A/N: Thank you again for reading. Special thanks to the guest for your comment. Its awesome to hear people enjoy this story as much as I do. I know there's no known characters from ASOIAF in this work to draw people in, but I credit all of you for choosing my work to check out. I appreciate all those that have made it this far more than you could imagine. Please respond with comments and thoughts. I really want to know what people are thinking when Aegon is going through these things. I'm sorry in advance for the cliffhanger ending. 29 will come soon.

28

When all of the Brindled Men were freed from their fetters and cages, the rescue party set off to find any remaining crew that had yet to wake. Aegon supplied warriors and Ooklunk, who hated bows, with fourteen steel short swords from the hands of the dead slavers. He would have taken one for himself, but he was getting used to the dirk and had specifically been trained for a longsword and great sword, not a short sword. The practical application of which would mostly be the same, but it gave him a good enough excuse to pass on one for himself.

A quick search through the cabins and captain's quarters found the boat mostly abandoned, save four more guards that would have taken the next shift. Aegon didn't expect the ship to be fully crewed, but he expected more than eight. Where are the rest of them?

They killed all the guards in their sleep, none like the twins did on the shore, but they killed them all the same. Four new blades were passed around. Someone found an arahk, which Ootrahk was happy to take for himself. After a quick search of the rest of the ship no other guards or slavers were found.

When Aegon came upon the captain's quarters he found the only survivor. A man was sitting on a desk, his legs crossed and his arms folded in front of him. Has he been waiting for me? Upon Aegon's entrance, he raised his hands, signaling surrender, and sat silently, staring eerily past Aegon into the distance.

He wore a silk white tunic and flowing white breeches, bare feet, and jingling necklace of bells. His face was tattooed with the motley customary for slave fools in Volantis. His expression was stuck half way between a smile and an itch. His mouth was stretched across his face, baring his teeth, but the lips never curved, his cheeks never tightened. He just stared past Aegon, stuck in a frozen expression of madness, silently.

Aegon stepped into the chambers declaring, "We have taken this ship. The men aboard are all dead. I came to speak with the captain. Who are you?"

He sat there silently for a moment, then turned his head slowly past Aegon, then back again to him. His eyes still looked past him. Through him. He jerked his head, half cocking it to the side and replied, "I'm just seamen. I'm what men leave behind after fun. Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun. Oh, we had such fun. But I'm afraid my fun is done. Just a stain, is all." He turned, climbing down from the desk and behind it. He reached down under it, out of Aegon's view for a moment, and stood up with what looked like a paper ball, tied with a red bow. "For you, ser. A gift." He reached out as if to hand it to Aegon.

Something's wrong here. Aegon reached for his dirk and lunged to end the conversation. The fool straightened his face and posture that instant, and as quick as any man Aegon had ever fought, threw the gift to the ground. The ball exploded into a thick white cloud. Aegon swiped through with the dirk, sparring the air, spinning around the room, hitting nothing. He waved the cloud clear and there was no one in the room with him. Fooled by a fool.

He ran out of the room yelling, "One is loose on the ship! One is loose!" He turned down a small hall and burst out onto the deck. He looked up to see the fool in white in the crow's nest, leaning over the one side. Aegon yelled, "Someone put him down!" He turned back and saw Neenee, bow already cocked, about to loose a smooth shafted wooden arrow she whittled from a branch herself. There was no ore in their part of this land, so their arrows were smooth wooden shafts with no head that could fly straight through prey or a foe.

She loosed. It flew straight for his temple, but the fool caught it with his left hand. He squeezed the arrow. Blood trickled down. "I do create joy, you know. The purest form of joy. But mostly I'm wasted. Wiped and shot into places and things. No matter though. Nothing more than a stain." With his free hand, he lifted a brass horn, curved whimsically around in a spiral. He brought it to his lips, pursed them, then glanced down at Aegon with the corner of his eye. It's as if he's daring me to kill him.

