6Chapter 41: Chapter 40
Notes:
Couple things to say.
Firstly, and I apologize for not bringing this up sooner, but the story hasn't been updated on ff.net for a while because there's some weird stuff going on regarding uploading documents that I can't figure out. So if you came from there to here because nothing was happening, sorry about that.
Secondly, we're looking for someone who knows their way around photoshop to help us out with a couple images that not even AI art can do. Please let us know if you're interested
Chapter Text
Euron
"What is happening!?" Euron's voice raged in the privacy of his quarters after taking the head off one of his crewmen with his mighty axe. "My dragons are slipping away! Answer me!"
His mind began to tear as the Drowned God brought him into the realm where he dwelt.
Once again, Euron stood at the feet of the bronze throne. "Your boons are failing me!" He shouted.
"SILENCE!" The voice of the Drowned God was so powerful that it forced Euron to his knees as though the mast of a ship rested on his shoulders. "You were to kill the Princess! As long as she lives, you will never rise through the storm!"
Grunting, Euron bared his teeth at the Drowned God and spoke with a guttural voice like scraping stones. "I… am… the storm!"
The eyes of the Gods flashed blue as he stood from his throne and pounded the but of his mighty axe and Euron's skin froze into ice. For a sheer second, the image of the Drowned God became distorted, as if he turned into a body of mist and through it was another figure, a cold one with skin of ice and armor black as the ocean depths. "You will kill them! Kill them all! Or let your fleet and your legacy sink into the sea!"
Falling back into reality, Euron fell to the ground, rolling over onto his back and panting. His left eye was throbbing with immense pain, so much it made him smile.
"I am the storm!" He seethed. "I am the end! I am the silence!" He tore off his eyepatch and got to his feet. With a final swing, he buried the head of his axe into the table of sea charts and battle plans, burying it down to the garnet eye of the kraken.
Euron left the axe where it was planted, wandering over to the windows, where a small altar stood and upon it his greatest treasures rested.
Leaning against the altar was a greatsword, once shimmering with beauty and vanity, but now covered in grime and muck from sitting in the sea. The ripples on the blade were clear as the veins under pale skin. The monstrosity was filched from the ruins of Old Valyria itself. Euron never bothered to clean the hilt. An Ironborn would be disgraced if seen with Lannister shit instead of iron and bronze. Next to the hilt, propped by a steel stand, was the dull red petrified stone. Somehow, he would get the Mother of dragons to hatch this one too.
The boons the Drowned God granted him would truly give him the world. And when he bore an heir, his rule would remain forever.
He growled before retiring his axe, yanking it hard from the table and nearly breaking the damn thing in two.
To hell with the Drowned God's demands. The black depths of the cold sea would be filled with thousands and the hunger of the sharks would be filled. If not a storm, if not winds that would break ships apart and smash them against the rocks like kindling, then man would do what the boons granted to him didn't.
His men were lined up, the mutes he forged into the most brutal and merciless warriors of the fourteen seas. They had sailed from here to the ends of the world and back again, elite and completely obedient. Axes and swords sharpened for blood, iron knuckles and maces ready to break bone. Spears and pikes slammed onto the deck, the rhythmic chanting of the wooden shafts like music to his ears. Drums boomed as well, announcing his glorious entry to the entire fleet.
The drumming was soon picked up by the ships close to him, spiraling out until the entire fleet sounded its presence in the crystal blue waters off of Driftmark. Where House Velaryon ruled gloriously until they rotted from the curse of the Iron Throne. That pansy Aurane and his ships fought to rescue his family's reputation through aiding the Targaryens… What better way to bait their fleet to attack than threaten the Velaryon home island?
"My King." Approaching him, Captain Ser Harras Harlaw bowed his head. "We've spotted the first scout ships sailing towards us."
Grinning, Euron stamped the butt of his axe into the plank floor, the head came just beneath his ribs. "Where are they?"
"Two of them, one column closing in on our position and the other headed for Lord Drumm's squadron ahead of us."
Euron nodded. "My niece and Aurane are trying to close the gap, undoubtedly with Aegon the Red somewhere above." A roar filled the skies over Driftmark, the grin widening. He could feel Drogon's anger, the rage of a dragon's soul fighting. The murderous desire to lash out and escape… one that the Drowned God's dark magic would channel into both obedience and a destructive ferocity. He'll burn Driftmark to ash if I let him. There was no greater power. "Resume course."
Harlaw hesitated, somewhat fearful of the order. "You wish not to close with them?"
Standing his full height, it wasn't just his build but also his reputation that cowed anyone and everyone so unlucky as to draw his notice. "They will run into our trap, and we will crush them. Keep current course."
Gulping, Ser Harras nodded. "Aye, my King." He whistled. "Unleash sail! Full ahead, wheel amidships!" The men scrambled to their stations, the Silence lurching forward as the side sails were unfurled and caught in the wind.
Euron extended his arms. Drinking in the refreshing breeze and the glorious sea spray. He had long since conquered the skies, a dragonrider now, but there would always be something invigorating about the waves. Many sailors feared the crabs and fish and worms that would eat their corpses if dead at sea, but Euron didn't care. His body would simply transform into a vessel to fight the Drowned God himself.
"Your grace," a voice said demeaningly.
Turning, Euron's grin widened at the prisoner brought forth from the brig. "Queen Daenerys, so glad of you to join us."
He had seen her angry before, but on this day if looks could kill he'd be ash. "You lost the last two battles against Aegon. Do you honestly think the third time will have you out on top?"
"Clever as well as beautiful." He leaned down and kissed her on the lips, as fitting for his future broodmare.
Unlike before, fearful and cowed, she chomped down on his lip. Her teeth drew blood, enough to run down his chin before he drew back and the guards slammed their fists into her gut. Daenerys doubled over, coughing.
Euron touched his lip, smearing blood all over his fingers. Staring at the coughing but still resolute Daenerys hanging from the arms held up by the guards as he touched under his blessed eye and smeared his skin with his blood like warpaint and then started to cackle. "You really are one of a kind, Dragon Queen. Fighting to your last breath."
Still wheezing labored breaths, her face was pale and emaciated from imprisonment of both the mind and the body. Nevertheless, Euron picked up her head. Defiance still held in her eyes. "I shall never go mad like you already have."
Another cackle. "We'll see… madness is just what the sheep say freedom is." He extended his arms, motioning to all around him. "This is freedom. And in strength and cunning it has become mine."
