Daenerys
It was always a puzzlement how much the meaning of a word could change to someone. Growing up, whenever someone spoke of what a monster was, Daenerys always thought of the Usurper who murdered her brother. But when she walked the roads of Slaver's Bay and beheld the mile markers of crucified children, she knew it was absolute that the Masters were monsters. From that day on, nothing embodied more than them. Nothing until Euron Greyjoy.
When Rhaegal had disappeared, his tantrum calmed and his deeds to start breaking her began. After the tongues of the fallen Dothraki and Unsullied were cut out, their feet were tied and their bodies were cast over the sides of the ship and Daenerys had been forced to watch as their bodies were ripped apart by sharks. She mourned their loss, but refused to shame their memory by letting it get to her to amuse the insane captain.
But then he followed through his promise.
She had been tossed in the brig by her lonesome until an hour later that two Ironborn dragged Missandei down to join her. Daenerys almost choked when she saw the state her best friend was in. Missandei's clothes were torn, her skin bruised and blood trickled from her lips. The worst part of it was when the Ironborn came back later and tore Missandei from Daenerys arms. No matter how much she protested and bargained to be in Missandei's place, the mutes ignored her.
Daenerys swore that Euron would die, painfully, without a thought for mercy.
During the long stretches of solitude, her mind replayed all that had been shown to her. All of what could have been… Aegon's past. Seeing herself descend into madness was painful, but even worse were seeing those that so cared for her now in a completely different light. Sansa was an enemy who looked at her with the greatest hatred and bitter loathing with such subtlety. Tyrion abandoning her for his family, Varys betraying her for another, Arya with such a coldness that she was unrecognizable. None hurt as badly as Sansa. Her friend and… and…
None but Aegon. The pain in his eyes contrasted against his hand wrapped around the dagger that went into her heart. Fate had it for her to fall in love with him again… did that mean it would be soon that they would see each other at the end of a dagger again?
The Ironborn had returned, but not with Missandei. Instead, she was taken from her cell, bound in chains.
She was led to another chamber deep in The Silence, a room of shadows that only had a single candle in the middle burning a bright purple flame. There was only one person there this time. "Beautiful, isn't it? The glow of a dragonglass candle draws you in as much as the lies so delicate inside it." Euron looked up from the flame to her with a nasty grin. "Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons and the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, and the Breaker of Chains."
Daenerys narrowed her eyes as she was forced into a chair and her hands were chained to it. "Monster."
Euron cackled. "I'm glad we already know each other so well."
"You know nothing about me." Daenerys claimed.
He clapped his hands, circling her. "I know everything about you, more than you do. I know that all this time wasted talking is below you. You're a woman of action, of fire and blood. What is befitting of you." The Ironborn Captain didn't linger, didn't bother with fake pleasantries. Diving into the heart of the matter. "You are so pathetic now. Nothing but a whore, selling your lies of love to the people who want to buy them. I know what you really are, who you really want to be. That's when you'll be mine."
"I'll never be yours!" she spat. "If you try to kiss me again, I'll tear your lips from your mouth."
Euron looked at her quizzically. "You make it harder to resist you, your grace." Daenerys was sure the sickest grin had spread across his face. "That's the true madness, thinking you're anything other than what you are." He grabbed Daenerys' chin, forcing her to look at him. Squeezing hard till her eyes opened and she screamed out a pained cry between clenched teeth. "Your father was a prick, a worm. Weak and unable to handle the fire you can. But you… you're a real dragon. Unburnt as you watch the world in flames."
She glared at him, wishing there was a brazier she could tip over as she had with the Khals.
Her death glare only caused his grin to widen. "Ah, yes. There it is." He drew back, chuckling as she coughed. "You see, Targaryen, we Ironborn lost touch of who we are. Petty raiders and thieves all think, but we are more than that. We are the sea, the storms, one that can destroy ships and rip apart the shore."
"Why don't you take your cock and fuck a kraken in the dark depths? I am the master of my fate, I choose what it is."
Euron's grin smiled and he looked deathly serious at her. "Then it wouldn't be fate now, would it?" He snapped his fingers and the door to the chamber opened, the pouring in torchlight illuminated just enough to see that in the corner of the room was a small table but it was too hard to distinguish what was on it.
The mute Ironborn crew entered with Missandei held back in their arms. She looked worse than last time. The hem of her dress was all but gone, barely covering her dignity.
Euron drew a knife, causing her breath to hitch in fear. He approached Missandei and slid the tip across her palm. Missandei held her scream when Euron finished. He swiped a finger across the cut, collecting the blood, and came over to Daenerys with such sudden haste.
Without warning, he pressed his hand on her mouth, forcing it open as he stuck in the finger traced with Missandei's blood.
