Barristan

It was quiet. Too quiet. If all his years on the battlefield had taught him one thing, it was that when you expected engagement and no-one turned up, they were either a coward, or had some kind of trick up their sleep. And Euron Greyjoy was by no means a coward.

There was no way in the seven hells that three paltry ships—large and formidable though they may have been—was the total force the Iron Islands were able to muster, and even they must've had more brains than to commit their entire fleet in a head-on attack. No, the Crow's Eye was up to something, and Barristan could only hope that he could find out what before it was too late.

The morning mist had cleared by now, and the only remaining obstruction of view was the smoking debris of the three ships that had been dispatched by Drogon a few moments before. Barristan could see the fleet stretching out around them—the honour guard ahead of them, the bulk of the force behind—as the flagship entered the bay, the queen's children soaring above them, their wings stretching as they rose and dove, the water of the bay spraying as they skimmed over the surface.

'Your grace!'

Instinctively reaching for his sword, Barristan was pulled out of his musings by Arthur's shout and spun back around. A ship was in the distance, circling around a rocky outcrop and slowly heading straight for them. The mast had a pure black sail, and the crimson hull cut through the water like a blade.

Gods. It's Greyjoy's ship. The Silence.

No matter. He'd be torn to shreds before getting anywhere close to the quee—

Another behind it. And another. And another. As this rival fleet began to emerge from behind the rocks, it was becoming clearer by the moment that this—although Barristan was still unsure just what this was—was the Crow's Eye's plan, coming to fruition.

The Silence pulled closer, steering around the first of the queen's fleet to attempt engagement. It was not quite so lucky with the next, being clearly struck by the ram, although was still able to maintain its course.

It finally dawned on Barristan. Greyjoy did not intend to survive the fight—after all, f he was successful in killing the queen, he'd reach the peak of his glory, and every following day would take him further from such heights. No, Euron Greyjoy was in the process of making himself a legend.

The Silence wove through the next three ships, being exposed to numerous hails of arrow fire and heavy bronze rams, but it still managed to hobble on, no longer cutting through the water with effortless ease, but rather a kind of dogged perseverance. It finally ground to a halt 10 metres or so from the flagship, and Barristan could see the water begin to pile in.

'Dracarys!' Daenerys shouted, and a white-hot torrent of flame sprung forth from the mouths of all three of her children. The wood went from crimson to black to ash within seconds, with naught remaining but a smoking heap. As victories went, Barristan supposed, it was overwhelmingly conclusive—the enemy commander had been reduced to dust, all the other enemy ships had stopped their course without a second thought, and Euron Greyjoy's legend had petered out with barely a whimper before it had ever truly begun. Something wasn't adding up.

'There were no screams,' Arthur said softly. 'They burnt to death, and there were no screams?'

'Euron Greyjoy is known for cutting the tongues from his crew,' Tyrion Lannister responded, his eyes still not leaving the charred mess on the water's surface. 'Hence the name.'

'So they can't speak, sure. But they can still make noise, and any one of us would be hard pressed to find a single man who would stay silent as he burned.' Arthur's words were heavy, but none present disagreed with him.

'Stay this course, captain,' Barristan shouted, not looking back. He was to keep his eyes on the queen from now, until she reached the iron throne itself. 'Take us to the shore. If anyone should attack, I'm sure the dragons will be able to take care of them.'

A throaty chuckle came from behind, and all on the deck whirled around. The captain was slumped on the floor, a jagged red gash on his neck, courtesy of the glittering blade in the hand of the man stood over him.

'I'm afraid your captain may be too preoccupied to carry out such an order, old man,' said Euron Greyjoy. His eye glittered wickedly as his mouth stretched into a grin. 'But that'll give us lots of time to talk, won't it?' He must've had twenty or so men behind him, each of whom were dripping wet.

The queen glared at him. 'You're a fool, Greyjoy, if you truly believe you'll leave this ship alive.'

'I suppose you're wondering how we did it? You know, how our ship is ash, but we're all here, unscathed and pretty as ever?'

'I truly don't care. Drac—'

'A trapdoor!' Euron bellowed, silencing Daenerys before her command could be carried out. 'A clever Qohorik shipwright built it for me, before his nasty accident over the side of a boat. We simply jumped out and swam over.'

'You made a mistake coming here, Greyjoy, and you'll pay for it with fire and blood.'

'Oh, there'll be fire and blood, your majesty.' The Crow's Eye smiled maliciously, and Barristan felt a shiver run through him.

'Dracarys!'

Drogon began to hover above Euron, who simply looked upward and continued to smile. Its head began to rear back, and the tell-tale rumble of inferno could be heard.