"Two losses and you honestly believe it? You're delusional and the sea will be your tomb, Euron Greyjoy."
"The greatest of honor for a true Ironborn. Almost as great as the honor we're bestowing upon you." He smirked and gestured his finger up to the mast of his ship. "Have at it boys, give our most esteemed Queen the best seat for the battle." He chuckled darkly.
"I hope your body gets fucked by a dozen krackens before you drown in defeat!" Daenerys spat.
"After this battle, you'll be wishing to raped by your husbands headless horse when I take you." He kissed the crown of her head. "Watch from your perch as I use your child to kill your nephew and those who were fools to believe in you." And there it was. The slightest crack in her walls, a hint of terror at what was to be done to Aegon the Red. Euron drank it down greedily, the moment of his victory. "Until the end, dear Daenerys. We shall marry atop the ashes of Driftmark upon your nephew's charred bones."
'Kill her… Kill her… Kill her… KILL HER!'
The Drowned God's orders were white knuckling Euron where he stood as he fought against the demands. His jaw was clenched so tight he almost thought that his teeth would shatter. No, Daenerys was his prize, and his legacy bound to hers is the ultimate victory that every person to lay eyes on the Iron Throne sought after.
Such glory was short-lived… for in what seemed an instant the brisk wind died. Left barely a breeze. The ships continued to cut through the churning ocean foam, but soon such speed would peter out. Euron had sailed upon such a plethora of seas to know his fleet would barely maneuver as a result.
Eyes focused up into the sky, he reached out with the magic of the Drowned God and commanded Drogon to come to him. The black dragon roared, a deep shriek that mixed rage and pain, both of which called to Euron. Filled him with a manic smile, one that terrified even his mute warriors.
The beast slammed onto the deck of the Silence, the only ship in the fleet upon which he could barely fit. Euron thus quickly scrambled onto his spines, feeling the ship shove itself into a deeper draft. Locking eyes with Daenerys, who was being lifted up upon the mast as his new colors, he grinned at her look of pain. "Till the evening, my Queen." Clicking his tongue, Drogon unfurled his wings and lurched into the air.
Euron could taste the world, and vowed to finish taking it in this very moment.
Arya
The last thing Arya remembered was the cold of the hard marble floor after her head hit something… then a pair of arms holding her in the dark. When she tried to visualize who arm's they were, she could only picture her father.
Blinking her eyes open, Arya found herself not on the floor, but in the comfort of her bed. A moan escaped as a throb of pain in her head and her neck took hold.
"Arya?" A gruff voice said.
Turning her head to the side, Arya tried to look at who it was at her bedside but her sight was still blurry and her head was in a daze. She saw a man sitting in a chair next to her bed. "Father?" She spoke softly, feeling her throat scratch when she tried giving herself volume.
The man shook his head. "It's me, idiot." The voice had that same disgruntled tone she knew well. The Hound was never one to be sympathetic even next to someone's sickbed.
"Oh," She said, a little disappointed but also remembering the fight in the Throne Room while Sandor got up and informed someone outside her room that she was awake. She didn't see much of Sandor's battle against Gregor, but given that she was in her bed instead of a coffin, the results showed. "How long was I out?"
"Six days." The Hound said as he sat back on his chair beside her. "You alright?"
Arya cocked her head with a frown. "My head and neck hurt and my body feels like it's made of mud."
Sandor chuckled. "Now you know what it's like waking up piss drunk. I hope that teaches you no matter the skill you have, men are strong but monsters are stronger."
Rather than gloat or brush it off, Arya gave the slightest of nods. "I was a fool hunting for glory."
"And revenge," the Hound added, "don't ever hide that from your purpose."
"No, my list is clear now." Arya tilted her head over to him. "Well, I suppose I don't need to worry if I'm in a pinch like that again anyways. You'll be around to save 'your girl' again."
Instead of Sandor having a little fit or getting annoyed, he looked at her blankly. "I might not…" He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared down at the floor. "I'm only telling this once, and not so you can tell anyone else… I had a sister. Her name was Eleanor and she was everything my brother and I aren't. Good, pretty, and she didn't look at my scars before seeing me. Gregor killed her when she was only twelve. No one could prove he did it, but I knew. I always knew." He turned his gaze at her, showing calm eyes not filled with bitterness at the world. "I wasn't going to let that happen again."
Through the softness of his words, Arya remembered a glimpse of the fight between man and monster, how one of them wielded a sword of light against the other. Sandor could ignite his blade in flames like Beric could now.
"You're not afraid anymore, are you." A statement more than a question, but such that no response was given. None was needed.
Slowly slipping out of her bed, Arya stood and wrapped her arms around Sandor as he did to her.
"Thank you," he said softly. "You know you've missed a lot while you were out."
"Truly?" Arya asked in disappointment, slipping bed under the sheets of her bed.
"Ellaria Sand was executed, Daenerys Targaryen left and got captured by Euron Greyjoy and they burned Gulltown together, and Aegon's leading the strike against the Iron Fleet with Daenerys' forces from what's left of Dragonstone."
Arya lifted her head with her mouth agape and eyes as open as they could be. She was at a loss for words. "You're… what? How?"
Sandor began recalling everything that had happened from news of Jon getting injured by an undead dragon of all things up to the Scorching of Gulltown. He was a shit storyteller, but something didn't sit right in Arya about Daenerys burning Gulltown and Dragonstone. Why would Daenerys turn on her own people?
There wasn't much discussion to be had about it since Qyburn, Sam Tarly, and Sansa all presented themselves. Sansa nearly jumped onto Arya with a gentle but firm hug before telling her off about fighting the Mountain. Meanwhile Sam was the one doing the most of checking on her condition while Qyburn was shadowing him as his instructor.
Despite being asleep for six days, Arya's head injury was mild but her throat was almost crushed. She wouldn't be singing on a stage for months, but in a fortnight her voice would start coming back.
During her checkup, Sansa had explained the details that Sandor and just about all of Westeros was unaware of about Daenerys' 'alliance' with Euron Greyjoy. Dark magic, enslavement, Seven Hells how these days would be remembered for a thousand years.
It made her blood boil that she could not be there to fight alongside the soldiers. It made her soul ache.
Helpless, she was helpless, and she hated it. 'I killed the Freys. I killed Meryn Trant and fought the Mountain better than almost every other man who's ever carried a sword.' She was not meant to be helpless.