Daenerys shook and spat the blood out just as Euron released her. She looked at him with disgust and rage and he just smiled back. "Welcome to the shallow waters… you will obey, or I will force her red flesh down your throat as you watch her die." He pointed the knife to Missandei.
"Don't listen to him!" Missandei hissed, only for one of the mutes to slap her across her face.
"You see," Euron began again, ignoring the protest and staring at the purple glow of the candle. "While all you petty fools were fighting over who would sit in that damned chair, I traveled the world. I have seen things that would make your nephew piss his trousers. That would make the scorched statues of Valyria weep and cry in fear."
Daenerys felt her heart beat faster. She would not be afraid… she would not be afraid…
Euron went over to the table and took something from it before removing the eyepatch he wore. He turned back around, and the glow of his hidden eye became prominent in the shadows. For an instant, something felt deeply unnatural about the eye, as if there was something behind the glow watching her just as intently as Euron was.
"Aegon is stronger than you ever could be…"
The blue flashed, this time in fury. "The bastard is nothing!" Euron's voice had changed. Veins sprouted on his neck. It was harsher, no longer tinged with the barely-hidden amusement in which he viewed the world. "He is no Stark, no Targaryen! Not a direwolf, not a dragon! He will die in the cold with them all!" The blue faded, leaving Euron dazed as if he just woke up. "But no matter. You shall be free of him."
She tried to writhe, to slip from the chains, but ultimately even in her full strength Daenerys couldn't escape. "A dragon is not a slave…"
"There's a first for everything" He presented a cup, nearly filled to the brim with a liquid she couldn't identify from the purple glow. Euron took his knife and nicked the tip of his finger and let a drop of blood fall into the cup, the small splash turned the entire color different. He then grabbed Daenerys' left hand and cut her thumb, catching her blood with the blade, and dripped a drop into the cup. "I shall free you. Save you. Liberate the dragonfire that you truly are."
The blood mixed with his own. The liquid glowed an almost unearthly red. One terrifying, but a sort of terror that entranced. That left Daenerys unable to look away, even if she wished it. Bringing calm, a hot, searing calm. One that would destroy those of normal blood, but bring nothing but a soothing comfort to those of dragonsblood.
To the unburnt.
Euron took the cup and held it in front of her. "The drink, or her flesh…" he smirked.
This was it, whether she would submit to him or continue to fight. Daenerys looked at Missandei across the room and saw her shake her head desperately. The light of the candle drew her eyes in, and it made her think of the memory she saw, the last moments before Missandei was murdered.
She couldn't let it happen again.
Daenerys drank the potion, only a sip, but it was enough. Her muscles began to burn, her eyes water with a sting, and her lungs thickened with heat.
She knew she must fight it, but a melodious touch seemed to fill her mind. Something as soothing as the heat. Caressing her thoughts. Easing her emotions.
Clouding all that seemed to torment her, Daenerys too entranced to realize such torment was nothing of the sort.
Her capacity to love, hurt by Aegon's distance.
Her desire for compassion, breaking at Missandei's torture.
Her need for peace, warped by the petty vengeance of those around her.
Her wish for family, torn away by her loneliness.
"Wake up," she heard Euron speak, a voice mixed with that of dozens, of hundreds. In it she heard Viserys speak, Drogo speak, Daario speak, voices she would rather forget interspersed with those she never knew. But all called to her.
Swirling in her were the memories of what she had seen of the future… but no longer was she simply watching it. No, she was there. Feeling Jon inside her. Listening to the whispers of hate from the northmen and Sansa. Crying in agony at Missandei's death. Listening to the bells until she let go. Aegon's hand around the knife as it plunged into her breast.
Anger, hate roaring from within. A fiery anger. A focused anger.
An anger that seemed to be pried out of her and left to spread across all thoughts. Smothering what it couldn't corrupt.
And it felt wonderful. Soothing all. Surrounding all in a pleasing haze that required not to think.
The flicker of the candle danced until it didn't. Glowed until it stopped, instead drawing Daenerys towards Euron himself and the cold eye he had. It began to faintly glow, this time a blue light that pulled Daenerys' gaze deep into it. Giving her sensations almost similar to those she had when she looked within the brazier in the Red Temple of Volantis. To those when she had journeyed into the House of the Undying.
Her head began to ache as a chill overtook her bones, and her mind felt as if a hand slid through it, grasping hold of her thoughts and blurring her sensations. It was all drifting into what could only be described as a dream within a dream.
Everything was shut out except for a handful of constant thoughts and desires that remained in her mind. The anger. The rage. The hate. The determination.
The fire. The spark.
Nothing else mattered. Nothing.
"Now," Euron said, "how would you like to get started as my Queen?"
