Chapter 35

White Harbor
That very evening

Yara Greyjoy, First of Her Name, Queen of the Iron Islands, was relieved that, after some delays, she had finally reached White Harbor, leading port of the North. She wasn’t alone, had taken as many ships as she could manage with him, containing prisoners, supplies, etc. Most importantly, she had taken the precious cargo assigned to her by Lord Varys: wildfire. It could very well make the difference between victory and defeat here in the North, against this most dangerous of enemies.

“And here we are, a bit later than you forecast, my friend, but so be it,” Yara the Bottomless remarked as she stepped on shore and felt the icy chill of the Northern winds.

“Yes, well, I’m used to the way that the western littoral works and made too many assumptions, I fear, Your Grace,” Lord Darren Haerd blushed a bit, even as the party of Northmen sent to greet them approached at last.

“Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor, I presume?” Yara inquired now.

“Indeed I am, Your Grace. And you are Yara Greyjoy, Queen of the Iron Islands, I hear. I must thank you for your aid at this time and congratulate you upon your accession. I gather that the old days when Kingsmoot would decide such things are now in the past. In practice, if not in theory. But then the Kingsmoot chose Euron Greyjoy, your uncle, and he’s a bit too dead to be King now.

“Word has it that your brother Theon has taken the black, so that rules him out as well. Queen by default and by assent of the King and Queen of Westeros, I dare say,” Lord Manderly tried not to notice the bare cunny facing him below Yara’s waist.

“Theon has taken the black? He’s a crow now? He’s the last man that I would have taken for that. My apologies, my lord. I’m Lord Darren Haerd... , “ Darren stopped as he realized that his exact title was entirely up to the Queen.

“Hand of the Queen and Master of Ships. Yes, he’s my Hand. It’s about time that the Iron Islands had some proper institutions, wouldn’t you say?” Yara now suggested, feeling awkward around a Northern lord due to past conflicts.

“Congratulations on the appointment, my lord. It’s fitting, since the Iron Islands are to become independent upon victory. So, Your Grace, shall we dine while our servants handle the petty matters? I doubt that they will need constant supervision for that, of course. Lord Haerd, care to join us?” Lord Wyman turned to his castellan, steward, and maester as they rode to his keep.

“So, this is the famous Merman’s Court of the New Castle of White Harbor,” Yara noticed the kraken, a very familiar sight to any Ironborn.

“You saw the Kraken, I see. We have that much in common, being sea dogs. Allow me to introduce my granddaughters, Wylla and Wynafryd. This is my castellan, Ser Nichol Horn. He’s brand new, mind you, was pardoned after serving the Boltons, but he’s convinced me to give him another chance. Mostly because he has Hornwood blood coursing through his veins. One of only a handful of knights in the entire North.

“This is Maester Allyn, also relatively new. Fresh from the Citadel, in fact. Odd timing, if you think of it. He’s quite the sharp maester, actually. He’s good friends with our septa, Gisila. Perhaps too friendly with her, eh? We’re one of only a few Northern houses adhering to the Faith of the Seven, while most are devoted to the old gods,” Wyman tried to converse normally with the Ironborn Queen, but her bottomlessness was rather unnerving to him.

“Whereas I am consecrated to the Drowned God, as is Lord Haerd here. This is Ser Wyllam Haigh and this is Dander. They both are rather young to have served on the Small Council under Cersei Lannister, but serve on it they did. They also serve the Seven, of course. Unlike some of the other Lannister prisoners, they are likely to stay on board the flagship with me.

“Speaking of which, what other news from the Wall, to which most of my captives are headed? How is Eastwatch holding up against the Army of the Dead? What else is going on up North? You mentioned that my brother, Theon, has taken the vows of the Night’s Watch and so wears the black. He must have had some good reasons for that, difficult as it is to imagine,” Yara asked, well aware of the discomfort of Lord Manderly with her bottomless state.

“It seems that, after repeated assaults upon Eastwatch, the Night King has decided on a new strategy, one of trying to bypass it, even though this risks an attack on his rear by the garrison there. We can only guess, but there have been ships sighted in the Bay of Seals near the shore. The Night King is also engaged in invading both Skagos and Skane as likely staging points from which to invade the mainland.

“Word has it that Tormund Giantsbane is to head all Westerosi forces between the Wall, Last Hearth, and Karhold. That includes his own handpicked band of twenty Wildlings, plus any local militia that might form up, any sellswords who might join, any more men from the Night’s Watch who might be assigned to the fight, possibly even the whole garrison under these rare conditions, the Umber bannermen, and the Karstark bannermen.

“It might well include some of my own bannermen before too long, but we shall see how it goes ... I’ll have to fight the Dead soon enough, one way or the other, won’t I? I presume that this will also include your Ironborn and your captives, once they make it up that way. You are going north, presumably by sea, I gather,” Lord Wyman stipulated now.

“Indeed, and in fact, I wasn’t sure about how many would go by sea with me, how many by land with you ... but now I’m sure that I need about half of the cargo unloaded, and about half of the captives as well. They can both be escorted northward on land while I sail the rest all the way to Eastwatch itself ... or thereabouts. It’s a long voyage, but an even longer march, I dare say,” Yara noted, even as she observed that Wynafryd, one of Lord Wyman’s granddaughters, admired Ser Wyllam Haigh.

Unfortunately, Ser Nichol Horn also noticed this and chose to act very rashly, seizing the exiled knight by the throat before shoving a knife into his belly. Ser Wyllam fell down and gasped in horror as he realized that he was dying. He had survived the last war only to be killed at the opening of the new war. Ser Nichol then drew his sword and thrust Lord Manderly through as well, to the utter amazement of hosts and guests alike.