The Stranger

We set sail at dawn.

I was never fond of the sea when I was younger, save for the few times my father and I would go fishing in silence. He'd talk to me of things that barely mattered to a child of six name days, and his words were always hollow, almost as hollow as the fractured bond he and I had.

I loved the man. What is a son but his father's biggest admirer? What's a father but the first measure of man through which I've defined my life?

We set sail at dawn and I thought of my father as I gazed out at the open seas. Illar sent word in the night. His sailors knew where to go and what to expect, and more than a few shook in fright when they thought no one was looking. As the hours passed, men prayed to gods I never heard of, spoke words of promise to family left behind. I felt disgusted then, by myself, and what I chose to do with the lives of others.

The men Illar found were no strangers to sword fights at sea. Many had competed in the fighting pits over the years, and some still bore the favor their opponents left behind. With sword and shield, I sailed alongside them, wearing leathers and feeling weary of the fight to come.

The rain was greeted in different ways by the men aboard the Stranger. Some thought it a sign from this god or that god that victory was ours. Others saw an omen of death and failure and fell to their knees whispering prayers. By the time the sun began to set, I was ready to lose hope in Illar's promises.

"Ironborn!" Came the shout from the scout in his nest.

I stepped forward and saw the two ships that were still quite the distance away.

"What colors do you see?" I asked the captain as he came to stand beside me.

"Longship, Vairy green and black. Got a beast on it." Said the captain. House Blacktyde, The Nightflyer. I recalled the name I'd read the night before.

"Longship! A bone hand, white on red." Yelled the captain as the men scrambled to their posts. "That be the Thunderer. They been raiding all along the coast for too long."

"Let's get ready," I said, already feeling the shivers crawl down my hands. "We have a fight coming."

"Two ships, lord Reyne." Said the captain in worry. "This is folly. How will we do this?"

"We'll not be fighting ship to ship, captain, don't you worry," I replied, moving towards the crate where all my belongings waited. "We need to get close enough to board them. Can you do that?"

The captain nodded, still looking as afraid of the Ironborn as any other captain I've ever met, as he should. "The rain... The rain and the darkness, we can take them by surprise if we wait for them long enough to drop anchor."

"Good. Give me ten good men, swimmers. I have an idea."

"Good choice, lord Reyne."

I looked to the captain in confusion, "Good choice?"

"Of last words. Every cunt I've ever met who said he got an idea died shortly after. Those are good last words." he replied.

"That's the spirit, captain." I said, clapping the man on the shoulder before walking away, "That's the spirit." I repeated to myself.

"Really Roger? This is your plan to take down lord Drumm and his sailors?"

"You don't like it? I thought you would, Illar, it has your own blend of madness all over it."

"Oh, I like it. It's a bold plan. But see, bold plans are tricky, you either win it all or you lose it all."

"Sounds like every fight I've ever been in."

"Are you sure you want to do this? Your plan depends largely on luck, darkness, and shit for brain Ironborn."

"You and Ser Devan should listen to my ideas more often, I tell you. The Ironborn are proud and think the world of themselves. They will never see me coming."

"One can only hope. If you die, I will not avenge you. If you're captured, I will not rescue you."

"I'd be disappointed if you did, old friend. You've always been a selfish fucker."

"Enough flattery. Tell me again how you intend to do this, and leave nothing out."

"More wine and fewer words, Illar."

As the Stranger drew closer to the Thunderer, we could see none on deck, save for the unmoving body of one sailor. While my dozen men and I focused on boarding Lord Drumm's longship, the swimmers we had on board, ten of them, were told of their role in what we would do.

Two Ironborn ships and only one Reyne one, barely armed and armored enough to face such a force. Only the gods knew how many men they had in there. But one thing was certain, I would not even give the Blacktydes the chance to fight.

The ships had dropped anchors close enough to one another. Close enough for my men to swim the distance. Under the cover of darkness, my men climbed aboard the Nightflyer. They set to do their work in silence. The rowdy crowd below deck and the pouring rain masked the noise they made. Carefully, they moved crates, barrels, and whatever they could find to block the hatches, sealing Blacktyde's men below deck. Next, they began cutting at the sails, destroying as much as they could.

When I stepped aboard the Thunderer, the unmoving body jerked and turned over, a drunk sailor who could not make sense of who stood before him. He died before he could ask.