Then came the most terrible sound Barristan had ever heard, like the screams of a thousand children being burnt, or stabbed, or whipped, or anything, really—it was a sound of pure pain, and it was all Barristan could do to stay on his feet. As the sound ended, he barely had a moment to look around before seeing all three of the queen's children tumble into the water.

The ship rocked, and all Barristan saw before he fell was a band of red-hot runes, glowing on the horn in the lips of a collapsed Silence crew member.

Robb

The Red Keep was proving a hard nut to crack—the oak-and-iron doors, the narrow drawbridge that acted as a target for boiling oil and arrows in equal measure, and a surprisingly adept force of Lannister soldiers and city guardsmen were doing all they could to slow the advance of Robb and his men. That merely made him all the more determined to break through.

A low rumble of celebration came from the drawbridge, and Robb could see that they'd broken through the door at last. True, they still had more obstacles to push through, but it was valuable progress nonetheless. And so it went, with the men slowly but surely gaining ground as the keep's defences got gradually weaker and weaker. They lost few, as the guards were clearly beginning to realise that it was only a matter of time before they broke through, and they'd be better off guarding the queen, or simply running away.

Aye, they'd be through soon, and in no time at all would hold the keep. The queen would arrive, and as she'd take her throne, she'd smile at Robb with that beautiful mouth of hers, and—

Seven hells, Stark. You've got a war to win.

He shook his head as they made one final push, the portcullis being raised for long enough that forty or so men could get under it. Theirs was the most important job, and all Robb could do now was wait. The tension was thick in the air, and the adrenaline which had been coursing through his veins was finally starting to taper off. Gods, he was tired—there was only so much killing a man could handle, and he was damned close to reaching his limit.

At last, the portcullis began to slowly creak up, and Robb took a moment to breathe. Soon, he told himself, it would all be over. Soon, he could rest.

'Robert.' The low rumble came from behind, and Robb turned back to see Lyonel approaching his…grandson? Great-grandson? Robb wasn't quite sure. Either way, the night was breathless, and he had a steady flow of blood streaming from his nostrils. 'It's the Kingslayer. He…he's escaped.'

Robert's face flashed with annoyance. 'As soon as this bloody gate opens, I want men filling every corner of it. If those rats try to escape, they'll be found and brought directly to me. But I believe I might know where they're headed.' He swallowed, and slowly looked each of them in the eye. 'Gentlemen, we have a lion to hunt.'

No-one

'Quickly, girl, hurry. I hardly think the dragon slut will be feeling merciful, even to serving wenches.' The queen's tone was venomous, and there'd clearly be some infliction of violence if the current predicament weren't so dire.

It's more dire than you know, your grace, the serving girl thought to herself. It hardly matters whether Daenerys Targaryen is merciful. You won't be lasting that long.

The queen was pacing now, her gait being more and more twisted as her goblet became emptier. Why she was stood around, waiting for a servant to pack her silks into a case they all lacked the strength to carry was a mystery to her, but the serving girl wasn't complaining. After all, here in the queen's quarters, with the small platoon of guards outside the thick oak doors, a knife up her own sleeve, and the queen herself a drunken mess, she had a clear path to her target. Well, almost clear.

Ser Robert Strong stood in the corner as he always did, an unmoving sentinel who may as well have been carved from stone. His eyes, hidden in the shadow of his helm, never left the serving girl, and she knew that she'd have to move with speed and precision if she was to have any hope of success.

Well, it was now or never. The cold steel slowly moved down he wrist, and she subtly tensed, ready for the dash across the room. Sure, there was a fair chance that the knight's greatsword would cleave her in two before she got there, but that was a chance she was willing to take.

Three, two, on—

The door crashed open with a slam, and Jaime Lannister burst in, Tommen in tow. Gods, he looked like shit—blood and muck smeared over his face, mingled with sweat above manic eyes that were locked onto his sister. 'Cersei, we need to go.'

The queen gave him a withering look. 'And here I'd thought to stay exactly here, where any of the unwashed barbarians could find me. Bravo for your insight, Jaime—it's almost genius.'

'We don't have time for you to be a cunt, sister,' he shot back. 'We need to move, now.'

'You dare address me like that? I am your queen, and—'

'You are queen of nothing!' Jaime shouted, momentarily stunning his sister. 'Look around you, Cersei. They'll be here at any moment, and you don't have a hope in the seven hells when they do!'

Cersei scoffed. 'Euron—'

'—is a man,' Jaime interrupted, 'facing dragons. Cersei, please. They have Myrcella. Alive. If we escape now, then we may one day see her again, but neither of us will be of any use to her dead.'

If there was one thing for which Cersei Lannister could be relied on, it was love for her children. She almost seemed to sober up for a moment, the cloudy haze leaving her eyes. 'Very well.'

