Let's Make Game of Thrones Great Again (one chapter at a time...)

S6, Chapter 6: RAYMAR

PYKE, IRON ISLANDS

The night was grey with mist and fog and Raymar had now walked a little more than three miles. With the wind hitting against him, it felt like twenty. The dark green cloak he wore was full of holes, thus when he gripped the end of it and covered his face, it barely protected him from the piercing cold.

"This is useless." He let his cloak drop back down, cursing the wind that made it fly. Every time he attempted to open his eyes, he would either squint or turn his face to the side, revealing, behind that uncut dark hair of his, a pale-skinned young man, roughly twenty years of age, twenty-three at the most. Born out of wedlock to a fishwife who died bringing him into the iron world, he had never truly known the exact day.

Twice as much hair had grown on his chin and above his lips than on his cheeks and neck. It made him look young and old, all at once.

Even if he had been able to fully open his eyes, it would have made no difference, the fog was too thick and the only map was carved in his memory.

Every three days, the destination was the same. Only the time it took to get there varied.

At times, it depended on the weather. If no one were around, he'd make a run for it and arrive before anyone else. Mostly, he took his time though, like a thief making his best effort not to get caught.

The fog had started to clear out as he was entering Lordsport. He could see the oars and mats of the docked ships rocking left and right, so hard you'd think they'd soon hit one another.

The docks had always been full of them: Long ships, Large ships, Small ships... Now they were scarce in numbers. Most had gone out to war and never came back.

"The war of the five kings, they call it. Four dead... Does that make our king the victor? Or does it mean there's still one more to go for the war to be over?"

Docked away from the other ships, Raymar recognized Black Wind, Princess Yara's longship. He had seen her before she sailed to war and three weeks ago, when she came back from it. "Out of every Ironborn who left, why did she have to survive?"

Aside from the shouting of the wind and the roaring of the waves crashing on the rocks, the shore of Lordsport was quiet. Only a few merchants and fishermen were traveling from ship to ship; mainly to store the still-fresh sea food for the morning fair.

A couple of rock wives were seen exiting the cabins with rapid haste, fully nude with only a piece of white cloth to cover themselves. I suppose being exposed to the bitter cold was better than the beating they would've gotten had they stayed inside.

Most times, their fault lied with their inability to properly satisfy their husband's needs; sexual or otherwise.

To teach lesson, the men would ofttimes have their wives sleep on the cold wet muddy ground, only to wake them up before the crack of dawn, have them resume their sleep in a warm, comfortable bed, before quickly waking them back up again, and send them about their duty for the day.

A cruel practice Raymar thought to end one day, even though he hadn't the slightest clue where to start.

His destination was close, real close. All he could think about was the strength of the wind and when he looked high up on the hill, the fog had lifted enough to notice the Great Castle of Pyke, the seat of self-crowned King Balon Greyjoy.

Originally built on a cliff jutting out into the sea, over time, the cliff had eroded, leaving the castle's keeps and towers standing on three barren islands and a dozen small stacks of rock, surrounded by water; the towers, connected by swaying rope bridges. The keep, its towers, and walls were made of the same grey-black stone the rest of the island was composed of.