"Neenee! Kill him!" Aegon screamed. The horn meant death. It would alert the forces encamped down the shore from them and as far as Aegon could figure, this seemed like a set up. A fool in the captain's chambers? Only nine on the boat, ten on the shore to guard scores of Brindled Men? Something wasn't right. Someone needed to take him down.

NeeNee rushed to her quill for another arrow, knocking it and pulling it back, racing to kill the fool before he managed another breath. They raced. The fool won.

Huuurooooooooooooooooo- uh

The arrow hit just below his ear and stopped the sound suddenly. Aegon hoped she stopped him quickly enough. He didn't fall though. The fool just stood there, frozen again. The arrow pierced through his neck, sticking out, the point hidden somewhere inside his skull. He coughed, spitting blood onto the brass horn and all over his tunic and pants. "Just . . . a.. . . (cough cough) stain, … . is all," he sucked in more air, his body and face swelling like a blowfish.

"Again and again! Down this fool!" Vihktoona and Sheree had their bows drawn too now. Two of the men also grabbed bows and arrows and aimed to fire, all of them reaching to their quills as his lips pressed against the horn.

Huuroooooooo Huurooooooooooo – uh. Neenee's hit first. But it barely stopped him. Huurooooo Huuuroooo-uh oooo. He took another breath. Arrows flew by him. Two found his chest, sticking out of him like a pin cushion. Hurrrooooo-uh ooooooo Hurrooooooooo Hurooooooooo-uh.

Arrows flew and the horn sounded. Aegon had already begun to climb to the crow's nest, holding the dirk in his mouth as he scaled the ropes.

Huuurooo-uh huu-uh-roooooo. Arrows continued to hit him to no avail. Neenee's aim was true, shooting arrows at his lungs and throat. But with impossibly quick reflexes and the horn as a shield, he blocked or deflected the arrows that came for his throat and was unaffected by the ones that hit him in his torso. The white clothes had turned all but pink and red. Arrows plunged into his skin, some stuck into bones, some flew clean through, but he still found the breath and strength to blow. By now, there was no hope the slavers didn't hear the alarm, and what was this indestructible fool doing on this boat anyway? Who in seven hells is this man?

Aegon reached the crow's nest and dodged the last round of arrows. One nearly clipped his side, but he managed to spin away from it, clutching the rope with a four fingered left hand. He pulled himself up over the side, planted his feet and plunged the dirk into the fool with a two-handed straight thrust. Huroo-uh. He turned to Aegon, blood flowing from his mouth, as Aegon pulled the dirk out and poised for another strike if need be. Once again, his mouth stretched across his face in that smile of a madman. He coughed at Aegon, spitting blood toward him, laughed or coughed again, and lifted the horn to his mouth. Aegon swung the dirk through the horn, the bell necklace, and his neck, and the fools head fell to the planks of the crow's nest floor below him jingling as it did. The pink garbed body, leaking blood, full of arrows, dropped to its knees, then fell flat on its stomach, arrows plunging deeper inside it and propping it up on an angle. Blood spurted out the hole in its neck where a head used to be.

Aegon saw the head roll past his feet and settle with its eyes closed facing him. Its mouth, covered in blood, was still stretched in that queer almost grin. His eyes popped open, almost jolting the severed head. "Just a stain is all," and his eyes closed and mouth dropped. Fucking seamen.

Aegon descended from the crow's nest, trying to glimpse movement from the slaver's camp. He saw and heard commotion, scores of soldiers scurrying about the shore, seemingly into formation. Fuck.

He called to those who spoke Valyrian, Nahknani, Ootrahk, and two of his warriors he never met, and had them assemble the men and women on deck. He needed them to translate and delegate, as the ship needed to be ready to sail.

