The newly chosen ruler of the Iron Islands lay motionless on the rocky shore after his drowning-ceremony, as the Ironborn waited, and waited, and waited while the sun began to set and the Pyke began to cast its long dark shadow across the water.
Finally, The Drowned Man went over and placed his fingers on the still figure's neck.
"Fuck!" He muttered with annoyance in his voice. "Here we go again."
Author Note:
The only thing I could think of after seeing that ceremony was "Wonder how many times that went wrong!"