Only three words came from Daenerys lips, but she didn't even know what they meant now, only that it's what she wanted. "Fire and Blood."
Melisandre
A sharp, cold breath filled her lungs as Melisandre flinched at a great crack from the fire burning the hearth of the Chamber of the Painted Table in Dragonstone, interrupting the meeting at hand between Daenerys Targaryen's council regarding the raven from King's Landing informing them all of Ellaria's execution, and Daenerys' decision to leave.
"Lady Melisandre?" Theon Greyjoy asked, looking at her intently curious.
Striding over to the flames, Melisandre gazed into them and felt the warmth within. The fires danced until from beyond them, images began to form and transpire.
There was a ship, one stronger and more powerful than any in the world with black sails bearing the golden, red eyed kraken, leading a fleet of a thousand ships. And at the head of the ship stood two people. The King of the Ironborn, Euron Greyjoy, and at his side was Daenerys.
No, it didn't make any sense… at first.
The shadows cast by both Euron and Daenerys melding into one that was not either of theirs, but a dark figure of the cold, raising his arms up like a puppeteer manipulating his puppets. Echoes shivered their way into Melisandre's soul, echoes of victorious laughter unholy to the world.
The fire cracked again and the vision faded. Melisandre let out a great breath and almost felt the strength in her legs leave her. Stumbling back, she tripped but found herself caught by Theon Greyjoy.
"My lady," Theon helped her back up, steadying her on the Painted Table, "what is it?"
Melisandre's fingers curled as she leaned on the table. She looked up to Varys, and for the first time, he shared a look of worry with her the moment he read her expression. "We are all in grave danger."
Jon
No rest for the weary… was that how the saying went?
"How in fuck's sake did no one deign to keep track of Euron's Ironborn?!" Jon bellowed, his footsteps echoing across the stone floor alongside his voice. Certainly the statement was true, though. Especially for Jon. Just as Sansa had calmed him from his heartbreak did an even greater disaster hit him.
Ser Beric winced. "Decades on the waves as a common pirate have given Euron Greyjoy a knack for escaping detection…"
"With a dozen ships!" Jon very nearly screamed, face going red. "Not a thousand! How did he escape detection?!" If the Raven was right and the his Night King had powers beyond imagination in the sight, then so be it that they're attention to detail for Euron was clouded. But it couldn't have been every single person in the world? Surely someone among the seas of the shores of Essos would have seen the massive fleet and thought to gossip about it, enough that Qyburn or Varys would have found out. So how could this have not, and why Euron?
A hand reached out to touch his forearm, one that instantly brought a sense of calm. "Jon… Please, ease yourself."
Meeting Sansa's blue eyes, though while he was still angry they did bring some ease to his heart. Enough that he wasn't frothing at the mouth at least. He squeezed back, but turned and resumed his previous course. "I want every ship we have ready and set for sail to Dragonstone!" Jon was marching furiously throughout the halls of the Red Keep with his council trailing behind. "And make sure that every keep worth a damn to conquer has troops armed and ready in case the Ironborn detour and decide to pillage the mainland."
"The ravens are already out, your Grace," said Ser Brynden. "I've ordered whatever banners remaining in the region to the crownlands keeps, while the heavy horses are stationed inland to provide support in case the garrisons can't."
"What about our ships?"
"I've also already sent word to Storm's End," Lady Olenna said, "Lord Redwyne will be sailing before the eve breaks today."
"We'll still be outnumbered eight to one," Beric reminded. There were only thirty-five ships docked in the Blackwater that belonged to the Royal Fleet. The rest of the fleet would have to be compiled of the Tyrells and whoever would heed their call.
Sansa cleared her throat. "Daenerys has the ships of Driftmark as well as her own fleet stationed off Dragonstone, those from Meereen and Yara Greyjoy and Theon." She always did have greater trust in Theon than Jon did, in both lifetimes. Such proved to Jon that it was a legitimate trust and not something desired by the sister he had known in order to collect power. "They would equalize matters, no?"
Beric paused for a moment. "If they'll come to our side, then it would help us substantially, but we'd still be outnumbered, just four to one then."
"That's still far better odds." Sansa was no military mind, but was clever. Her poignant look at Jon captured her thoughts. "Battles have been won at worse odds."
All he needed to hear. "Send a raven to the Velaryons for help," he ordered. "And another to whichever Free City has the closest sellsails. Offer them any amount of gold they want to get here yesterday."
Olenna pursed her lips. "That would cause problems down the line."
Jon glared at her, shutting her up. "If this were any other enemy, being outnumbered could be risked. But Euron is cunning and powerful, and Ironborn. We could be the ones to outnumber them and we'd still be at the disadvantage." Never. Never would he underestimate Euron again, not after what he lost and especially now that Euron has powers bestowed by the Night King himself. Calling the situation at hand difficult was not enough.
