[61] The Salt Conquest

Chapter 61: The Salt Conquest

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The Great Hall of Pyke felt different with Yara on that ancient throne. The Seastone Chair loomed behind her like a kraken frozen mid-strike, its black surface drinking in what little light filtered through the narrow windows.

I watched from my deliberately understated position as the Ironborn filtered in. Captains, raiders, and weathered old sea dogs—their faces carved by salt spray and hardened by lives spent on merciless waves. They were hard men, strong soldiers, but sadly they were ironborn.

Their eyes held a peculiar mix of resentment as they looked at me, but there was also fear. Where Ironborn didn’t fear men, even the greatest men feared a dragon. With Viserion's shadow occasionally darkening the windows as she circled overhead, it couldn’t be a wonder why they kept themselves in check.

Yara's voice cut through the muttering crowd like a blade through silk when all the men were present, along with the few women who deserved to enter these great halls. "My father's way led us to ruin twice, brothers and sisters," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "The Old Way ends today."

Jaws clenched, and I caught more than a few hands tightening on weapon hilts. Old bastards never liked change, and it was no different here on these islands, either.

"We are Ironborn," she continued, leaning forward on the ancient seat. "We take what we want. His Grace here has allowed us to keep that luxury. But we must be smarter about what we choose to take." Her eyes swept the crowd, challenging anyone to interrupt. Nobody dared. "The Seven Kingdoms are no longer our prey. Their dragons and armies would crush us if we even dreamed about it. Rather, we look east."

“What luxury? Robert Baratheon allowed the same, and we hate him for it. Did you forget, girl?” One of the elder ironborns said. “During Robert’s reign, we Ironborn were meant to abide by the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, which included refraining from raiding and pillaging within Westeros. Your father’s rebellion twenty years ago was fueled by our frustration with these restrictions and our desire to reclaim the old ways of reaving along Westerosi coasts. What’s so luxurious about this?”

Another older captain with a face like cracked leather spat on the floor. "He’s right. We must abandon our ancestral waters? Become foreign raiders?" His voice was full of contempt. "And all because this silver-haired boy commands it?"

“Yes, precisely. And the luxury here is that we don’t die. You don’t die. I begged for your lives, and you spit in my halls?” Yara glared at the man, who clenched his jaws, failing to find words to defend himself. “Thousands died because of my father’s rebellion, and less than a hundred died during this time. And even that is because you guys didn’t listen to me fast enough, didn’t drop the weapons fast enough. Are you really suggesting we clash swords with a dragon, you stupid bastards?” She growled, and both of the old men flinched back.

A short silence later, someone cleared his throat. "But the east?" The word echoed, the young captain’s confusion evident. “We’ve tried our luck there before, but…”

"The Free Cities overflow with wealth," Yara breathed out her anger and smiled, and there was a predatory glint to it. "Their merchants grow fat and lazy, their ships poorly defended compared to Westeros. They do hire mercenaries, but what are mercenaries before the Ironborn? Why scratch at the bones of fishermen when we could feast on Essosi gold?”

“Well…”

“Don’t give me that look. I see your point. I have personally led multiple ships to Essos, more than most of you here, so I know it’s not as easy as I say. But His Grace wants this. It’s not that he’s just allowing us half-heartedly, but he wants us to do this. He’ll help us, he’ll lead us, and he’ll take over the Essosi Lands. Trust me when I say that his Empire will be greater than Aegon’s." Yara finished her speech.

I didn't move from my seat but let my eyes meet hers. I smiled, liking how she handled this. She’s a fine woman, I’m attracted. Her dominance was applause-worthy. I let my gaze gloss over some of the older men, hardening it, and they looked away. They should know what it means to insult my woman. Should I teach them a lesson?

"His Grace," Yara emphasized the title, calling me up from my glare as if realizing what I was thinking. "He offers us a chance not just to survive, but to thrive. Do you lots get it? The Drowned God cares not where we reave, only that we do so with strength and cunning."

“She’s right,” an ironbron said.

“I see the logic too…” more and more began to agree with her.

“Great,” she said and stood, her presence somehow filling the massive chair's shadow. "I am your Queen, chosen by the sea itself. The Iron Islands will adapt, or they will drown. In this situation, the choice is simple. Do you all agree?”

Another captain stepped forward. "You're queen because of him," he jabbed a finger in my direction. "His dragon burned our brothers!"

"No, I'm queen because I understand what you don't," Yara snapped. "His Grace is the true king of the Seven Kingdoms, the first Dragon Rider in hundreds of years. The blood of Old Valyria flows in his veins, the same blood that once ruled the greatest empire this world has known." Her voice softened, becoming almost seductive. "\We are ironborn, we’re strong, and the Free Cities would tremble more than ever at the sight of our sails when they know a dragon flies over us."

The assembly stirred, greed warring with tradition in their eyes. But I was bothered. How can they be so stubborn? They keep clashing opinions with her.

I rose slowly, drawing every eye. "Your queen speaks wisdom," I said, mildening my tone. "Consider carefully how you receive it. For unlike her, I don’t see you as my people and wouldn’t hesitate to burn you to the ground if you misbehave."

The threat hung clear as crystal. Viserion's screech punctuated my words through the windows. Yara seized the moment to stop me from further scaring her men. "You heard him. Prepare your ships," she commanded. We sail east with the next tide. Those who wish wealth and glory, follow me. Those who don't..." Her smile turned sharp. "Well, I'm sure the Drowned God welcomes all his children eventually."