But Driftmark was too far away, and even if there were winds going in perfect favor for sailors heading northbound, the battle could very well be over by the time she would get there.
"It's not fair," Arya said quietly.
"What?" Sansa asked.
"I spent so long preparing myself so I wouldn't just have to be idle to the war around me but because of my error in judgment, the consequences have spoken back to me." If she had someone like Jon or Gendry's strength, she'd be able to be on her feet and on a ship a day ago.
"I don't want to sit idly by either, but I'm not a warrior." Sansa looked at Arya almost helplessly. "Why can't I have the strength to be like you, Arya?"
Arya gulped. For once, she didn't know what to say. Everyone had always told her to be more like her perfect lady of a sister, Sansa, not the horse faced girl who stitched worse than a grumpkin. For Sansa to wish she was instead more like Arya… A situation she had never prepared for.
When on earth did she think she'd need to?
"Sansa," she finally managed to say, reaching out to squeeze her sister's shoulder. "You have strength that I could never have. It's the same kind Daenerys has. She's not a warrior, but she faces her enemies and her fear together, without faltering. And she doesn't need to be on a dragon to do it bravely either."
Her sister didn't turn around to face it, it was like she couldn't. Something outside held her gaze stronger than the bond they had as sisters.
"Sansa?" Arya asked, worried that perhaps she said the wrong thing.
The only response given was that of her sister closing her eyes and breathing deeply as the last light of the setting sun beamed on her face. She wasn't sad anymore, in fact she was absolutely calm in focus. What was going on? What was she thinking?
"I know what I must do."
Bran
The flock of ravens sailed over the tops of the trees. The moonlight from above illuminated the snow like a thousand trillion cold crystal stars. And in that beautiful white glow, through the snow covered branches was the retinue of men who had joined Howland reed, Lyanna Mormont, and Rickon. Bran's brother was coming home.
Bran returned from his journey with his flock, awaking next to the weirwood. He took a deep breath, no longer gasping for air and sweating profusely from using his power, and looked up at those gathered with him. "They found Rickon," he announced with a smile.
"Thank the Old Gods and the New," Brienne breathed.
"Damn well done, lad." Tormund praised with a strong slap on Bran's shoulder.
Rubbing the sting of the red haired Wilding's strength out of his shoulder, Bran felt the relief knowing his brother was safe, but was reminded that he had more to do when his gaze met that of Bearded Bran's who was standing among the others but unseen to all except him.
"I have to go back now," Bran said, "Jon needs my help."
"Good luck, Bran," Meera said.
Taking in a filling breath, Bran entered the sight once again, watching the world around fade into dust and nothing except for Bearded Bran. He stood from his seat and walked over to his other self, taking in the horrifying image he saw. Bearded Bran was almost gone, no more than a fading shadow of his former self constantly falling apart into dust.
"This is my last chance, Bran." Bearded Bran told him as the Narrow Sea appeared around them. The hustling men on the ship they stood upon ignored them, battering their shields and sharpening blades for the battle to come. "After tonight, you'll have to fight him for me."
Bran nodded. "So what do we do?"
"We wait. We wait for the right moment." He took a seat on the steps leading to the helm of the ship and Bran joined him in watching the Ironborn crew prepare for battle.
Yara
Peering into the Myrish Eye, Yara Greyjoy spotted the banners hoisted to the mast aboard the Sea Snake. Aurane himself was at the helm. "They caught a proper wind." The Velaryon ships were moving swiftly on the water with the grace of a dancer. Were the eve of battle not upon her, Yara would have grimaced. Ships too pretty for war were bound to sink terribly.
Theon furrowed his brows next to her. "That means they'll hit Euron's line before ours."
"We'll get to the Silence first, and that's all that matters." Yara set her spyglass down and observed her crew of the Black Wind, all of her most loyal men working flawlessly. Tonight was the night their loyalty would be rewarded. "Send Aurane and the rest of the fleet the signal. Full attack."
"Aye!" Signal pennants were soon raised, while war horns boomed the orders to the ships of the westward column advancing towards the fleet of their uncle. They were outnumbered, but Yara was confident in their plan.
She had to be, for it was upon her that the sailors of her fleet would look upon for confidence and strength. Taking in a deep breath, she turned towards the gathered men. Rapers and reavers the lot of them were, ones that would never have followed the orders of a woman that wasn't her. She spent years earning their respect, never a single time demanded it.
Blowing a piercing whistle through her teeth, the crew halted and gathered before her. If they won tonight, this would be the moment marked in the history books for her, hair blowing in the wind that filled the sails and sword as sharp as the edge of a map. "We're sailing to meet death tonight," she announced fiercely, "I won't deny our chances are fucking horrible, but they're still there. Any lot of you could have fucked off with a few ships, reaved and raped a quiet island, and forget all about this mess. But you're here, now, ready to fight for a new age for our people!"
"Aye!" Her crew chanted.
"There's not a single mainlander who can stand against us on the sea, but those aren't mainlanders. Those are Ironborn just as brutal and seaforged as us! So if we die tonight, we make sure that those salty cocksuckers never forget who the real men born of salt and bronze are!"
"Aye!"
Yara drew her axe, a proper blade for the true Queen of the Salt Throne. "What is dead may never die!"
"What is dead may never die!" Hornblows and drums punctuated the exuberant cries.
Zeal for their Queen. Yara turned and narrowed her eyes at the horizon as a black shape rose from what was undoubtedly the Silence. It was deep in the ragged line of the enemy sailing towards Driftmark, more a series of bulges than a proper line, not truly in combat formation. They'd surprised them at least. "And now it begins."
From beside her, Theon's voice arose in a form she hadn't ever heard from him even before his torture. "No," he said like a growling wolf, "now it ends."
Yara smirked when she looked at the fire in his eyes.
It had been Theon's plan… mostly Theon's plan. Lord Aurane played his part, however disdainfully the patrician Velaryon regarded mere Ironborn. And Yara could see the elegance of their plan now - if not during the actual planning where desperation and fear of whatever tricks and magic Euron could bring to bear left them searching for something unique and unexpected.
Only as the two columns of the royal fleet charged headlong at Euron's battle line did it sink in that Theon and Aurane had stumbled upon something brilliant.
The prevailing orthodoxy in sea battles focused on maneuvering to approach the enemy fleet in a mixed mêlée of chaotic one-on-one battles. Formations only mattered in the case of outflanking or defense in depth, for once the battle was joined it just became a contest of ship versus ship. There was no control, just madness pierced occasionally by signal horn.