"What about soldiers?" Ser Brynden asked just as they all spilled into the small council chambers. "The Royal Army's reached three thousand men with the Bolton defectors from the North, and gathering men from the nearby Houses will take a day, putting us at perhaps five, maybe five and a half thousand. Any more and we'd denude the garrisons of the coastal keeps to nothing."
Everyone took their seats, everyone except Jon who just kept pacing back and forth. Restless and unable to gain a firm handle on his thoughts. Sansa looked like she wanted to rise, but he waved her off. She couldn't help him at this moment and didn't wish for her to exert herself.
The first to clear his throat was, inexplicably, Qyburn. "Perhaps it would be better to wait and observe Euron's first move." Many eyes looked at him. "If he intends to coerce Daenerys Targaryen's army for himself, it will take time we can use to strengthen the fleet, and perhaps negotiate with the Martells when they arrive."
"Yeh won't have any time after tomorrow."
All eyes turned to Ser Davos who rushed inside and stood by the table. Jon had never been so happy to see the man.
"Davos-"
"Shut it," he held up his fingerless hand at Jon. A bluntness he always appreciated and was glad to see after everything. "We don't have time and we're fucked if we waste it. Euron Greyjoy's a bloody maniac, but he's also the most tactical sea mind in the world. Stannis barely beat him because of good winds and surprise. We won't have that."
Olenna huffed. "There was no way they could've won that rebellion. They were outmatched completely."
"Aye, by a realm at peace and with the strength to outlast them. Not this shit situation, not even countin' the army of corpses preparin' to blast past the Wall." No one dared to argue against Davos' point.
Jon threw his fists and kept pacing. They needed time, but time was something they did not have either with the dead factored in or even without. At their current strength, they wouldn't last a bloody hour. He locked eyes with Sansa, seeking reassurance.
There was none to give. Her gaze was just as grim as his.
"Jon," the Raven said suddenly, stopping Jon in his tracks, "there's still a chance."
"What?" Jon asked and a familiar sound echoed from outside. Jon ran over to the window and peered out. "Rhaegal." His heart soared, suddenly feeling the tug at his breast.
"I managed to free him from the Night King's influence, but I've nearly exhausted myself doing it. Take him and meet Euron at Dragonstone. He's a better sailor, but he's no true dragonrider. It's the only way you'll buy more time."
Jon took in a deep breath before he turned to his council. "Three days. Find help and strength wherever possible, even if it means swallowing your pride and begging for it. We can't afford to lose the battles to come before the war." He nodded at Davos and began to march away.
"Your grace!" Olenna stood from her seat. "Don't tell me you're going now, alone at that?"
Jon looked at all of them, gripping the hilt of Blackfyre at his side. "I'm not going to die until I stare the Night King in the eyes and laugh at him. That, I swear." He turned back and marched away.
At first, Jon thought he would be heading straight for the Dragonpit, but Rhaegal had soared down to the beaches below the castle, waiting for him, obviously just as anxious and angry as he was.
It was time to fix the mess he began. No more being a fool on a throne, no more political garbage to argue. There was only one clear objective. Saving Daenerys.
Halting before the dragon, both man and beast locked eyes. Rhaegal tensed letting out a guttural growl at him. "I'm sorry." Jon told him. "No more being a Northern Fool." Rhaegal growled at Jon again, but lowered his body, ready to be mounted.
"Jon!" Sansa had followed and rushed over and hugged him tightly before he could mount his dragon. "I know she loves you as much as I do. Please," she whispered, "please save her and come back."
Jon didn't respond. He pulled away slightly and looked at her calmly in her tear filled eyes. She was scared more than he ever saw her before. But then he was able to realize that it was not just for herself, but him too, and Daenerys.
The world seemed to fall still in that instantaneous moment and all Jon could see was the woman before him, not his sister, not the Queen of the North, just Sansa, a beautiful woman he loved. His spirit soared free like it did the day he stood with Ygritte atop the Wall, watching her see the land for the very first time, being truly in love for the first time.
Without thinking why he should, he leaned over and pressed his lips on hers, taking Sansa by surprise but holding her softly. Her hands squeezed his cloak until he released their kiss. By the time he realized what he did and who he did it with, it didn't feel wrong to him. No, something felt… in place.
"I'll be back."
He mounted Rhaegal and took one last look at his cousin. She had backed away, but was still in a starstruck gaze, brushing her lips with her fingers.
"Let's go, Rhaegal!"
The mighty dragon lurched forward and with a powerful flap of his wings, Rhaegal took to the skies, flying over the fleet of ships sailing for the Isle of Dragonstone.
