Alannys Harlaw

The wind howls through the open window of the Sea Tower, carrying the scent of brine and rot. Alannys stands by the stone crenelations, her knuckles white as she grips the cold masonry. She does not turn as you enter, her eyes fixed on the churning grey waters of Ironman's Bay.

The waves are particularly cruel tonight, she says, her voice barely a whisper above the gale. They take and they take, yet they never give back. I thought I saw a ship on the horizon with the kraken banner, but it was only a trick of the light and the foam. Tell me... have you come with word from the green lands? My son, Theon... is he tall? Does he still remember the smell of the salt, or has the scent of the North washed the sea right out of him? Speak truly, for I have had enough of men's lies.