Euron was brilliant at this, certainly more experienced in terms of actually having served in fleets that conducted warfare in this manner. Now the tide of war had turned, and he was the one with a larger fleet. Undoubtedly he was planning on using his superior numbers to envelop the royal fleet and crush it alongside Drogon, much as the Greyirons did to the Woodfoots of Bear Island.
Yara would be damned if she'd let that happen.
And so gave birth to the plan. Knowing Euron would form a single line - as good of a line as could be corralled by the fiercely independent Ironborn captains - in order to envelop them off the waters of Driftmark, they would spring the trap. Two columns three ships deep sailing and rowing as fast as possible perpendicular to Euron's line, backed up by the King on Rhaegal. They would concentrate so as to overwhelm and pierce the Iron Fleet in two specific points and cut the opposing line in three.
Numbers wouldn't count, for the royal fleet would outnumber the Iron Fleet in the zone of contact. Hopefully they could smash the fleet piecemeal… or destroy the Silence.
Everything then would count on Aegon and Rhaegal.
"He'll win."
Theon seemed to read her mind. Yara looked at him. "How do you know that?"
He gazed confidently into the air, suddenly erupting in flame all around the blue sky. "He's a dragon, our uncle is not." Droll, but oddly poetic in a way.
The wind was starting to lessen, sails going flaccid as the ships began to slow. "Faster!" Yara screamed to the lower decks. "Battle speed!"
"Battle speed!" repeated the command in a deep Ghiscari accent, banging a fist against one of the beams. Drumming picked up speed, and the rowers followed the tempo. The Black Wind simply lurched. Even an experienced sailor such as Yara had to brace herself, lest she fall over.
Theon almost did, far too much a landlubber. Yara had to grab his arm, steadying him. "Thanks," he offered, smile nervous as the fleets drew ever closer - already they could see tongues of fire lancing out from the Sea Snake further to the east. "Perhaps father was right to keep me on the Sea Bitch." While the beaten whelp was gone, the cocky Prince insecure and itching to prove himself had disappeared.
She sighed, nervous as well. Knowing this was to be the fight of life - anything to distract them till the fleets joined. "Your place was as my second in command, wasn't your fault you were raised by Greenlanders. Father… he was a cunt."
Looking ahead at their uncle's fleet, Theon nodded. "Aye, a right cunt."
Yara chuckled and smacked him on the shoulder. "Stick close to me, brother. And don't die."
"What is dead can never die, sister." Somehow she found that hilarious and both of them burst into laughter. Easing some of the tension.
Suddenly, the world exploded around them. A searing blast of heat overwhelmed Yara as the Wyk's Bane exploded. Like a demon Drogon emerged from it, bellowing. Yara could see her uncle atop him, one eye glowing blue and manic sneer upon his face. Undoubtedly he aimed for them, but Rhaegal was hot on his heels. Flame arcing out of his maw and chasing Drogon back into the sky.
"Fuck!" Yara snarled, face pale from that near death experience. Staring at the burning corpse of the other ship, she knew they needed to close in. "There, ahead, fifteen degrees port! Signal rowers, ramming speed!"
"Ramming speed!" Below, the ponderous pace began as the ship went faster, Ghiscari rowers hurling themselves with an almost zealotry in favor of the dragons they served.
Ahead was a quinquereme, a large one but not the Silence. A newly keeled ship, but one flying the pennant of House Orkmont. Good, their Lord is a pig anyway. "We're ramming them?" Theon pursed his lips. "We can't waste time with Orkmont."
"No," Yara shook her head. "We'll rake his oars, leave him for the ship behind us." She whistled. "Load ballistae! Incendiary weapons! Catapults with pitch bombs!" While the rowers were largely of the Bay of Dragons, her artillerymen were as much Ironborn as her marines, and they prepared with a savage efficiency. Clay pots loaded with pitch and tar were affixed to catapults, while they drew back the winches and lit the bolts of their ballistae. "Signal Bonefish! Arc and ram the Orkmonts once we pass!"
"Aye, mi'Lady!"
Beyond, the Orkmonts clearly suspected them of approaching to ram, and so their ship lurched. A sharp turn parallel to the Black Wind, hoping to shoot past them and potentially rake them with arrows. Exactly what Yara was hoping. "Grab shields, boys!" She snatched one up. "Theon, archers!"
One benefit of being raised by Greenlanders - Theon was a better archer than any of them. "Nock!" he ordered, the dozen archers pulling their bowstrings loaded with flaming arrows. They drew closer and closer.
She could see the whites in the eyes of the Orkmont marines. "Now! Withdraw oars!" Below, the oarsmen in a fluid line on their port side drew in their oars, stowing them safely as the bronze ram approached the opposite bank. If the Orkmonts realized their error, they didn't react quickly enough.
With a frightful clatter of splintering wood and churning water the bronze beak of the Black Wind chopped up the thick oars of the Orkmont ship into nothing but kindling. "Loose!" at Theon's command or even on their own, seamless accord, the artilleryman and archers unleashed their deadly payloads in a full broadside against their foes. Men toppled onto the deck or fell into the ocean, pierced by bolts and arrows. Clay pots smashed on deck and doused the ship with pitch and tar, ignited shortly after and leaving the Orkmont vessel awash with flame.
An arrow smacked on Yara's shield but ultimately they had emerged unscathed. She peeked over her shoulder at the rapidly retreating enemy vessel, dead in the water as they sailed forward. A grin pierced her cheeks as the Bonefish picked up ramming speed to finish them off.
And yet the grin faded, for they had their main role to still accomplish. "Where's the Silence?!" The Flagship of Euron's pride should have been leading the fleet into battle, and yet it was not even behind the front line. Finding two men adjacent, Yara grabbed one by the spaulder. "Get up to the nest and find the Silence!"
"Aye!" both of them obeyed their command as another one of Orkmont's ships was cutting through the waves on a ramming coarse, one that Yara would meet."
"Ramming speed!" she screamed into the hold.
"Ramming speed!" Theon repeated in a bellow. The ship lunged like a galloping horse, scything through the waves while turning inexorably towards their challenger. The galley was just in range of their bows now. "Theon, loose!"
"Loose!" Arrows streaked towards the Orkmont ship and seconds before they reached it a volley of arrows was shot at the Black Wind as well. "Shields! Shields!"
"Shields!"
