The Iron Fleet sliced through the waters of the Summer Sea, its dark sails billowing under the steady wind. Victaria Greyjoy stood at the prow of the Iron Victory, the spray of saltwater misting her face as the horizon stretched endlessly before her. Behind her, the rhythmic creak of oars and the clatter of rigging were a familiar comfort, a song of ironborn dominance over the waves.

"The Father of dragons is said to be in Meereen," her first mate reported, his voice steady but hesitant. "But his city is under siege."

"Good," Victaria replied, her tone sharp and unyielding. "Let him see what the ironborn bring to his shores. We will catch his enemies off guard, bringing him their heads.." She turned, her heavy armor catching the light of the setting sun, the kraken sigil etched into her plate gleaming like a predator beneath the waves. "This is no errand for my sister. The Drowned God and the Red God wills it. The father of dragons is a fitting mate for a kraken."

Her men exchanged glances but knew better than to question her resolve. Victaria’s reputation as the Iron Maiden was earned, not given. She clenched the hilt of her axe as she gazed toward the distant east. Eurona’s mockery still echoed in her ears, but it was drowned by the promise of fire and blood.

“Ready the men,” she commanded. “When we land, we fight for the dragon and kill those who oppose him.” She then gazed in the direction they were headed and thought "The most beautiful man in the world has urgent need of my axe."