The captains began to disperse a short silence later, their faces a mix of resignation and calculating acceptance. No more outright anger showed—they'd learned that lesson well enough when Balon fell, and now everything was plastered on cement.

Soon, as Yara reminds them of her might, they’d be glad that Balon was dead.

As the last footsteps faded, leaving the hall empty, I approached the Seastone Chair. “It was a great speech, Yara,” I said to my Iron Queen, who remained seated, her knuckles white where they gripped the ancient arms.

“....”

“Why aren’t you responding?” I asked, and she just looked up, a frown on her face. I chuckled. Without warning, I grabbed her chin and claimed her mouth in a demanding kiss.

She made a small sound of protest that quickly turned to a moan. Even now, that spark of defiance flickered in her eyes before drowning in desire. Her fingers clutched at my shoulders as she melted against me, every inch the fierce queen turned willing conquest.

****

I thrust hard into Yara, allowing the world around us to blur into a haze of raw desire and primal need. My every movement was met with a responsive buck from her hips, turning me on further, encouraging me to delve deeper, to claim her more forcefully with each passing moment.

My fingers were laced through hers as I fucked her from behind like beasts, pressing her hands into the soft furs that lined the bed. I pulled her by the arms a moment later, using them as leverage to slam into her with greater intensity, each stroke eliciting a gasp or a moan from her lips. “Ohng, yes~! Harder, harder… I am- my hips are going to break!”

Her hips were going to break, she said, but she begged for more anyway. Her inner walls suddenly clenched tight around me, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure coursing through my body. I could feel the pressure building within me, an unstoppable force threatening to rip through me at any moment.

“Get me–” Yara's cries of pleasure grew louder, more desperate, as she neared her own peak. “Get me pregnant, fuck me into a mess!” I drove into her harder, faster as I also reached it. With a final, powerful thrust, I buried myself deep within her.

My body shuddered as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over me, the feeling of my seed spilling into her triggering her own climax. Her body convulsed beneath me, her moans of pleasure music to my ears. I let go of her hands, allowing her to collapse onto the bed as I withdrew from her, my own body spent and sated.

I fell back against the furs, my chest still heaving from our latest round of passion. Shit, I actually came inside her. The air was full of the thick scent of sex and sweat, mingled with the ever-present salt tang that permeated every corner of Pyke.

I closed my eyes briefly, realizing there was nothing to do here. A long minute later, I opened my eyes and found Yara stretching like a satisfied cat, her naked form glowing in the dim light filtering through the narrow window.

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me. Her tired eyes met mine, a lazy smile playing on her lips. "You're insatiable, you know that?" she said, her voice soft and husky with lingering pleasure. “What happens to me if I actually get pregnant?

I chuckled, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "What can I say? You bring out the beast in me," I said, ignoring her second comment.

Her smile widened, a hint of mischief flickering in her gaze. "Well, I certainly can't complain about the results."

I leaned in, capturing her lips in a lethargic kiss as my hand trailed down her body, tracing the curve of her hip. Gods, I loved toned women. It was rare that even after intense lovemaking, I found myself wanting this much more.

But I knew we had matters to attend to, responsibilities that couldn't be ignored, no matter how much I might wish to lose myself in her once again.

I had to stay in control, so I let her go. A moment passed as we stared into each other, and something was calculating in her gaze now, different from the raw hunger of moments before. I knew that look. She wanted something.

"Vis," she began, her voice still husky. "Now that I'm Queen... well, Highlady to be exact, but whatever. There's something we need to discuss."

I laughed softly. "You look serious."

"I am. It's about Theon,” she said.

My amusement died. Of course, it was about her useless brother. I'd been waiting for this conversation since we took Pyke.

"I want him released from Winterfell," she continued, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. "He's suffered enough, hasn't he? Being held prisoner in the place he once called home..."

I caught her wandering hand, squeezing perhaps a bit harder than necessary. "I can't control the North, you know? Forget about Theon and forget the men you took there, for they're under Robb Stark's rule. I can't influence it."

"But you said-"

"Theon will live," I interrupted her, releasing her hand. "As a prisoner, perhaps a slave, but he will. In Winterfell, as he has been from a young age. He won't die. I'll send Robb a letter telling him about that. He's definitely mad at Theon, but not enough to kill him if I request it. Although it’s troublesome that Theon burnt two innocent children, we can say that your father manipulated him. That the ironborn who came with him did it."

"Still..." Her voice held a note of protest, but I could see the resignation in her eyes.

"Listen, he made his own decision. I understand your love for him as a sibling, but he’s his own person. Plus, him being here will trouble your claim. The opposing men might manipulate him to stand against you. So let him live where he always has.”

She fell silent, her lips pressed into a thin line. I knew she wanted to argue more, but she was smart enough to recognize when I wouldn't budge. I mean, if I truly wanted, I could free Theon, but why should I?

I leaned over, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss while my hands once again roamed her body, finding all the spots I'd discovered drove her wild. "Rather than that," I murmured against her lips, "I've heard that your uncle Euron Greyjoy is roaming the world. He has made quite a name for himself. Be careful of him, and if he comes, kill him immediately. If you can’t, notify me about him as soon as you can."

I couldn’t risk Euron Greyjoy, he was an anomaly. Yara sighed, and her body melted against mine, her earlier tension dissolving under my touch.

"Understood," she breathed between kisses. "My King..." said my Slave Queen who’d do anything that I wanted, anything that would bring me benefit.

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