Almost every man of the crew grouped together with whoever was closest and created shield covers. Some were not quick enough, but when the volley ending, they immediately returned to action. The Orkmonts were just upon them.
"Brace!" Yara barked while positioning herself for the impact of the ram. Her helmsmen was far better than their enemy, slipping by the Orkmont ram and spearing the ship right behind the kraken figurehead. The two ships were now locked together. A fight to the death. "Swords! Axes! Anything to spill their blood!"
A great warcry erupted from the crew as they prepared to board.
"This is it, brother."
Theon drew his own blade, joining at the head of the boarding party.
Yara gritted her teeth as she could see the whites in the eyes of the enemy crew…
Bellowing a shrill war cry, Yara craved across the gangplank, axe cracking the skull of an unprepared man before she had even landed upon the other deck.
Slippery with the sea spray and blood only the tiny cleats on the soles of her boots kept Yara from falling. She pitched to the side nonetheless. Treading water, the ship was listing towards the prow of the Sea Queen. A flash of steel tore her attention as Theon cut the throat of an axeman going after her.
It was like a fire was lit in her. Just in time for another flash…
Yara snarled as a sword slashed her side, bringing her shield to protect herself just in time. She swung with gritted teeth, the sharp axe cracking bones through her foe's chainmail. The steel axehead cracked through several ribs. The man, breath putrid from a set of yellow and black teeth, let out a blood-curdling scream, chest turned into a bloody pulp. Yara kicked him down, winding her axe up and bringin it down into his neck.
From aboard the Black Wind, archers and crossbowmen unleashed arrows and darts to support their outnumbered comrades. A half-dozen enemies were felled in the first volley, another soon after. This was a clean sweep of the ship as bodies fell hard to the forces loyal to Yara.
Numbers and experience mattered however, the battle an evenly-matched slogging fest.
"Yara!"
Yanking a dagger out of a man's throat, she spotted a large man with a steel breastplate of a scythe lunging at Theon with a thick sword. "Harlaw!" she bellowed, catching the man's attention.
Ser Harras managed to turn to face her as Yara charged, the axe parried by his longsword. She was forced back with a boot to her shield. The strength of Harlaw almost forced Yara on her back had she not caught herself. However she was brought to her knees instead.
Theon rushed forth and parried a swing from Harlaw meant for her, giving Yara the seconds she need to get to her feet and attack with her brother. She got Harlaw's sword with the beard of her axe, hooking it in a parry that left him defenseless when Theon slashed in his throat. Harlaw fell hard and the several crewmen jumped ship at the sight of their fallen captain.
That was it for this skirmish. "Back to the Blackwind!" Yara ordered. "We hunt for the Silence!"
Her crew began to cross back over, all the while Yara scanned her eyes and quickly counted her fallen. Eight men lost in the boarding, along with six from the volley beforehand. They needed to be tighter formed if she wanted to have any crewmen left by the found Euron's ship by the end of this… but why wasn't the ship at the head of the fleet?
"Queen Yara!" came the voice of one of the spotter's she sent up. "The Silence is in sight!"
Yara looked up and saw each man pointing their arms to the south east. Following the direction, she looked outwards and could barely make out the hull of the Silence past the other ships surrounding it. But something else caught her eye, something that stole her breath.
Bound to the main mast above the tops of Euron's sails in a display like a set of colors was Daenerys.
"Fuck," she breathed, "signal the other ships! We make for-"
A thunderous roar overpowered her voice and immediately after the echoes spread across the sea did a burst of flame break down from the sky, casting upon the bonefish and four other ships that flanked the Black Wind. Through the sound of the fires and screams, a maniacal laughter could be heard through it all.
"Evade!" Yara called out. "Evade!" She then shouted to the remainder of her ships with her as the Black Wind pushed past , making into Euron's lines. If she could get you ships intermingled with Euron's then he would be so quick to try and burn them. But then again, maybe he would.
The ships disappeared in a bath of flame and smoke. Disintegrating, wood cracking and men screaming as the water around the vessel began to boil and steam. But through the gather tower of smoke emerged the fiery silhouette of a dragon. Roaring as it beat its mighty wings, blowing a gust of wind at Yara's blood-stained hair.
Beside her, Theon gave a weak grin.
Jon
Rhaegal roared mightily as he whipped from his dive and sent forth a stream of fire out at Euron and Drogon. The black dragon spun around in the air, taking the blast to the underbelly and protecting his rider before diving down to the battle at sea, fleeing from the chase now given.
Jon gripped Rhaegal's spikes tighter. Drogon had gained a fair distance with that dive, but the chase would be easy against an inexperienced rider like Euron. Despite knowing this, he failed to realize that the King of the Iron Fleet was not one to waste time, especially when Drogon passed over the lines of skirmish and glided over the Royal Fleet.
The black dragon sent out a great breath of fire, scorching sails, decks, and sailors alike. Rhaegal chased after the other dragon with all speed, but only after fifteen ships were set alight that he finally caught up and swiped his talons down. Rhaegal could have closed the gap between him and Euron, but Jon's guidance required him to distract Drogon from burning any more ships when the talons swiped and gashed into Drogon's tail.
Drogon banked away and started to climb higher above the battle into the smoke and night.
Rhaegal caught up when they reached the clouds and shot forawd with his jaw wide open and talons spread to hook Drogon.
But Drogon rolled over just as the attack was made and a breath of fire burst out onto Rhaegal's belly before the two dragons collided in the air.
Jon was almost thrown off when the beasts clashed together and fought once the fall from the sky began. Shouts escaped his lips when a thrash shook his body and the cries of the dragons erupted with wrath and pain from their fight.
A spray of hot blood hit Jon in the face, and he was only barely able to see that it came from a wound in Drogon's neck after Rhaegal bit him. But the ocean was getting closer and soon they would crash.
"Up, Rhaegal! Up!"
Rhaegal roared out as he kicked away from Drogon and in a single instant, the green dragon opened his wings to level out just as Drogon's talons slashed across Rhaegal's chest.
Both dragons separated, and Rhaegals wound forced him to flee instead of pursue, in need of a respite.
Jon kept his eye on Drogon and saw streams of fire immediately burst out upon ship after ship. Rhaegal's voice was in pain as the dragon changed course after his brother, but the black dragon passed through a column of smoke from the burning ships and vanished in the dark of night.