Jorah
The squad of ships led by Euron had disappeared to the east, most likely regrouping with the bulk of the Iron Fleet and the storm that had covered their appearance had passed along as well. Just what kind of devilry did that madman command?
Resting on the hull wreckage of the Balerion, Jorah could only sit in dreaded solace for his failure. The second ship that attacked them bashed theirs so hard that he fell overboard. The weight of his armor almost drowned him had he not been able to slip out of it.
And by the time he could have begun to climb back aboard and protect his queen, the fight was already over. As much as he wanted to charge into the Ironborn and take as many as he could, he knew he was not as young as he once was and it would have been a vain act to do. Hiding back to try and come up with a plan was all he could do, and he hated it to the marrow of his bones.
There was no means to escape his predicament. Dragonstone was close, but that was in the context of one who had a means to sail. Aboard his wreckage, he was stuck. Swimming would be impossible, both in the distance and the cold temperatures killing him even if he were that able. And it wouldn't be likely that fishing boats would come out this far at fear of current tensions. Still, he kept his eyes on the lookout as best he could.
At least he was not without company.
With the other two ships that were destroyed in the attack, there were only two other survivors. One of them was a sailor from the Golden Wing named Grazdan, nearer to Jorah's age but fuller in the belly and missing three of his teeth in his smile. The other was Qhono of the Dothraki, a warrior now distraught with such a devastating defeat. He hadn't spoken a word at all, not since he took a knife from his belt and cut off his own braid and tossed it into the sea.
Jorah and Grazdan spent much time looking throughout the surrounding wreckage for anything that could possibly help them, but there was hardly anything. The rowboats of each ship were all destroyed, either broken or burned.
"Hello?!" he called out across the floating wreckage. Not for the first time, and not for the last. Determined that if there was one survivor he would find them.
He couldn't allow himself to die here, not as a failure of his duties and surviving greyscale. He didn't know how, but he would persevere and find his queen again. He had to.
Sitting on his wreckage against the gentle rocks of the sea, he held Daenerys' dagger in his hands, looking at it as a reminder of his duty and his honor to it. It was absolute sheer fucking luck that it planted in the wreckage that kept him afloat. He saw it thrown overboard, not dropped. Who in their right mind would get rid of a priceless weapon like this?
In his first hour being stranded at sea, Jorah contemplated that perhaps the dagger being in his possession was fate. That the Old Gods were telling him that he was an oathbreaker and a coward for not facing his enemies, and this was their mercy. But after that hour, he refused to believe it. As long as he drew breath, he would forever do his duty for Daenerys as best he could. And staying alive to fight another day was best.
But then again, if he wasn't found, what would that promise mean? Would it have been better to die facing his enemies or lost at sea?
He looked up at the clouds above, trying to wonder what his Queen was facing against Euron Greyjoy. What dangers did Westeros have in store when two dragons were at a madman's disposal?
Jorah blinked, as if the gods decided to remind him that only two dragons were Eurons, because flying overhead between the clouds was Rhaegal. Aegon was coming.
Euron
The longboat beached softly and Euron smiled like a giddy boy at the sight before him. Little Theon and a few of his rusted Ironborn traitors joined by Unsullied eunuchs, Dothraki Screamers, and even some mainlander cunts.
Chuckling softly, Euron hopped from the longboat and offered a kind hand to his new mistress. "Your grace," he said in a kind and light voice, "here we are at last."
Stiffly in her subtle trance, Daenerys took his hands and stepped out with his help, shocking many of those on the beach.
"What is the meaning of this?" One of the Unsullied, their commander no doubt, demanded.
"Calm yourself, Grey Worm."
Grey Worm? Fitting name for a slave. Did they call him that after the color his cock turned when they cut it off? Perhaps Little Theon should be called Pink Worm.
Daenerys stepped forward and proclaimed to her loyal subjects. "My bastard nephew has proven himself a liar and a thief. We are not going back to Essos. We are going to King's Landing and taking the city, once for all."
"Why is Euron here?" Little Theon said, pointing his sword at Euron. "Where're the others?"
"They are not of your concern." No emotion in her voice but soothing words. "As for why Euron is here, I have agreed to marry him." The wave of shock sent a twinge into Euron's balls that he so desperately wanted to scratch. "His fleet and prowess upon the sea are all that I desire to take back my throne. You and your sister are no longer needed."
Theon's eyes kept darting back between Daenerys and Euron. "Worry not, dear nephew." Euron stepped up next to his mistress and wrapped an arm around her waist, stroking her thigh. She accepted it but reacted not. "My desire for your blood is gone. Go, sail the seas, find some peaceful isles to reave and rape… well just reave in your case."
Daenerys chuckled and Theon's composure broke and his sword dropped, tip digging into the sand.
