A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

mother believes.”
    There were times when she would gladly have murdered him herself,
she thought. “And what does my nuncle believe?”
    â€œBalon fell to his death when a rope bridge broke beneath him. A storm was rising, and the bridge was swaying and twisting with each gust of wind.” Rodrik shrugged. “Or so we are told. Your mother had a bird from Maester Wendamyr.”
    Asha slid her dirk out of its sheath and began to clean the dirt from beneath her fingernails. “Three years away, and the Crow’s Eye returns the very day my father dies.”
    â€œThe day after, we had heard.
Silence
was still out to sea when Balon died, or so it is claimed. Even so, I will agree that Euron’s return was . . . timely, shall we say?”
    â€œThat is not how I would say it.” Asha slammed the point of the dirk into the table. “
Where are my ships?
I counted twoscore longships moored below, not near enough to throw the Crow’s Eye off my father’s chair.”
    â€œI sent the summons. In your name, for the love I bear you and your mother. House Harlaw has gathered. Stonetree as well, and Volmark. Some Myres . . .”
    â€œAll from the isle of Harlaw . . . one isle out of seven. I saw one lonely Botley banner in the hall, from Pyke. Where are the ships from Saltcliffe, from Orkwood, from the Wyks?”
    â€œBaelor Blacktyde came from Blacktyde to consult with me, and just as soon set sail again.” Lord Rodrik closed
The Book of Lost Books.
“He is on Old Wyk by now.”
    â€œOld Wyk?” Asha had feared he was about to say that they all had gone to Pyke, to do homage to the Crow’s Eye. “Why Old Wyk?”
    â€œI thought you would have heard. Aeron Damphair has called a kingsmoot.”
    Asha threw back her head and laughed. “The Drowned God must have shoved a pricklefish up Uncle Aeron’s arse. A
kingsmoot?
Is this some jape, or does he mean it truly?”
    â€œThe Damphair has not japed since he was drowned. And the other priests have taken up the call. Blind Beron Blacktyde, Tarle the Thrice-Drowned . . . even the Old Grey Gull has left that rock he lives on to preach this kingsmoot all across Harlaw. The captains are gathering on Old Wyk as we speak.”
    Asha was astonished. “Has the Crow’s Eye agreed to attend this holy farce and abide by its decision?”
    â€œThe Crow’s Eye does not confide in me. Since he summoned me to Pyke to do him homage, I have had no word from Euron.”
    A kingsmoot. This is something new . . . or rather, something very old.
“And my uncle Victarion? What does he make of the Damphair’s notion?”
    â€œVictarion was sent word of your father’s death. And of this kingsmoot too, I do not doubt. Beyond that, I cannot say.”
    Better a kingsmoot than a war.
“I believe I’ll kiss the Damphair’s smelly feet and pluck the seaweed from out between his toes.” Asha wrenched loose her dirk and sheathed it once again. “A bloody
kingsmoot!
”
    â€œOn Old Wyk,” confirmed Lord Rodrik. “Though I pray it is not bloody. I have been consulting Haereg’s
History of the Ironborn.
When last the salt kings and the rock kings met in kingsmoot, Urron of Orkmont let his axemen loose among them, and Nagga’s ribs turned red with gore. House Greyiron ruled unchosen for a thousand years from that dark day, until the Andals came.”
    â€œYou must lend me Haereg’s book, Nuncle.” She would need to learn all she could of kingsmoots before she reached Old Wyk.
    â€œYou may read it here. It is old and fragile.” He studied her, frowning. “Archmaester Rigney once wrote that history is a wheel, for the nature of man is fundamentally unchanging. What has happened before will perforce happen again, he said. I think of that whenever I contemplate the Crow’s Eye. Euron Greyjoy sounds queerly like Urron Greyiron to these old ears. I shall not go to Old Wyk. Nor should you.”
    Asha smiled. “And miss the first kingsmoot called in . . . how long
has
it been, Nuncle?”
    â€œFour thousand years, if Haereg can be believed. Half that, if you accept Maester Denestan’s arguments in
Questions.
Going to Old Wyk serves no purpose. This dream of kingship is a madness in our blood. I told your father so the first time he rose, and it is more true now than it was then. It’s land we need, not crowns. With