Jaime's eyes flickered over to the serving girl. 'Who's this.'

'A kitchen wench, or some such,' Cersei responded, not even looking at her. 'She can stay here. The northerners can have their fun with her.'

'No.' Jaime's tone was iron. 'I've been through one sack of King's Landing, sister, I've seen what invaders do to girls like her. She comes with us.'

Cersei glared at him for a moment, maintaining eye contact as she downed the last of her wine. 'Fine. Shall we go, then?'

Cersei, Jaime, Tommen, Robert, and the unnamed serving girl left, flanked by a dishevelled mix of Lannister soldiers and city guards. They wove through the corridors, all hurrying, and all feeling tense.

All, but one. Sure, it wasn't ideal—there were easily half a hundred obstacles between herself and her target, as opposed to the one there'd been previously—but she was nothing if not adaptable.

Inside the cold, dead chest of No-one, the heart of Arya Stark began to beat once more.

Soon, she'd have her revenge.

Aegon

By the gods, what had just happened. One moment they'd all been stood, Drogon ready to incinerate Greyjoy, the next…well, he wasn't quite sure. His ears were ringing, and when he put his thumb to his nostril there was blood. Aegon swallowed and tried to muster the strength to hear what the madman was saying.

'…dragonbinder, they call it. A curious thing, is it not? That lovely sound you heard is only the half of it—when blown by any old fucker, it does what you just saw: dragons fall from the sky, and all who hear it collapse to their knees. But when its master—whoever that may be—blows it, the dragons are bound to him. And it just so happens that its master is me. Say goodbye to your children, your grace,' he shouted to the barely conscious form of Daenerys. 'For when I blow it, they shall be mine.'

'That-that's a myth,' Aegon was able to sputter out, slowly pulling himself up to his knees. 'Dragons aren't simple enough to be bound by craftsmanship and a few runes, it's, it's…impossible!'

'Ah, it speaks,' Euron said with a laugh, his eye fixing on Aegon. 'Who knows? It may be true, it may not. But based on that display I've just seen, I rather like my odds.' He turned away and began to make his way to the horn.

No. Gods, no. This can't be allowed to happen. He looked around—the dragons were bobbing in the water, still as corpses, and none of his comrades seemed to be in any shape to fight. Oh, for fuck's sake.

Had this been an honourable fight, when Aegon was at his peak and the odds weren't quite so high, he might have called out to the Crow's Eye before he engaged him, fought him man to man, may the best of them win. As it was, however, the only warning Greyjoy had was the sound of steel exiting a scabbard, moments before it lunged at his neck.

Euron moved fast—almost impossibly so—as he whirled round, swinging an axe at Aegon that he hadn't even realised had been on hand. He jumped back, levelling his sword at Greyjoy as they slowly began to circle each other.

'So, you've still got some fight in you,' Euron crowed. 'Good. It wouldn't have been nearly as much fun killing you if you'd just lay there and let it happen.'

'Shut…the fuck…up, and fight,' Aegon rasped. His head was swimming and it was all he could do to stay on his feet. Still, he'd be damned if he let the fucking squid blow the horn without a fight.

Euron jumped at him, swinging his axe in an overhead blow that Aegon was barely able to parry before the next came, forcing him to dodge to the side as the blade came for his stomach. The dance continued, the grin never leaving Euron's face as Aegon remained a step behind at all times, staying alive simply by the grace of the gods, each move sending him further and further behind. And then, the fight was over.

He didn't even know what had happened—there'd been a puddle of blood, he thought as he fell to the ground. Had he slipped in that? He wasn't sure. No matter.

I can't believe the bastard beat me, Aegon the Conqueror thought as he lay unmoving on the deck of the ship, spasming only slightly when the axe was yanked out of his face.

The last thing he heard before the darkness overtook him was the shrill screech of a dragon, and the screams.

By the gods, such terrible screams.

The two parties met in an unnamed tunnel, leading from Maegor's holdfast to a cavern near the bay.

'Hello darling,' Robert Baratheon said, a slow grin that didn't quite reach his eyes spreading across his face. 'How lovely it is to see you.'

A/N: Hello again, it's yet another rare update for your reading pleasure, or something like that. Again, not the longest chapter, but it's setting shit up for the final confrontations in the next chapter. I'm not realistically sure how soon it'll be until the next chapter, but it's definitely gonna be published, and will hopefully be done so soon.

As always cheers to those of you who had favourited, followed, and reviewed.

See you next time,

-Kinginthenorth1 xox

kingmanaena: Nice guess, man.

MrBogu: Cheers mate, glad you've enjoyed it.