They pulled up the anchor, checked the lines, manned the rudder, and hoisted the sails quickly enough for the Valyrian speaking captain to take pride in his new crew. The deck bustled with Brindled Men and Women, much more capable of climbing, pulling, and steering than any crew he had ever had charge of, though the language barrier was less than helpful. It wasn't the first time some of his crew needed translation, but it was the first time pretty much all of them did. Ootrahk, Nahknani, and the two warriors excelled with this initial test, but if a battle at sea were to take place, as he knew would soon be the case, he'd have to not only fight, but order the novice crew what to do with the ship. That would be the true challenge.

Once they were off, they needed to chart a course. Where do we go now? How do we lose these slavers?

As Aegon thought long and hard on those questions, no answer was evident. He didn't know the coast, he didn't know the wind patterns, he could only guess to where Ootrihk and the rest of their clan was, and he needed to get the fighting force back to defend their women and children. Further, if he attempted what he was considering, which was brazen bordering on suicidal, no one else knew how to sail the ship. Indeed, this was a well made trap. Fucking seamen.

He searched the shore to see the slavers' progress. They had every man he could see marching, boarding boats to meet them. The entire camp seemed to have mobilized. Could they all be sailing to meet us? Where else would they be going?

The galley was big, built for cargo, not speed. It crawled across the water like a basilisk in winter, so slowly they had no hope to out run the faster longships and clippers of the slavers. And as big as it was, there was no hope for turning into a cove or bay to hide. They would have to take them head on, somehow, and he thought he knew of a way. A slight chance, but who would sail the ship?

As the slavers continued to make progress on leaving the shore, he took Ootrahk and his two Valyrian speaking warriors to the side to teach them the basics of sailing. The lines for the sails, the rudder, the starboard, the leeward, the wind, the stars. He gave them as much pertinent information as quickly as possible, knowing most of it would be lost either in translation, or lost in the sheer volume he was trying to present. It had taken him half, if not all of his life to know enough to be a captain. These Brindled Men would have twenty minutes at most.

At least they can steer. The wind will blow them all over the ocean, but they can at least steer the rudder. That much he was sure, and would serve them if he succeeded. If he failed it would make no matter at all. He just hoped he could even complete the first part of his plan.

Next, he gathered all the archers. Nahknani was there to translate for him as he explained his plan. Hopefully only one of the ships would be on them at a time, and the key was for the ships to keep their distance. If the slavers were able to board, their numbers, steel, and experience would most likely overwhelm his new crew. Even if they were able to thwart off one of the ships, others would follow, with more numbers, and eventually all would be lost either to steel or the sea.

But as every dragon knows, boats are nothing but wood and paper. Cloth and kindling. All they needed was a little bit of fire.

The arrows of a Brindled Person, as mentioned before, were just whittled wood, without an iron or steel head, and rarely fletched with feathers. The sharp smooth pointed sticks flew straight enough on land, but Aegon feared they would not fly over the sea, the gusts from the crashing waves and tides might either stop them or push them off course. They also would be hard to ignite without some accelerant, which made his plan seem impossible. But going through the stores, there was enough food, specifically swine fat, that could be used to light the arrows, were they to stay lit and fly straight. He just needed to convince his crew that their best chance at survival was turning the boat around and sailing directly to their enemy. I'm sure these land lovers will love me for this.

He spied the slavers. Only one of the ships looked like it was making its way to them. They must be overly confident. True his boat was full of novice sailors and women, but they were Brindled Men. They could win in a battle, steel or not, aboard a ship if the slavers' commander sent green enough warriors, or slave warriors for that matter. But Aegon wouldn't let it come to that.

He called his new crew together again, addressing them from the crow's nest, wind blowing and whipping through his hair. His brown locks flowed, circling his face as he tried to yell over the howling of the gusts. Though most knew not what he said, they stood intently listening to every Valyrian word, and its translation in their language.