"You're not as clever as you think you are, boy." I heard a voice, a thunderous voice ring out from behind me. When I turned, I thought the man who stood before was far too old to sound so confident. But on his hip was a sword, the very same one I came for. "We are Ironborn." He said, and his men began rising from where they were hiding all over the deck. "We saw you coming. You're in the Drowned God's kingdoms now."

My men were getting tense, their backs stiff in anticipation. They looked around for the first man to make his move. I decided that man would be me.

"After I send you down there, you can tell him I visited. Hold court to tell him Roger Reyne was here." I drew my sword, ever the defiant fool.

Lord Drumm laughed and drew Red Rain. "Come, boy."

I was many things on the deck of that ship.

I was a boy, a fighter, a monster, perhaps a misguided fool even. But of the many things that I was, horrid and terrible as they may be, an idiot was not one of them.

I took one step forward when I heard the roar coming from above. One of Drumm's men appeared out of nowhere, screaming bloody murder as he fell towards me. I rolled away and all hell broke loose.

I lost sight of Dunstan Drumm in the chaos. Before long, men were falling left and right. Some mine, some his, but I looked for Bone Hand fearing he might escape, or that the men of the Nightflyer would catch wind of what we were doing, and overwhelm us with numbers.

My father's shield was lost to me after the second kill. My third opponent tackled me from behind, and before I could fight back, a blow to my head knocked me down.

While I struggled to regain my senses, the mad bastard climbed on top of me, one hand to my throat and another raising a blunted hammer for the final blow.

Bring the rain, whispered the madness in my head, the only sound I could hear, bring it, bring the rain, bring the rain.

I saw the statue of the Harpy from Meereen then, bleeding red and weeping. Bring it, it said as it wept. I saw my father breathe his last and bring the rain was his dying whisper. I saw Daenerys choked to a cold shade of blue, her neck in the hold of her savage of a husband. Bring the rain, she said as her neck cracked and her eye popped out of its socket. I saw Ser Devan being feasted on by golden lions, and bring the rain was his cry.

I screamed in either anger or fright, I did not know which. I screamed and it all changed.

As the hammer began to fall, my hand found the hilt of my sword. I grasped it and reached for the fool's hand on my throat at the same time. He had just enough time for his eyes to widen when I yanked his arm to the side, where my head was moments ago and slid my steel into his ribs.

His swing went wide and with the last of his will, he dropped one last blow to my left hand, holding his wrist still.

I felt the raw scream of pain leave my throat as I rolled on top of the fool and spun around, seeing two men rush to kill me before I could catch my breath.

Lean into it...

The first gave a mighty roar and a wide swing. I could feel the steel whistle through the raindrops. But my blade was fast to intercept his blow. I pivoted, pushing him and his momentum away. I brought my sword down in an arc and severed the hand that tried to kill me.

He fell screaming and the second stepped forward. He seemed unsure and held his sword with both hands. "Father!" He screamed into the chaos, "I found him."

Denys Drumm

"Call him again," I taunted, "Your father should watch this. No no, your father must watch this."

I was drunk on victory. Nothing mattered then, nothing but the hand of the Warrior guiding mine. I chuckled to myself then, half-mad and half-dead, thinking the gods far too busy to watch over the likes of me. But here I was, amidst death and chaos, the warrior himself.

Was it madness to think it? Was it madness not to? Was it madness to laugh at how much death a single sword costs?

Perhaps it was.

Denys charged screaming as fools always do. To scream is to deny yourself the strength to go on, wasting air on a sound that would never scare the likes of me. If they scream, make them choke on it. Never let them catch their breath, Ser Devan once said.

Denys Drumm was an able fighter, and his swings were tempered, measured, and calculated. He knew when to step forward and when to step away. He knew how to look for opponents or allies without letting me leave his sights. We traded blows and barely broke each other's guards. He began to tire, much faster than me.

The moment I saw his sword dip as he took a deep breath, I stepped forward, landing blow after blow and waiting for him to crack. It took five, seven, ten blows and I was screaming by the last of it, but sure enough, Denys Drumm crumpled, his sword lost and his lungs empty.

I took his throat in my hand then and dragged him to his knees. I stood with my sword to his throat and screamed into the chaos of dying men.

"I don't know how your fathers see you. Do you matter, Denys? Do you matter to the old fool they call The Drumm?"

Denys did not reply, but the Ironborn around us were falling one after the other. My men had been victorious.

Sure enough, I could see the old man, Red Rain poised at my captain's throat, but his eyes were transfixed on his son at my feet.

"No! I want you to watch. Come, Bone Hand. Come watch your son die."

