Eventually, she’d had to admit that she was wasting her time. It had been months since the war, months since she’d seen Harr or the Goodbrothers or any of her crew. She’d traveled back and forth across Westeros, from the wall to Seaguard, twice to Harrenhal, to Storm’s End, and worthless months in King’s Landing. All her time spent was for naught; she had no more information about Theon now than she had when she set sail from Pyke, leaving Harr behind with enough grief for the both of them.
Stood at the head of the ship on it’s way back to the Iron Islands, letting her eyes glaze over as the sea stretched out for miles ahead. It was comfortable to be on the water again, even if it wasn’t her ship. She’d be back there soon enough.
It was odd, she thought, that her perception of Theon had changed so much through her search. She once would have been the first to complain about him, and indeed she’d assumed the worst when he first went missing. But slowly she became the one to defend Theon from the words of those like Quenten Banefort and Leonette Tyrell. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of them and spat.
She didn’t know if Theon was dead or dying or where he was or even where he might have been. The next evening, when she left the boat and stepped off in her home again, it struck her that it had been even longer since Theon had seen these boats lined up along the dock with Pyke rising in the distance. She walked down the rows of ships looking for her Uncle Victarion’s, but she didn’t expect to see it. He’d taken the lead of the search party along the coast. She’d asked Harr to keep a watch on things, but she knew he wouldn’t be at Pyke. She didn’t even question where Damphair was, since there was no hope of finding him anyway.
Sullen and dejected, Asha began the trek back to the castle without bothering to take a horse. The moon was directly overhead by the time she reached the gates. The courtyard was nearly empty, save for a few kitchenhands already running about preparing a morning meal. She went straight to her quarters.
When she opened the door, the pleasant surprise of a made bed and a cleaned room awaited her. On the table beside her bed sat a rather large wooden box ornately decorated with swirls that became the arms of a kraken at the center of the lid. Beside it lay an envelope. It was unopened, but the wax showed no seal. She picked it up and, surprised by its weight, opened it carefully. An iron key fell out onto the floor with a clang, and she read as she bent down to pick it up.
Even Lord Greyjoy never learned to pay the Iron Price, but I did. In fact, I won these trinkets for you, Asha, with my own two hands. Enjoy.
She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her breath stopped then started again, too fast. She felt dizzy. The light from the tapers on the walls flickered, and she blinked quickly. With some difficulty because of her shaking hands, she placed the key into the matching iron lock on the box and turned it.
She closed her eyes and slowly lifted the lid, unsure of what evil awaited her inside until the smell of rot slammed itself into her nose, knocking her eyes open. She looked, she screamed, she tried to close the box as she turned to run away. She tripped over the leg of the bed.
She screamed again. Her head hit the floor.
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