Looking all around, Jon tried to find sight of Euron and Drogon, but the battle below and the smoke all around masked too much around him. He tried to find any sign of Drogon, a flash of his wings in the light, or a streak of fire attacking the allied ships.
But the roar came from behind. Jon turned his head and saw Drogon's set of teeth appear behind him, growing larger by the second.
Rhaegal veered to the left and a loud snap of teeth barely missed Jon's head followed by the powerful laughter of Euron. The dodge was so urgent that Rhaegal was forced to crash into the top of a ship mast. The sudden jolt from the impact almost threw Jon off dragonback and Rhaegal into the water, but the dragon barely made a recovery, splashing his legs into the water before gaining air once again.
Jon searched around again and this time he found Euron once again, coming straight for him with the kill. Rhaegal was moving too slow to avoid the attack, and the powerful dragon's roar almost convinced him of his fate.
But when the roar came, it was not from Drogon, and it wasn't from Rhaegal either.
A bronze dragon pierced through a thick column of smoke and bashed into Drogon with powerful force, forcing him to fall away from his dive at Jon and Rhaegal, almost tumbling into the sea.
Rhaegal climbed into the air. Jon was able to find a moment to calm himself from the intensity that nearly killed his dragon. He scanned the air and found Viserion flying close, but his mind fell blank in complete surprise at the first glimpse of the woman astride Viserion's back.
Sansa looked absolutely terrified, holding onto Viserion for dear life, while at the same time a fierce look focused on what was ahead.
Jon blinked. Sansa… riding a dragon… into battle… "What?"
Bran
"Sansa?" Bran was leaning on the railing of the Black Wind, peering out to the smoke filled sky with his gaze locked on the bronze dragon and the woman riding it. "How is that possible?"
"Because it must be," Bearded Bran said, "because sometimes that's all it needs to be." He placed a hollow hand on Bran's shoulder and pointed out to the sky with the other. Bearded Bran's finger aim at the faint shadow against the darkness, the shadow of Drogon.
"The Night King has him in his tightest grasp. Freeing him won't be easy."
"Then how do we do it?"
"Together," Bearded Bran said as they both found the focal point of their magic, harnessing it to meet that of the Night King's. Before, it felt like Bran's efforts were as if he was attacking the Wall itself with only a dagger, but now that dagger was a hammer as large as a castle tower swung by a giant just as tall.
The dark force against them was frightening, Bran's mind wanted to tremble, but they kept pushing on, focusing all his strength as that of the The Eyed Ravens before him to break the hold over the black dragon.
"There it is!" Bearded Bran said, and through the power of the sight, Bran could feel the first crack of the Night King's strength, just what they needed.
The battle between the fleets disappeared so suddenly. Bran saw before him a scene he had witnessed once before that terrified him when this all began back in the cave.
The Red Keep, frozen and ruined and the Night King, his future, sitting up the throne of ice.
The Night King was broken from his state of magic, his eyes returning from the cloud white to the dark ice blue. He stood from his throne and scowled with every intention of chasing down Bran and laying his mark on him. But he could not.
Bearded Bran faded into the sight and took hold of the Night King, restraining him from moving.
"Goodbye," Bearded Bran said to Bran, for the first time showing a slight hint of emotion. Fulfillment. Bearded Bran's eyes turned white and started to glow brightly. He yelled out like a warrior in battle as suddenly both him, the Night King, and the scene around suddenly erupted into a storm of ashes fading into nothing.
Bran awakened from the sight, gasping for air.
"Bran!" Meera was at his side. "What happened? Who's winning the battle?"
Catching his breath, Bran took a moment to look at the face of the weirwood, wondering if Bearded Bran was truly gone or if somehow he lingered. "Goodbye…" he whispered softer than falling snow.
"Bran?"
Turning his head back around, Bran looked at Meera proudly. "The tide's turned."
Euron
It all happened so fast. Finally, he'd gotten away from the other two dragons and had his sights set on his niece and nephew's ship, ready to rid the world of the last worthless memory of his idiot older brother.
But then instead of unleashing fire, the black dragon ignored his command and thrashed about sporadically. Euron's control over the beast had completely vanished, and it only took several seconds to get thrown off the damned creature into the sea.
Aside from the hard crash into the water, a great surge of pain shot through Euron's left eye. It felt like someone was slowly pushing a serrated knife into his head deeper and deeper. He yelled his pain into the water, cursing in every form he knew before pulling himself up to the surface.
Gasping for air, Euron looked around to get his bearing in the battle and realized that his sight was off. He'd become blind in the left eye.
The Drowned God had betrayed him.
He yelled out louder than he ever had in his life. He listened to the damn diety and all he did was waste his time at sea when he could have raided every port in Westeros and the Free cities by now!
Now, he was stuck in the water with no dragons, no power, and his left eye gone. At least with his right eye, he could still see the closest ship that bore his colors.
Snarling, Euron swam as fast as he could through the freezing cold water, his rage and hunger for blood blocked out the pain in his eye and the sounds of battle happening all around him.
Finally, he reached the hull and climbed his way up, the torrents of the water from the battle helped him in his first reach. By the time he pulled himself overboard, the crew had all lost their attention from the battle and turned it to him.
"Where is my ship!?" He shouted over all of them, shoving his way through to the helm. "Where is it!?"
"Stardboard," said Dunstan Drumm, making the ship he boarded the flagship of the Drumm's, the Clean Hand. The Lord Captain pointed his sword into the fray and guided Euron's eye to see that the Silence was actually within sight, tearing through ship after ship.
The Silence was his, no other Ironborn had the right to guide his throne if he did not have a dragon.
Euron shoved the helmsman aside and took control, ignoring the formation of his ships and steering his way back to the Silence.
From almost out of nowhere, a ball of fire came crashing into the bronze skeleton figurehead of Dunstan's ship.
"Take cover!" Dunstan bellowed as more fireballs were coming in their direction, but Euron paid no head as the crew scrambled to avoid death. He only had his eye set on his path ahead.
Out of the several fireballs that bombarded at them, only two had struck the ship, one landing square in the center of the poop deck and the other into the portside hull. The ship and the sails were starting to catch fire. It did not matter though. The Silence was finally within his reach once again.
With no gentle touch that the Silence could handle perfectly fine, the Clean Hand was steered right next to the ship, scraping hull against hull with the latter suffering the damage.
Euron abandoned the helm and without second thought, hesitation, or even rallying the men of the sinking ship, he leapt over the ship railing into the lower base deck. He cared not to see those that followed his lead, or those of his crew of mutes looking over the castle rails.
