Chapter 615

"The thing that dragged Euron to the depths was an iron weight tied to a thick rope. That thick rope was connected to a fifty-foot-long thin cord, and at the end of that cord were two flotation bladders. It was thanks to them that I didn’t sink before I could even get close to him. And once the bladders reached the surface…"

A floating marker? Asha’s explanation was somewhat vague, but Aegor immediately grasped the principle. “But how did you ensure that Euron wouldn’t use the flotation bladders to save himself?”

“I thought of that. That’s why I was prepared before I even boarded the ship. The size of the bladders was just right to cancel out the weight of the iron. So all I had to do, after securing the weight to Euron’s ankle, was puncture one of them—after that, nothing in this world could stop him from meeting the Drowned God.”

Hah. Thought of everything, didn’t she?

Aegor suddenly pictured the scene in his mind.

Asha, holding her breath, one arm clamping down on the bladders, the weight, and coils of rope. The other three limbs working tirelessly as she dove through the frigid, turbulent sea, approaching Euron from below like a shadow in the deep. In a single breath, she had to—secure the thick rope around his ankle and tighten it, evade his attacks, release the cord, puncture one bladder… all while ensuring that the remaining bladder would not be usable for self-rescue but would later float to the surface, marking his corpse’s location. That way, anyone searching for his body would only need to follow the line, haul him up, and strip his armor for loot.

What the fuck—no, what kind of divine-level execution was that?

To Aegor—who barely knew how to dog paddle and backstroke well enough to not drown—this was the literal definition of an impossible mission.

"Too risky," he shook his head, the sheer thought of it making his chest tighten. "If the cord didn’t fully unravel, if it snapped, if the water was deeper than fifty feet where he drowned—it would’ve all been for nothing. And if you got tangled in the rope underwater, you wouldn’t just have failed, you’d be dead."

“Oh? Now you suddenly care about me?” Asha scoffed, her tone laced with amusement. “A week ago, you acted like talking to me was a waste of your precious time. Who was that again?”

Aegor snorted. He let her jab go unchallenged.

She was right. If she had asked him beforehand—if she had sought approval for this plan—he would’ve immediately shot it down.

Valyrian steel or not, it was not worth increasing the difficulty of this war. He would rather let the armor be lost to the depths until the end of time than risk extra casualties for it.

If the question had been "Do you approve of this plan?" then the answer was no.

But now, the question was "Do you want it or not?"

That was a different matter entirely.

Aegor wasn’t the type to charge into battle wearing legendary gear like some hero in a bard’s tale. Asha’s rush to deliver it before the siege was pointless—he wouldn’t be on the front lines tomorrow, even if he were clad in full Valyrian plate.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted.

No man could resist the allure of dragonsteel.

Reforging Dark Sister into Lightbringer had been a necessary sacrifice. But now…

"Does the queen know about this?"

“I didn’t steal it from her armory,” Asha scoffed. “Plenty of people saw me haul his corpse up, strip the armor, and toss him back into the sea. They just don’t have your red witch’s knowledge—they didn’t recognize what it was.” She lifted her chin. “The plan to sink the Tranquility was mine. I took the risk. I killed the Crow’s Eye. He shared my name. This is my trophy. A Greyjoy heirloom. What does the queen have to do with it?”

Aegor exhaled sharply.

That was a stupid question on his part.

Old habits—cultural instincts—had reared their head again.

Daenerys wasn’t an emperor ruling over a centralized state. Even as queen, she had no right to seize war trophies from her followers. And this wasn’t just any prize—this was one Greyjoy taking from another.

Asha had every right to gift this armor to whoever she damn well pleased.

But one thing still nagged at him.

"You fished Euron's corpse out of the sea—then just tossed it back in?"

"What else was I supposed to do? He was still my uncle. My blood." She arched a brow. "Or were you hoping I’d bring you his head?"

"Fine," Aegor sighed. "Allow me to rephrase—why not offer this to Her Grace? She can reward you just as well as I can."

Asha smirked. "Commander, if I may?"

Before he could respond, Melisandre interjected, irritation creeping into her voice.

"Commander, this is no mere coincidence. This armor was meant to find its way to you. It is R'hllor’s gift—his blessing—his protection upon his chosen champion. Asha Greyjoy was simply the final link in the chain of fate!"

Aegor and Asha both exchanged a silent glance.

And promptly ignored her.

Asha lifted her chin, locking eyes with Aegor.

“If I told you it was out of gratitude, for how you treated me at Crown’s End—would you believe me?”

Aegor narrowed his eyes. He didn’t even bother responding.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. That’s worth a Valyrian steel dagger at best. The second reason—this armor was made for a man. Even if I gave it to the queen, she couldn’t wear it.”

“And the third reason?”

Asha’s smirk widened. “Commander, surely you haven’t forgotten the grand ambition I once shared with you?”

Grand ambition?

It took Aegor a moment to recall.

Then it clicked.

His voice was certain as he spoke, though it was meant as a question.

“To lead the Iron Islands toward a better future?”

“Exactly.” Asha’s expression softened—just slightly. “The queen can pardon my invasion of the North. She can release me from my vows to the Night’s Watch. She can name me Lady of Pyke, drown me in riches, even grant me the title Warden of the Isles…”

She paused, holding his gaze.

“But she cannot make the Iron Islands prosper. That is beyond her will and ability.”

She took a breath.

“But you can.”

“That is why I give this armor to you, and not to the queen.”