It was late at night on the third day of the crossbow battle.
Bryn lifted the flap of Suleiman's command tent, and a gust of cold wind swept inside.
His voice was steady. "My lord, they've raised a white flag in the city and are asking for negotiations."
"The envoy is a young man who calls himself Baelor Blacktyde."
"He says he's the new lord of Blacktyde."
Suleiman looked up from the map and tapped it lightly with his finger.
"Baelor Blacktyde..."
He repeated the name under his breath. It seemed vaguely familiar.
At last, fragments of memory joined together in his mind: an interesting Ironborn, an eccentric who had tried to reform the savage Ironborn with the Faith of the Seven, only to be cut into seven pieces by Euron Greyjoy as an offering to the Seven he worshipped.
Suleiman looked at Bryn. "Bring him here."
Soon, the tent flap lifted again.
A young man entered. He wore a fine black-and-green wool coat and a rare sable cloak. He was handsome, with cheeks so smooth he hardly looked like an Ironborn.
Only his excessively pale complexion and the weariness deep in his eyes betrayed his fear.
He had none of the Ironborn's defiance. As soon as he entered the tent, he bowed respectfully and greeted Suleiman with impeccable Westerosi noble manners. "Lord Suleiman."
Only Suleiman and Bryn, whose hand rested on his sword hilt, were in the tent.
Suleiman leaned back in his chair and studied the young man, his voice utterly level. "I remember cutting off the head of a Blacktyde lord and mounting it on a flagpole."
"So, are you now the lord of Blacktyde and head of House Blacktyde?"
Baelor Blacktyde's eyes dimmed, but Suleiman's bloody, provocative words drew no strong emotional reaction from him.
He