Soothing Steam and Troubled Thoughts
Asha lowered herself slowly into the hot water of her bath, ignoring the dull pain in her shoulders as she did so. The steam reached upward, caressing her body as she breathed in deeply and leaned against the back of the basin. She lowered her arms and drew them close to her body, running her fingers along the scars that she still bore. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes and took in the warmth. She enjoyed the sensation and, for just a moment, her strains and stresses seemed to melt away. There had been a time, not too long ago, when she’d thought she’d never experience such a wonderful feeling again.
That time was long gone now. She no longer struggled to determine day to night in the dungeons of Winterfell, and no longer wondered when her next meal would come. Gone was the time where every creak and sound foretold some new doom. She breathed in deeply once more, letting the steam loosen her sinuses and warm her lungs. She exhaled slowly, opening her eyes alongside the breath. She stared absently at the divider to her right, her mind drifting to her uncle Euron.
He’d killed her father, not that many viewed that as much of a crime. Lord Balon’s constant vying for more, constant reaching for the old ways, and his focus on the iron price was what had placed the people of the Iron Islands in such a difficult place to begin with. His wars cost a great many lives, with absolutely nothing to show for it. When Euron had killed him there was no denying that the people of the Islands were, at least to a degree, relieved.
But he hadn’t killed Lord Balon to do a service to anyone, aside from himself. He’d claimed the crown at the kingsmoot, promising to lead the Iron Islands into a time of prosperity. His promise disappeared with his ships, when thousands of true and loyal Ironborn had followed Asha across the Narrow Sea, and all the way to Meereen. A murderer and a traitor had no right to the Salt Throne, as a king or as a lord. Still, her decision to depart had split the Ironborn clean in half between herself and Euron, and he was certain not to take the theft of the Iron Fleet lightly.
Even so, it wasn’t Euron that she feared now. If he wanted to kill her, she was certain that he would do it himself. Here in Meereen, she was safe from his blade. She smoothed a hand down her thigh and ran her palm across the scars that rested there, still raised from her skin despite the years since they’d been given. It wasn’t Euron she worried about now – but her own people. She knew that her agreement with the Queen of Meereen, and soon-to-be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, was unlikely to make them all happy.
“Theon,” Asha finally said, pulling herself from her thoughts. There were two others in the room with her – her brother, Theon, and her most trusted advisor and second-in-command, Regnar. The divider that surrounded the tub blocked her from sight of both of the men, but she knew they would have remained. Theon was too anxious to leave on his own, without some form of direction to guide him, and Regnar was certain to stay nearby as long as Theon was present. It seemed that two years meant nothing to the massive warrior, as he still guarded her as fiercely as he had the first night of her rescue. She reached for a cloth at the edge of the tub, “Do you think they’ll accept it – the deal I made with the Dragon Queen?”
She lathered the rag with soap that smelled of foreign fruits and lifted it to her shoulder, scrubbing slowly in a circular motion. She pressed more firmly, letting her fingers gently massage the joint as she waited. As the silence extended, she asked once more, keeping her voice low and calm, “The people, my people. The Ironborn, Theon. Do you think they will accept it?
“I…” His voice cracked as he spoke. He sounded so meek and so frightened – not at all like the boy she had known as a child. Once he had been fearless and headstrong, with more bravery than sense. Even when he returned to Pyke after nine years, she’d seen the same traits. There was potential there, if he turned out to be more Greyjoy than Stark.
Or so I thought, she grimaced as she slid the rag to the other shoulder, kneading the muscles as she tensed her jaw against the discomfort. He’d turned out to be neither Greyjoy nor Stark, as she had so poignantly learned. But he had certainly been her brother, stubborn and willful, even back at Winterfell. She’d have preferred this current Theon then, she knew. She listened as he cleared his throat hesitantly before continuing, “I, uh… I believe they may be upset, My Lady.”
“Enough with that,” Asha scoffed, a bite to her words. She shifted slowly, one shoulder popping silently, and then moved the rag over her chest, scrubbing away the dirt and grime that had worked its way beneath her leather and onto her skin. She wanted to stop thinking of what once was, for even just a moment. She wanted things to be normal, to be safe. For this to feel comfortable. She forced her shoulders to relax as she focused on the heat of the water, “Do you believe I did the right thing, Theon? By agreeing to Queen Daenerys’s terms?”
“I do… Asha,” Theon replied slowly, his voice seeming to catch in his throat. As she listened, Asha let her gaze fall on the intricate artwork that played across the divider. The scene appeared to be of Daenerys’s liberation of Meereen – slaves threw of their collars and held weapons high, masters cowering in fear beneath them. A dragon, black and fierce, blew flame overhead, a white-haired rider upon its back. It was clear that whichever artist had created the piece had spared no detail. Her brother spoke up again, a bit more vigor resting in his words, “The Ironborn are a proud people, but you made the right decision. They’ll see that.”
“And if they don’t?” Asha asked.
“They will. They have to,” Theon replied, his voice holding a shaky confidence, “You will be their queen.”
Asha sighed softly as she placed the rag back at the edge of the basin, and then let herself sink lower into the water. Soon only her face was not submerged, and the water lapped at her ears and spread her hair across its surface. She closed her eyes and listened to the hum around her, ignoring the soreness that she still felt. Her mind wandered, and she found herself wondering, questioning – would the Ironborn follow her once the fighting began? And would they follow another queen, one who had no connection to their islands and who held no respect for the old ways?
Our old ways were evil, she mused. The Ironborn held great pride in their “old ways” – the time when the islanders had been reavers and rapers along the coast. Each man had paid the iron price for what they had, and took from everyone without discrimination – man, woman, and child. The islanders held a deep bitterness toward the loss of their old ways, and many longed for such things to return. Yet, Asha knew all too well, as did those closest to her, that their old ways were cruel, brutal, and unnecessary. Why do we long for them so?
And then the realization hit her – the Ironborn did not truly care about the “old ways.” They didn’t need to return to them. They cared about accessible goods, enough people to work the mines and enough food to fill their bellies. But, more than anything, they cared about strength, glory, and power. When the Ironborn had been reavers and rapers, they had all that they needed and instilled great fear in the mainlanders’ hearts. But what if those same benefits – the same strength, power, and care – came from elsewhere? Asha opened her eyes and studied the ceiling silently, considering the idea.
“Will you follow me, Theon?” She sat up now, letting the warm water drip down her back as she grabbed the rag yet again.
“Me? Of course. I will always follow you, Asha,” Theon spoke quickly, with a certain surety to his uneasy tone. He had become her steadfast supporter upon her return, and had supported her openly in the kingsmoot and all that had happened since. Her eyes studied the divider again, trailing down to the bottom of the art piece, where the bodies of the dead masters lay slaughtered, like a border made of blood. After a moment’s pause, he spoke again, “You are my queen, and I will support you through everything.”
She wished she could believe him.