He ended his explanation with, "All that I do, I do for the safety and survival of your people. I will take them head on myself. All I ask is your trust. Know that we will win, and we will. Know that we are just, and we are. Know that we have just begun to kill and we will continue to slaughter our enemies until the sea runs red with their blood. These men mean to enslave you. Use you. Kill you after years of hard service and torture. We win the day not only because of the strength in our arms, but the strength in our hearts. We win today. Then we win tomorrow, and forever more, YOU will be the heroes children hear about in the stories. Fuck a Drahkness Kahn. Make me a Brindled Man!"

Ootrahk translated with the fervor to match his Valyrian. Aegon even saw his carnivorous smile stretch across his face as he yelled the last two sentences in his native tongue. The crowd was mostly the freed warriors, who most likely didn't understand the Drahkness Kahn reference from the previous night, but they roared anyway. The cries, chants, and cheers rang loud enough The King and his villainous Queen could hear across the Narrow Sea. Despite the ending of his speech, the women among them started in the chant from the previous night. The deck was covered with larger, stronger, fiercer men and women than he, merely a purple eyed pink man, but a rush flowed from toes to the top of his head as the natives to this deadly place sounded in that familiar chorus.

"Drahkness Kahn. Drahkness Kahn. Drakness Kahn." Harwin Snow lived to suppress his heritage. He forgot it, forced the truth he knew deep in his mind as all those around him save the Captain called him The Bastard's Bastard. Har of the Harbour. His father was a hero. A dragon rider. A Prince of Dragonstone taken too early. His grandmother was the realm's delight. The true Queen of Westeros. Now, fittingly aboard a stolen trading galley, the man who washed up on the shores of a foreign land having just lost everything was finally acknowledged as the man he always knew he was. Aegon Velaryon. Dragon King.

He settled down the crowd, waving his arms downward as to quiet the chanting hoard. "Now, go to where you're needed and we'll show these vermin why Sothoryos is no place for the weak." His translators relayed the messages and the crowd shuffled into their positions.

Aegon climbed to the crow's nest as the boat was spun around, headed back toward the shore, and the gaining slaver's longship. He instructed the men who would steer to aim far enough starboard to be in their own archer's range, but out of ramming range of their foe. The galley was bigger, but it was broad, and clumsy. A longship, breaching at the right angle, could sink them in minutes if it were to break through into the belly of the vessel. Its large cargo holds would fill with water and drag them down. Too recently he'd been a witness to a sinking boat. A boat he was responsible for. It would not happen again.

As he climbed, he judged the distances he'd need to know if he were to pull this off. He eyed the ropes, the mast, the sails. He measured the approaching ship, closing one eye and judging with his right hand held thumb and pointer finger extended, then called down to his navigators to correct their course. When he reached the highest he could climb, he closed his eyes. He thought of what to do now. What do I say? And to who? He closed his eyes to say a prayer, out of habit. But like the last prayer he muttered, he wasn't sure whom to address. Should he envoke the Seven of Westeros. In White Harbor, people kept the sothron gods, but he never had. He'd say things like, "Seven hells," but not from a place of faithfulness. He could make his overture to the Red god R'hllor, but if anything, he was a perversion of the Valyrian fire gods, and the woman he fell for's lover. He could pray to Great Chahka, as the Brindled people had mentioned in passing, but he didn't even know anything of him. Or her. He could pray to the old gods, the gods he had always prayed to, but would they have any power so far from the heart trees of Westeros? Like he had on his first day here, his thoughts turned to himself. He said no prayers. He just took in a deep breath and reflected on his journey thus far. It does not end here.

The ships jockeyed for position as they approached each other on a calm Summer Sea. It was mid morning. The sun glared off the crystal water with a mean burn. The flash almost knocked Aegon off the mast as he clutched it, a pink monkey on a hempen vine. The sea chopped, the small waves near the shore rolling hills of dark blue. If he were to die, he would want it to be on the ocean. The time had come. The ships were in position. He looked to NeeNee, the captain in charge of the archers. He nodded. Here we go.