"Take your hand away from her!" The cockless Commander shouted and all twenty of his men brandished shields and spears in perfect unison. Damn, they were beautiful soldiers. A pity they weren't brutal.
"How dare you disobey your queen!" Daenerys shouted.
A woman's voice came and from behind the soldiers stepped forward a Priestess of the Lord of Light. "And how dare you defile the Lord's chosen with your sorcery. Your spell is plain as the darkness of the seabed."
Euron grinned. She wasn't too bad on the eyes. A priestess would make a good fuck if he could harness her magics. Regardless of whether the Red Bitch would be a tight fit, he reached up to his face and took off his eyepatch, revealing his eye to them all, making many gasps.
The Red Priestess however was most mortified of them all, as though she were staring the end of existence in the face. It felt wonderful.
She placed a hand on her ruby pendant, the glow dimming until it was almost black. "Nyke brōzi ao olvie pryjata run. Jikagon arlī ezīmagon se doru dīnagon ao māstan hen!" Frantic prayers to the Lord of Light spilled from her lips faster than a greenboy fucking a virgin.
Unexpectedly, Euron's eye started to feel pain, a small burning. He ignored it at first, but then it turned into a red hot rage when Theon brandished a dagger from his belt and held it up, except it wasn't a dagger, it was a broken blade. The sheer sight of it made Euron step back in fear.
They found the other piece! Damn those Targaryens and their fucking dreams!
Euron's pain was distracted by his thoughts. Why did he care about some broken sword? Why did he fear it?
"You have chosen death," Daenerys announced to them all, and the cry of her two dragons followed, "let the fires take you before winter."
The dragons swooped down to the beach, forcing everyone gathered to flee the way they came. The Red Priestess took one last look at Euron before running with them.
The pain in Euron's face subsided and disappeared. Nevermind about fucking the bitch then. She would burn for her god, for nothing!
Before he could take his place on the mightiest of the dragons, Daenerys had beaten him to it.
"No, that one's mine!" He ordered, but already seated, Daenerys took to the skies.
What was wrong? Why wasn't his control absolute? Whatever the case, he didn't care. It was time to begin the war.
He rushed over to the bronze dragon, almost embarrassed that he was forced to ride the cripple. But it could still fly and breathe fire. By the end of the day, Dragonstone would be ash. The climb was a chore, but his sea legs made up for it easely. He found his grip and braced himself for his first flight.
Without order, the dragon lurched forward and shot flames after the beach party that ran, missing them only barely, before leaping up and flying into the sky.
The exhilaration was incredible, as perfect as sailing through a hurricane!
The bronze dragon caught up to the large one before taking the lead, flying over the grass fields of the island towards the castle built by the Valyrians themselves, a last monument to the broken nation of magic. And it was his to end once and for all, starting with one word.
"Dracarys," Euron cried victoriously.
A low growl and tremendous buildup of heat shook underneath Euron's body a second before a stream of fire spewed from his dragon's mouth, setting alight the fields just outside the stone before crashing into the castle and tearing the sides apart.
"Yes!" Euron cheered before laughing excitedly. "Burn it all to the ground!" He peered back behind him and saw the black dragon fly over another section and torching it with even more power than the bronze one. After this fight, he would remove his mistress from the seat that should be his.
The bronze dragon banked around and unleashed another streak of fire, passing over the gateway and burning a dozen of the Unsullied soldiers foolish enough to be outside. Then again, inside would not protect them when the walls would begin to crumble and bury them within.
Euron caught sight of something hideous he wanted to burn, a garden brimming with flowers and life. His power influenced the dragon enough so the beast knew what he wanted and obeyed. It took one breath of fire to turn all of it into ash, a far more beautiful thing.
Swooping through the rising tower of smoke, the bronze dragon glided over the castle to the fields and the oncoming hordes of Dothraki from their camps. Euron wished he could see their faces. The confusion, the fear, and the betrayal form their Queen.
"Burn them all!" Euron yelled and the dragon let out a great torrent of fire again. Through the blasts of wind past his ears, the sounds of the Dothraki Screamers in pain and death filled the world. It didn't matter if they parted ways to avoid the fire, none could escape.
Euron banked the dragon and another trail of fire caught the horsemen as they rode, burning more than the first time before flying back to the castle for the better view.
The dragon swooped over the crumbling section of Dragonstone and roosted atop the stone, fire, and smoke. Euron looked out with a glorious grin stretched across his cheeks. There was no power than a dragon to have ever exceeded his expectations. The death, the pain, the chaos, so much perfection. For a sole moment as he looked down to the flaming fields on the island, he paid his utmost respect to the Targaryens of old. They deserved the power they took. And now he would take the world.