When he ascended to the main deck, he looked around. As it was expected, his crew was awaiting the orders of their King, but he could see the confusion that the blessed eye from the Drowned God did not look back at them.
"Where are my niece and nephew!?" He bellowed, looking out at the battle around them. "Let's go kill them!"
Theon
The Black Wind rammed hard into another of Orkmont's ships and was joined by the Rude Maul captained by Ser Ragnor Pyke in a pincer, crushing the hull into fat splinters and throwing many men into the sea.
"Come about!" Yara barked. "Keep breaking through!"
Theon relayed the order just after he and four other Ironborn each loosed an arrow into the crew of the sinking ship trying to escape onto the Rude Maul, several had already lept onto the ship's hull and figurehead, but Ser Ragnor would dispatch of them quickly-
'Crash!'
A sudden volley of bolts the size of oars shot into the Rude Maul and tore it to shreds. The ship then tipped over and crashed into the ocean, throwing every man into the water.
"Ropes into the water! Starboard side!" Yara bellowed and several crewmen immediately tossed lines over for the survivors of the assault.
The crew of the Black Wind turned their gazes to the sudden outbreak of a crazed warcry as the Silence broke through a set of burning ships. Standing upon the bowsprit was Euron with a long greatsword in one hand and the fury of gods in his eyes… not, not eyes, just one eye. That cursed blue eye of his was gone. And if he was there, then that meant he lost Drogon.
Even as fearful as his Euron was painted in sight, Theon was able to feel bravery and smirk at the approach of his uncle. His uncle lost his power. Even if Euron won, once those who swore to him saw his 'gift' gone along with the dragon, they'd never respect him again. He was a codfish now. This was just a final chance to draw blood for him.
The Silence began to turn, changing course and heading straight for the Black Wind. And now that the damn ship was closer, Theon could recognize that it wasn't the bowsprit Euron stood on, it was a boarding ramp.
"Swords!" Theon yelled out. "Prepare to be boarded!" He dropped his bow, almost throwing it aside, and retrieved his shield with his sword drawn.
Another set of bolts shot from the deck of the Silence at the Bonefish, tearing it apart and destroying the last ship in support of the Black Wind that was nearby. It was just the flagships of the Greyjoys now.
"Form ranks!" Yara ordered! "Form ranks!" Theon retreated away from the port side with the rest of the crew, raising their shield up and swords at the ready.
Another warcry bellowed from Euron as the Kraken ramrod smashed into the Blackwind, shaking the entire ship and the crew. The boarding ramp fell hard, hooking into the deck. "Yara!" Euron shouted as he stomped onto the deck with a maniacal smile. "Come give your uncle a kiss!" Behind him dozens of his mutes came rushing forth and joined their King in a charge.
Euron's sword was a terrible sight up close, but it was strong, cleaving through the shield it met like bread and the arm holding it too.
"Charge!" Yara shouted.
Theon felt the thunder of feet behind him as he and all the rest of the crew yelled out in fury to meet Euron's crew. He blocked an axe first, parrying it aside with his shield and thrust his sword through the black leathers and into the gut of the man in front of him. Then came a sword, again blocked by the shield but this time Theon pressed forward and bashed his attacker in the face, painting his face in the blood of his nose before slashing through it as though it were a target.
The pain of the wounds of the previous skirmishes made Theon grit his teeth with every swing of his sword, but he would not relent. He could not allow himself to fall to a weakness like that tonight. All the weight of his mistakes were held in the balance of tonight. If he died, then he could not face the Starks and fight for them like he should have for Robb. He could not stand by his people in the new age Yara would make for them. He had to live.
But as strong as the crew's initial attack was, Euron and his mutes were unrelenting. When one died, two more would jump off the ramp and join the fray. Even though the crew of the Rude Maul climbed aboard and joined the fight, things were stuck in a draw.
"Little Theon!"
Theon had just sliced off an arm before the head of a mute. He immediately turned around and gasped as he frantically jumped backwards to avoid a cleave of Euron's greatsword. He dropped his shield as he scrambled to get to his feet and had to roll to the side in order to avoid another slash.
One of Ragnor's men tried to come to Theon's aid, but only got his teeth knocked out by a bash from the greatsword's pommel and then impaled in the side. But it was a window of time that gave Theon the chance to properly get on his feet as an attack.
Euron roared like a mad dog as they fought. Theon managed to get a slash on Euron's left arm and such a success finally gave revelation that Euron's power wasn't just gone, but so was his left eye entirely, making him blind on the left side. But drawing blood only made Euron a more vicious fighter.
Theon blocked the greatsword but Euron forced their blades down to back fist into Theon's face. A hard pain stung in Theon's cheek and he spat blood when his mouth began to fill.
Another warcry sang out as Yara swung her axe at Euron, joining the fight, but the blade was caught on the crossguard, chipping away a piece of gunk and revealing under a shine of gold.
Together, the last children of Baelon Greyjoy fought their father's murderer, but Euron was strengthened by rage, hardly reacting to the pain of wounds inflicted. Theon's sword sustained perhaps two dozen chips in the edge before one final strike from Euron's blade broke it apart. The tip of Euron's sword swiped across Theon's arm and he fell back against the body of a dead Ironborn.
The fire of battle still coursed hot in Theon's blood as he scrambled to pick up a weapon that he could before meeting his end. Yara cried out as her left leg suffered a slash and she was knocked down.
Within seconds, Theon grabbed the handle of a morningstar and swung it with a yell. Euron thought to block it with the blade but the head and chain wrapped around it. With the greatsword trapped, Theon grabbed the top half of it and yelled further as he pushed Euron back and away from Yara. In a sheer instant of instinct, Theon caught sight of something powerful behind Euron and with a hard kick of his boot, sent Euron tumbling backwards at the cost of his weapon.
Euron yelled out and swiped the morningstar from his sword and raised it up in preparation to charge at Theon, but not when a loud roar broke the sounds of war all around as the mighty black dragon swooped down and it's fangs snatched Euron from his place on board the Black Wind. Blood splashed as Drogon's teeth chomped through steel and flesh, thrashing his victim side to side. The greatsword slipped from Euron's hands and fell into the ocean, sinking deep down.
"Euron is dead!" Theon cheered loudly, turning the battle that still raged on the deck. "Euron is dead!"
The crew of the Silence was both distracted and distraught, enough that they were pushed back and the remainder of Yara's men were able to break through their attacks and slay them.
