VICTARION
The cream-and-gold dragon flew over Meereen, belching fire as if he was displeased with last night's dinner.
Victarion Greyjoy watched from the bow of the Iron Victory, his face twisted in a furrow of intense concentration. He could taste the fire he belched from his gullet, feel the feeble little arrows bump into his impenetrable scales, completely harmless as a butterfly. The Iron Victory glided on the fiery-reddish waters of Slaver's bay, towards the burning city. Victarion could smell victory in the air, mingling with the sweet, sweet smell of dying men. If they had enough energy to project their screams and curses to the Iron Victory, they would have fallen on ears deaf as the ears of the green land gods.
Victarion's dragon, under his commands unspoken but well-understood nonetheless, spat his flames at a clutch of spiky-hatted soldiers defending the west wall running along the bay. He was unsure whether it was himself or the dragon that was bitterly disappointed when they failed to so much as squeak. He exulted as he took flight yet again, ascending like some green land septon's idea of a holy man, to heaven. The city of Meereen spread under the canopy of his wings like the legs of the dusky woman. The proud pyramids were jutting up, pathetically attempting to reach the sky and say "I am above this carnage". Most of them were already blackened by fire of arrow and dragon.
Back on the ship, Victarion grinned in anticipation. The harbor was less than a league away now. The silver queen was waiting. She won't be pleased I have a dragon, but the unwilling women are the most statisfying, oh yes.
They came to the harbor, burning and obscured by smoke.
"Everyone off! Now is the time, brothers, to make good on all the promises my brother made you! Dragons!" "Dragons!" The crew of the Iron Victory, and several of her sisters shouted. "Salt wives!" they shouted too, with an unmistakable, impatient heat.
"Salt wives!" Victarion echoed. He descended from the heavens with the dragon, preparing to bathe Meereen in another cleansing fire.
The ironborn got off their ships, the great longships stopping after a long voyage from the Shield Islands. Their shouts echoed off the great pyramids of Meereen that Victarion, in his mind, overflew on his way to cook the slave soldiers in their spiky hats.
He disengaged from the beast to disembark. He smelled the air, blood and sweat and salt water, but even a hint of perfume.
Not Pyke, that's for sure.
The Unsullied, as they were called, were waiting. Their faces showed no emotion that normal men did, no fear, no determination, and no battle lust. But then, they are no true men at all.
Victarion was, however. He took his sword in his hand, and pointed it at one of the pyramids. It was burned brown. The ironborn charged into the city, and engaged the Unsullied. The dragon clawed at his mind, trying to bring him up into the heavens where it flew, searching for prey, but he had to stay on the ground for now.
One of the eunuch soldiers tried to stab him through the heart. Victarion Greyjoy smashed his spiky helmet in with a mighty sword blow. Victarion watched as his men poured into the streets marked with blood, as the kraken entered the realm of the harpy.
But the kraken had also business with the dragon. The cream-and-gold beast flew down to him, and then the Captain of the Iron Fleet knew what he had to do.
He jumped. The scaly skin of the dragon scraped his thighs, almost drawing blood, but here, where blood flowed like water, Victarion didn't notice.
Meereen grew larger and larger as the dragon ascended. From here, Victarion could see his men, fighting an unmovable wall of Unsullied. On the other side of the city, an ocean of endless grass shifted with the wind. So that's that Dothraki Sea the fool was talking about. When the battle is done I shall go there to claim my silver queen.
He pushed the dragon down, and they descended, towards the fray. He expected the dragon to breathe some of his fire on the Unsullied, but he only flew up when he was about to crash into them. Perhaps he requires a command to unleash his flames? He cast about for a fitting word. "Fire!" he shouted in the Common Tongue, but that had no effect. He tried variations on the word 'fire', to no avail.
The battle continued to rage beneath him. The ironmen gained a few inches, then were pushed back again. Victarion steered the dragon back towards the fray, and jumped off when it was safe. He caught an Unsullied from the back, and within moments his sword protruded from the front of the eunuch's stomach.
It was then he realized how hopeless it was.
The ironborn force was weakening, losing men and ground with every passing minute. The battle could not be won, not against the completely unbreakable fortitude of the Unsullied.
So he left. He called his dragon again, and mounted it. He soared above Meereen yet again, and this time he left it behind. Meereen is nothing, only a festering pit of slavers, eunuchs, and old women. The true prizes are the Seven Kingdoms, and the dragon queen will give them to me. Euron will burn, him and his Seastone Chair, and I will sit the Iron Throne amidst the skulls of my enemies.
Meereen disappeared behind and below him, and from his awareness at large. It was the grass he concentrated on now; the Dothraki sea.
Then, he heard the roar. He looked down at the dragon's mouth, snapping in the air that beat at Victarion's face, but it was not the source. He looked at the ground below, but then a second roar snapped him back to the air.
It was another dragon. Black it was, blacker than midnight, and larger than Victarion's. And it had a rider. Victarion could not make out who it was with his eyes, but his mind could.
The dragon bitch. "You! Bitch!" he shouted, but the other dragon only roared again, and it seemed it would breathe its fire at any moment.
He steered his beast towards the other, and shouted again: "You! Dragon queen! I am Victarion Greyjoy, and I am your husband now!"
"Viserion!" was the only reply, and Victarion could not understand what it meant. "Viserion! To me!" the other rider continued.
Victarion turned his beast around, and began to follow the black dragon from behind. Then, the other rider answered: "Care to repeat that?" "Dracarys!" the rider added.
The huge, black beast turned around, and belched fire. Victarion could feel the heat on his face and on his entire body. "Dracarys!" he repeated, and his own dragon breathed his flames. They danced, the black dragon and the white, above the Dothraki sea. And then the third dragon joined them. Green he was, and his size was between the the sizes of the other two. The black dragon's rider shouted: "Rhaegal! To me!"
This is not good thought Victarion as he pushed his dragon down. Then, two jets of flame struck him from behind. He could feel the fire start to consume him, and with his armor taken off so it wouldn't encumber him, his clothes quickly burned off. Then, it was his flesh's turn.
Euron will never have his dragon or his queen now, was his last, slightly comforting thought, and a moment later a collection of ashes formerly known as Victarion Greyjoy dropped from the dragon called Viserion, and dispersed in the wind.