Euron raised a fist up high and roared in victory. This island, this army, were his, and it was only the beginning-
A sudden screech from the clouds took away his glory, his attention, and his victory. Euron's head shot around behind and saw the green dragon diving from above the clouds straight at him like a falling spear.
A burst of flames shot out from the green dragon and would have blanketed Euron had he not sent his dragon back into the air, leaping off the castle and swooping down to gain speed. The dragon was low to the ground, not twenty feet above it. They ignored Dothraki, Unsullied, all of them as the only goal was to gain speed for the green dragon was coming fast.
The wind yelled past Euron's ears, blocking out all other noises, but he still heard something of a beasial noise, a howl or roar. He looked back at the green dragon and saw Stark's bastard atop it. Both bastard and dragon were only a tail's length apart from them. Euron had to lose them both fast!
He pulled to the right to bank out of the way, but against his comprehension, the bastard had done so a second sooner than he and now was on a perfect path to intercept them. How the fuck did he know which direction?
They had just cleared the cliffs and were over the ocean when the green dragon collided with Euron's. The Silence had been in more than enough storms for Euron to have his nerves and reflexes steeled to stand his ground at any attack the sea and storm gave him, but this was unlike anything else. He yelled out as he almost slipped his grip and both dragons thrashed together, the green one grasping its talons on the tail and trying to get a wing. They were trying to force them into the ocean.
But Euron's dragon managed to roll in the air, slipping from the grip and nearly falling into the ocean. But the air caught under the dragon's wings just in time and immediately began to climb. When Euron looked back, he didn't find the green dragon following, it was retreating. No, not retreating, leaving Euron to fend off the black dragon.
From that single encounter, Euron could feel that even two against one, he wouldn't be able to defeat the bastard. He was a better rider and Euron had to sacrifice some of his focus to maintain his hold on the dragons and his bitch.
Fine, the bastard could have Dragonstone. The only reason Euron was giving it to him was because he was far from even considering himself lost. This was nothing more than an amusement after the Dothraki and Unsullied rejected him. He just had to lure the bastard to his fleet and introduce the green dragon to the scorpions. He killed the beast in one lifetime, he would do it again.
Euron extended his magic to Daenerys and the dragon, commanding them both to fall back with him. He looked back one last time. The green dragon didn't pursue, it kept its eyes on the black one and the bastard on the bitch. Euron smiled. This wasn't a retreat, simply setting a trap, and maybe a second one if the bastard truly had a hard on for his aunty.
Jon
"Dany!" Jon shouted as loud as he could in his chase after Daenerys, but she was too far and he couldn't leave the island at the risk of Euron coming back. She was gone. "AAAGH!" He screamed into the wind, pounding a fist on Rhaegal's back, earning an equally angered roar. Not from him, he could tell, but because he hurt too from his mother's plight. Feeling the agony of his father, tears coursing down Jon's eyes.
No. He wouldn't break down.
The King forced down the agony, the sorrow, shoving it deep into the blackness of his soul until all that remained was anger. Vengeance. A seething rage that threatened to boil and sear all around it.
He intended to kill the Night King, but Euron Greyjoy would be the first to meet his blade.
The scent of smoke drew him back to reality, eyes widening in horror at the devastation below.
Banking over the destruction, Jon peered down at the mess that thousands of men were scrambling to fix. But away from the destruction, climbing the thousands steps to the castle from the beach was a lone squad of people, and Jon spotted the red robes of Melisandre perfectly clear.
"Down, Rhaegal. We have to go down." Jon's command was responded to with a rumble, similar to that of Ghost when he was displeased. "We'll save her. I promise." He patted the green dragon and held on as they dove down to the fields closest to the castle that remained untouched from the devastation.
There was nothing he could do to put out the flames, not unless Rhaegal could spew water instead of fire.
Dismounting Rhaegal outside the eastern gates of the castle, beating the thousands of Dothraki following after him. Jon rushed forth as fast as he could. The panic all around made him ignored for the most part. Many scrambling to put out the fires and clear away rubble gave him a second look but did not think to seize him. There was simply no time.
He weaved and ducked through the crowds, looking for the fastest way to get to Melisandre at the Western entrance. It had been too long since he had been here. He couldn't remember the layout of the castle as well as he used to.
After a few halls and corridors, jon found his place in the castle, eventually making his way to the throne room of Dragonstone, but the place was empty except for him. It was disturbing how inside this room, it looked like there hadn't been an attack just now. Only the echoes from outside reminded him of that.
Forgetting the moment of deathly ambience, Jon started on his way out, but a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Jon?" came Theon's voice from the main doorway to the Throne Room.
Jon turned and beheld his father's former ward. "Theon!" Jon rushed over to him. "Where are the others of the council?!" he shouted over the room until he was face to face.
"They went to Painted Table-"
"I need to see them now!"