Many began to retreat back to the Silence, but not until a ball of fire came hurdling from the air and landing square on the main deck of Euron's ship.
"No!" Yara barked out, looking up as the black sails of Euron's Kraken caught fire, traveling higher to where Daenerys was bound. But it was alright, she wouldn't burn… but she could fall.
Another ball of fire landed on the Silence, this time hitting the main mast at the base and breaking it. A collective of loud cracks became known as the mast began to tilt slowly, inevitably breaking and falling into the ocean.
Jon
"Jon!" Head swiveling to the side, he noticed the bronze-colored dragon flying alongside Rhaegal, the brothers wingtip to wingtip and allowing him to lock eyes with Sansa. "Look!"
He followed her pointed hand, tracing it to the southern horizon. It was hard to make out against the glare of the sun reflected on the clear waters, but the bright orange sails helped. It was Dorne, and the carracks were assaulting the vanguard of the Iron Fleet.
A loud roar of frustration and anger and confusion caught his attention. And then it hit him.
Daenerys.
Locking gazes with Sansa, Jon shook his head. Once he had her attention, he pointed in the direction of Dragonstone. He screamed over the howl of the wind. "Get to Dragonstone!"
"No!" Sansa yelled back.
Hearing that from her, the genuine love in her tone rather than the airs of her from his past, overjoyed him. But Drogon was untethered and scared, and there could still be a threat for an untested rider. Their part was done anyway - he just needed to stay and find Dany. "Just do it!" She looked to argue, so he preempted her. "Please!"
Thankfully, Sansa nodded. The bronze dragon hooted and dove down, wings beating towards where Drogon skimmed the surface, attacking any Ironborn ships in his way. The weight on his chest wouldn't go away until he knew Sansa was safely away from the battlefield. He'd at least had practice before the first Long Night on dragonback. This… as far as he knew was Sansa's first time as a rider.
Already he had barked orders to Rhaegal without even hearing them, ordering the beast down from the clouds into the maze of burning ships and screaming men in pursuit of Drogon leading the way. Searching hard for the Silence, or what was the Silence.
Drogon roared, although it almost sounded like a whimper, when he passed over a ship that was already sunk to the poop deck into the ocean. The sails of the Silence were burning… and bound by rope atop the main mast where the ships's colors were meant to be was Daenerys, hair streaking in the smoke.
If he was scared before, his entire body went rigid with pure terror at the sight. The mainmast was now only ten or so feet from being submerged, the top of it being where she was. "Dany!"
The water lapped at her shoulders, then her chin, the mast dragging her down with the stricken ship under the waves. Daenerys soon disappeared, her hair bobbing on the water for a split second before only bubbles gave away she had ever been there in the first place.
"No!" Jon made his decision without a second thought. Rhaegal roared in fright as Jon simply dove off of his back, aiming for the churning waters around the ship. He hit the water hard and the freezing temperatures began to seize at his body, but he had no time to waste.
The water assaulted him, soaking all his clothes and every inch of skin, pricking at him like a thousand knives. Jon forced down the pain and the cold - he had faced down worse north of the Wall, swimming down as fast as he could. But the water fought him every step of the way. Hidden currents slammed into him, as did escaping pockets of air from the ship below, slowing his pace to that of a crawl. His lungs fought him to breath, but he couldn't, every bit of water seeping through his lips burning his throat.
All while the dark shape of the broken ship loomed large in the distance. Taunting him, cursing at him. The mast of the Silence was slowly sinking to the bottom and Daenerys was still tied to the top.
Jon fought all the harder, his arms and legs beating against the current. He couldn't give up, he wouldn't. Slowly it paid off, the sinking mast and the thrashing Dany getting closer and closer. She noticed him and reached out to him, but her movements were weak. Bubbles escaping her lungs. Oh gods, she couldn't hold her breath for much longer.
Reaching out his hand, Jon grabbed ahold of the ropes holding Daenerys and pulled himself to his. Her eyes were open, but her gaze was empty.
Willing his body to resist the pain of being without air, he controlled himself to grab his dagger and cut away the rope as fast as he could. Once the last line was severed, Jon let go of the dagger, seeing it sink into the darkness of the ocean as he grabbed Daenerys and swam to the surface as fast as he could.
The moment they broke the surface, Jon yelled for breath and the relief came. He kept hold of Daenerys as he kept the both of them up.
"Rhaegal!" Jon shouted as loud as he could. "Rhaegal!"
The smoke in the air cleared away as Rhaegal flapped his wings, hovering over Jon and Daenerys. His legs dipped into the water and his talons wrapped around Jon and Daenerys, picking them up and out of the sea.
Screeching out, Rhaegal flew away from the wreckage of the Silence, finding one of the ships that bore the Targaryen dragon. The green dragon did his absolute finest, setting them down onto the ship deck. Jon moved quickly to sit up and looked at Daenerys. Her eyes were closed and she wasn't breathing. "No…" He placed a hand on her chest over her heart. He felt the rhythms of battle and the beating of the ocean waves, but nothing from within her.
He failed…. He failed her again. His entire purpose for coming back was now gone before him. Misery spread through his bones as he realized this. Tears began streaking down his face as he ignored all looking upon him and held Daenerys closer. He felt lost without her, just like in exile. Without her, he felt empty.
He peeked up at the stars and the twinkling light from them. If there was any a time to have faith, it was now. "Lord of Light, please, grant me one last miracle. Save her life, bring her back, because I can't do this without her. I won't do this without her. I was a fool once and let her go, never again. Never again. I love her." He buried his face into her neck and his tears kept coming. 'Please, just one more miracle.'
A peaceful feeling swept over his misery and wrapped around him like a warm blanket. He raised his head when he felt a still small voice speak within him. It was not like Bran communicating through thought, but whispers of the heart guiding him.
He closed his eyes and his hand slid down to her chest, over her heart. He felt a strange warmth in his palm beaming on Daenerys.
Daenerys jerked in his arms and groaned. He darted up and she suddenly opened her eyes and coughed up seawater. Jon turned her to her side to help her expel what was left in her lungs and many around gasped.
When she was done, She rested in Jon's arms and looked up to him in utter relief. "Jon…"
"Dany…"
She placed a hand on his neck and he pulled her up to him, embracing her with all his desire and love as he kissed her more passionately than he had ever done before. All throughout his heart and mind, he shouted his thanks over and over.