said, “As long as you raid any other continent than mine. The Free Cities have plenty of wealth to plunder. And honestly, I might give you missions to attack them myself. You'll go on conquests under my command, and enjoy yourself while doing so.”
Silence passed between us, and her posture relaxed a little. We stayed like that for a while until she asked, “Remove my restraints already? It's uncomfortable.”
“Nah, won't look harsh enough to your people.”
“Aren't we hours away from the Iron Islands still?” She asked.
“Nope, I think we're pretty close-” my voice was cut off by thunder rumbling in the distance. We both stared at dark clouds looming ahead.
Viserion growled, sensing the approaching storm. The air grew heavy with moisture, and wind began to buffet us from all sides.
"We should land!" Yara shouted over the growing gale.
"No time," I called back. "It's too close to us, and it's coming right this way. Viserion, try to fly around it!"
Lightning split the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. Viserion banked hard to avoid a particularly violent gust, and suddenly Yara's grip slipped. Her eyes went wide as she tumbled sideways off the dragon's back.
“DAMMIT!”
"Yara!" I shouted, watching her plummet through the storm-dark air. There was no time to think; I called forth my Dragon Wings. Leather-like wings burst from my back, tearing through my clothes as I jumped from Viserion's back and dove after her.
The wind howled around me as I streamlined my body, gaining speed. Rain pelted my face like tiny needles, but I kept my eyes locked on Yara's plummeting form. Her scream cut through the storm as I reached for her, my arms stretching through the tempest until finally catching her in my arms.
Her eyes were huge as she stared at my wings, her chest heaving with panicked breaths. “What the hell?!” She managed despite the situation while the golden sheen of my wings gleamed in the darkness.
Above us, Viserion circled anxiously, her massive form barely visible through the sheets of rain. I could feel the dragon magic coursing through my veins, my partial transformation granting me strength beyond mortal limits as I held Yara secure against the battering winds. My wings, though smaller than Viserion's, cut through the air with surprising efficiency, the beats fighting against the storm's fury.
“Foo…lish…humans…!” Viserion roared louder than the thunder above us as she swooped down, her massive form a golden beacon against the storm-black clouds. I angled us toward her back, calculating the trajectory through the brutal crosswinds before landing hard but secure on her rain-slicked scales.
Yara clung to me, her face pressed against my chest, her whole body trembling. I could feel her racing heartbeat even through the howling chaos of the storm, her fingers digging into what remained of my shredded shirt.
When she finally looked up at me, her expression had changed. The usual defiance wasn't there anymore, but there was something new. No conversation unfolded between us after that.
The storm began to clear as we approached the edge of the mainlands. Dark tower peaks emerged from the mist, dark and forbidding against the grey sky. Yara's body tensed against mine, for sure recognised her home better than mine. “Pyke.”
Through sheets of misting rain, the Pyke revealed itself – a sight both magnificent and grotesque.
The castle stood like a challenge to nature itself, sprawled across a series of small, rocky islands connected by swaying rope bridges and stone archways. The islands rose from the churning sea like the broken teeth of some ancient beast, each one crowned with towers of black stone.
Viserion circled high above, giving me a perfect view of the castle's impossible architecture. The Great Keep sat on the largest island, its walls weathered by centuries of salt spray and storm. Beyond it, towers reached skyward on increasingly precarious outcrops, each one seeming more likely to topple into the angry seas below than the last.
"Your home is quite something," I said to Yara, who sat tense in front of me. The castle before us made Winterfell look positively welcoming in comparison.
The surrounding Iron Islands dotted the horizon like dark smudges against the grey sea. Great Wyk, the largest, loomed to the south, while Harlaw's more hospitable shores stretched to the east. I'd read and heard tales about them as Viserys, so I recognised them. Orkmont's peaks pierced the cloud cover to the north, and Old Wyk's sacred shores lay hidden in the morning mist.
Waves crashed against the rocky cliffs hundreds of feet below, sending spray high into the air. The whole scene was full of wild, untamed energy that seemed to embody the Ironborn spirit itself.
No wonder these people were so fierce, for they lived in a place that tried to kill them daily.
"The Greyjoy words make more sense now, I guess," I said, taking in the harsh landscape. "What is dead may never die... in a place like this, death must feel like an old friend."
Yara's only response was a slight nod as we began our descent toward the Great Keep. The banners of House Greyjoy, the golden kraken on black, whipped frantically in the wind, as if heralding our arrival to the Iron Islands' ancient seat of power.
Yara spoke quietly, “Brace yourself, Your Grace. Convincing my father is going to be troublesome. But trust me, I'm going to try my best. I don't want him to make an enemy out of some weird draconic human.”
“Calling me weird is rude,” I retracted my wings and pulled her closer. “Don't worry about your father, even if he acts stubborn, I'll take care of him. You just focus on your future role as the Iron Queen."
Yara welt silent again as we descended toward the castle that would soon witness a clash between the old and the new.
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