Theon nodded. "Come with me then."
Following Theon, Jon made his way through the corridor to the Painted Table and once he finally entered found himself facing Varys, Melisandre, Aurane Waters if he assumed right, Grey Worm and some Unsullied, and several Dothraki.
"You," Grey Worm pointed at him, "you are Aegon?"
Jon nodded and came to the lands north of the Wall at the table. "I'm here to help get Daenerys back. Euron Greyjoy's acquired the power of dark magic and he's possessed her mind and her dragons."
"How is Rhaegal not his too?" Varys asked hastily, speaking over Aurane who was about to object as if Jon just told a bad joke.
"My cousin Bran has a similar power. He was able to free Rhaegal when Euron first intercepted Daenerys' envoy. He needs time before he can try again with the other two. As far as we know, Missandei of Naath is Euron's only other prisoner."
"No!" Grey Worm looked in near agony at that fact.
Jon felt empathy for the normally stoic commander. Grey Worm's care for Missandei was a constant across lifetimes, just as Jon's was for Daenerys. "We'll get her back just as we will Daenerys."
"How do you know she's still alive?" Varys asked.
"Bran again. The powers he's acquired are vast beyond your imagining."
Varys looked at him quizzically. "What about Ser Jorah? Is he dead then?"
"No, Ser Jorah and a few others fell overboard on their way here. They're about twenty miles southwest of here. I saw them when I was on my way."
Grey Worm looked to one of his men and spoke in the bastard Valyrian. Jon never learned it, but he understood the situation and body language enough to know that Grey Worm was sending for ships to look and retrieve the survivors.
Jon pressed his hands on the table. "This is just the first bite of the feast Euron's found for himself. No coast is safe with the Iron Fleet and two dragons at his command.."
"We need to mass our ships together," Theon spoke. "Any small gathering of ships would be easy pickings for him, especially now that he has two dragons."
"He won't come back to Dragonstone. That gives us time to gather our strength at sea. I've given my people three days to do what they can, but Euron won't rest. We need ravens sent out." Jon looked to where Rhaegal rested atop the cliff, nursing a wound on his skin.
"I'll send word to Driftmark," Aurane spoke up finally, "we have ninety of the best ships to ever touch the narrow sea and knights who can overpower the mutes of Euron crew."
Jon nodded. "Do it." He looked at Theon, eyes narrowed. "Theon."
Theon was stiff from awkwardness. "Jon."
His feelings for the man were… mixed. They always had been, even knowing from his conduct in his own past that his sincerity was genuine. "Sansa is certain of your changed attitude from the man who betrayed our brothers." Jon let him squirm a bit. "Even if there wasn't an urgency involved, I trust her enough to grant you leniency… but do not ever abuse it."
"I won't, Jon. I promise."
He meant it, Jon knew. "See to it that you…" His words suddenly escaped him when he noticed the broken blade at Theon's hip. "Where did you get that?" His words were almost mesmerized at the sight.
Theon drew out the blade piece and set it on the table. "I found it in the store rooms." Jon walked over as Theon kept talking. "It's got some inscription on it in Old Tongue…"
Jon picked up the blade and examined the engravings on it. Ten years north of the Wall was not without lessons learned. He learned how to speak and read the Old Tongue. This is what Daenerys told him about, the missing piece to the riddle… or so he hoped when he read the text only to find himself angry. "The dragon shall herald the King."
"That's what it says?" Theon asked.
"Aye… this is a piece of Azor Ahai's sword, Lightbringer. It was supposed to have the answer to the prophecy, but it's just another riddle." He hissed.
"Lightbringer?" Melisandre asked, aghast. She stepped forward and ran her hand over the steel. "How do you know this?"
"Bran saw it in a vision. The sword was forged when Azor's lover stabbed him in the heart with it. He was brought back like I was. The sword hurt the Night King in the first war, but it broke in two. Azor took the Hilt half, Bran the Builder kept this one. There was supposed to be an answer on this half, but there isn't, just more nonsense." He couldn't take any more of the prophecy. It was all nonsense that led people on wild fox chases when there was no fox. "Where's Yara?"
"She went out to scout for Euron. You don't think she's been captured, has she?"
Jon shook his head. The Raven would have told him about it if she had been. "From what I've heard, she is smart enough to evade your uncle, and skilled enough to overcome the advantage of his powers." He turned back to the table. "But I don't think Euron has his sights set on her." His eyes scanned all the eastern ports of Westeros, wondering which one was next to burn and scream until ash fell like snow.
Notes:
High Valyrian: "Nyke brōzi ao olvie pryjata run. Jikagon arlī ezīmagon se doru dīnagon ao māstan hen!"
Translation: "I name you most ruined thing. Go back into the empty place you came from!"