Any other day I wouldn't have believed such a foul thing to come out of my mouth.

But this day was different.

I was bleeding from a gash on my forehead, and cuts on my arms. My left hand was bloody, a broken finger, and a solid grip on Denys Drumm's throat. My sword was at his neck, and his shaking made the moment all too horrible for us both.

Lord Dunstan Drumm was younger than Ser Devan.

He came forward and I saw the fear in his eyes, fear for his heir's life. Fear that will soon make me the victor. He was old and weary.

"Give me the sword, my lord." He looked to me then, his sword lowering, Valyrian steel shimmering, and the hilt touching my palm. I wish I could say I felt power or joy when Red Rain finally found its way back to my family. I wish I could say I felt anything but the burning pain in my hand and the roaring madness in my head. The voice screamed at me still, bring the rain, but I looked over the deck of the ship and saw death, a Reyne had been here... A Reyne had won.

I raised the Valyrian steel blade and swung at the old man, cutting his face and letting him fall. Denys screamed and I let him go, let him crawl to his father. Lord Dunstan Drumm would not die, but he would carry the scar for the rest of his days.

"We're leaving," I told my horrified captain before looking to Denys and his father one more time. "If I see you again, I'll have no mercy. If I see you again, I'll kill every last Drumm and raze your castles to the ground. I'll give you what Tywin Lannister never gave me, a choice. A choice to walk away and live out your days. But come for me and I'll be ready. One chance, Lord Drumm, one chance is all you get."

I almost walked away then, "When you tell them what happened here, tell them Roger Reyne paid the iron price for this." I said sheathing Red Rain. "The iron price, not wits and a wooden cudgel."

"How do you feel?"

Fuck, I hate that question.

"Don't ask me that, Illar," I told him.

The room he offered me long ago was spacious and comfortable. I barely left it since the night we took on the Ironborn.

"Well, what do you want me to ask?" Illar spat, "You brood and you hide here, drinking yourself into folly!"

I snapped, hurling the cup in my hand at him. He ducked and it shattered against the wall. "Well the next time, Illar, maybe you can go kill men for a sword! You can go kill fathers and sons. Go on then, show me how well you send men to their death, how well you hide your shame."

"Shame? What shame, you fool?" He asked.

"Six men fell to my blade alone. I killed six men for a sword. A fucking sword."

Illar sighed, "I wonder if Tywin lost this much sleep after he drowned Castamere. I wonder if it mattered to Lord Drumm whose father or whose son he was killing while he raped and pillaged."

"Don't you fucking dare-"

"You need to wake up!" Illar raised his voice for the first time while I nursed my slowly healing hand. "This isn't a game, Roger, and you're a fool if you think you're done killing. Yes, you killed for a sword. And you'll kill again and again for better things, for worse things, for everything! But so will your enemies. Do you understand? Men like you..."

"Men like me are what?" I asked though I knew the answer.

"Men like you are cursed. Men like you are mad," he admitted in a softer voice. "You will fight for what is yours. You will kill for it. This is why men remember your name. It's why you rule over castles and land. Perhaps your knight never told you. So I will tell you now. To hold power, you must be ready to kill for it."

I knew he spoke the truth but I did not wish to hear it. "Leave me be, Illar. I don't need to hear this from you."

"Good." Said Illar, his familiar grin returning, "I had no intention of knocking sense into your head for the rest of the day. I'll have someone look after you. In the meantime, I have letters to send. We must see what your victory can do for us now."

The days began to look the same for the sad fool that I was.

I would wake, eat, and drown my sorrows in all the bottles I could find. Illar's girls, though beautiful, were not enough to pull me from my thoughts. They'd throw me their gazes, they would roll their tongues and giggle, but all I could see was the weeping Harpy, Daenerys' broken neck, Ser Devan being ripped to shreds, and my father.

My father...

I wondered why I barely had any memories of the man. I wondered why the few I had were not as pleasant. As far as I could remember, he did all he could to teach me what he knew. But I, ever the stubborn child, thought him a coward and refused to listen. Was this regret I was feeling? Why now? Was it because of lord Drumm and his son?

Would my father have given Red Rain away to spare my life?

"Roger! Open the fecking door!" Came the loud knock at my door. I struggled to gain my feet, tripping over a girl's leg on my way to answer. Illar stood on the other side of the door, a big grin plastered on his face.

"What?" I asked, annoyed and ready to go back to sleep.

"Five thousand men, lord Reyne," Illar said, "The Company of the Rose is yours."