Valyria

298 AC

Gently, the ship had rocked from side to side with the light bumping waves in the Flaming River.

The twenty or so men aboard the spanning main deck had all kept silent as the maroon red sky had turned orange and then yellow as the sun had finally shown itself after all this time.

To them, they had been there for months, and the sun had been a rare occurrence. One that once filled them with hope. Feeling the warmth of its touch was a great desire among them.

But for these men, they did not voice their opinions. Not because they didn't want to, but because they were incapable of doing so. Their tongues had been torn out.

Jon Stark watched the crew of the Silence do their early morning work. He knew there were perhaps fifty or sixty more men sleeping beneath the main deck. Many more than the crew of the Waking Serpent.

Jon had forced himself to blink the tiredness out of his eyes. He'd not gotten any sleep since Starag had… Since he'd been dealt with.

After that, Euron Greyjoy had ordered for Jon to be tied up to the mast of the huge war galley, his hands were now bound tight with a thick rope that damn near cut off the circulation in his wrists. Now, they were playing the waiting game. To see whether or not the sacrifice of Starag had been enough to appease Greyjoy's mad god.

The volcano had rumbled and shaken all throughout the night. Jon had wondered what kind of horrors were waiting in those dark mines beneath the First Flame. Even more so, if Starag had survived his fall and was doing battle with monsters deep in the earth.

He'd even withstood the heavy storm that arrived decades earlier. He'd been drenched in the rain while lightning shook the sky terribly. And just barely, underneath the cover of thunder, he'd heard a terrible, inhuman scream.

The whole time, Greyjoy had watched the volcano precariously. As if he were running calculations within his head. Or whatever served him for a mind. He had long since donned his Valyrian Steel scale armor. For what reason, Jon didn't know. It didn't seem like he was expecting a battle anytime soon.

Once the rain subsided, Jon heard the earth shake. Even atop the wooden deck of the Silence, he could feel the tremendous vibrations beneath his feet. Another look at Greyjoy had told him everything.

There had been a terribly cheerful smile on the Ironborn's face. He looked down at Jon from atop the helm of the galley, and he began to walk down the stairs. The crew members present had stopped whatever they were doing and looked at their Captain. Jon could feel their fear.

"And so it was that Starag Mormont, Lord of Bear Island, Ironbane, and the Young Bear; had become a sacrifice for the gods beneath the earth!" Greyjoy's voice was thunderous. "Consider yourself lucky, boy. It might've been you who would've been devoured by the abyss."

Jon Stark kept his face an icy visage. It was reminiscent of the glare his father would give, the Lord of Winterfell. The same face as the old Kings of Winter. He wouldn't dare let this pirate get under his skin. Not now. Not when he needed to play for time. There was still a chance that Arthur was on the way with their crew. "So what happens now? You do a dance in the rain?"

"Ha!" Greyjoy had laughed. His summer blue eye was unusually friendly. "You are a quick-witted one. It is a shame I'll have to remove a tongue as sharp as yours." He said cheerfully. "Would you really like to know?"

"Yes."

The eyebrow above the dark eyepatch had raised in amusement. "Very well. I shall indulge your curiosity." He'd walked closer towards Jon, and Jon could feel the evil stench rolling off the other man in waves.

Jon knew this would be coming. The justification. It always came when they had you right where they wanted you. When they had thought they won the battle and their victory was permanent. For some reason it was reassuring to the executioner to purge the sins he'd committed, to defend the actions he'd made or the one he was about to make. It made no difference to Jon Stark. Greyjoy was a madman. Plain and simple.

"I will make a confession to you, Lord Stark." Greyjoy had leaned in closer. Now his face was perhaps inches away from Jon's. The summer blue eye was maddening. "I have been all over the world. I have explored the ash-ridden deserts of Asshai, and I have conquered the desolate jungles of Sothoryos. I have seen the great white wastes beyond the Shivering Sea, and the horrors that lay within it. I have walked on lands beyond the Sunset Sea itself. There is no place in this world that is unknown to me." He leaned back and smiled kindly at Jon. "As such, I have developed a certain… lethargy of the mind which I am determined to cure. I have become utterly disinterested in people entirely, as well as amassing wealth or plunder. Even violence bores me to no end. So, not entirely unlike a lordling who has lost his zest for life, I now only seek the high spices that this world can offer me, the sharp, rapping flavors on the taste buds, not only mental but physical as well. And so, I have come to develop this sacrificial enterprise of mine, a very useful and humane project- to give the world the king and god it requires. By doing so, Lord Stark, I am simply relieving the common man of suffering and pain that he would otherwise be forced to endure at the hands of his own brutish pagan gods. You must admit that I am enacting a most cherished public service to the whole world."

"You prevented us from leaving, from stopping the Others."

Greyjoy clicked his tongue sharply. "Cruel to be kind, Lord Stark. What you and your lot were attempting would have little chance at success. The Others are a blight, of course, but one that cannot be stopped by a handful of dragons and Valyrian Steel. But I understand that we do not see eye to eye on this. I cannot reach your pitiful mind, and you cannot see further than the gratification of a woman's mouth." He drew a large hunting knife from his belt. "So, enough of this idle conversation. How should you like your tongue cut out? Hot or cold?"

Jon Stark held fast against the massive wooden beam at his back. He kept silent, preparing himself to scream when the sharp steel edge would come for him.

"Well?"

His attention had ripped away from Euron Greyjoy when he heard a sharp thud! He barely glanced around the mast when he saw an arrow protruding from the chest of one of the mute crewmen.

Suddenly, there were calloused hands gripping the long wooden railing of the Silence. Men were climbing up the blood-red hull of the ship! Jon nearly grinned when he saw Sigmund jump over the rail with his greataxe in hand! He'd instantly cut down one of the pirates with a sharp sweeping blow!

Wildlings and Northmen began to swarm the main deck of the ship, arrows raining down from the cliffs above and impaling the Ironborn crew members. They mouthed terrible, gargled screams as they fell to the floor.

Greyjoy had turned away from Jon and had engaged with one of the Manderly men-at-arms. He'd drawn his sword and easily stepped out of the way of the guard's lunge, killing him with the hunting knife. Then Greyjoy had sprinted up towards the helm and rang the bell near the wheel.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! In a matter of moments, more and more Ironborn had flowed out from the trapdoors leading to the lower decks, brandishing swords and axes. They engaged with the combined forces of Wildlings and Northern men-at-arms in a furious clash of steel and shouting. It was just like the raid on the pirate ship at the Stepstones, but now, Jon was still tied up. If only he could get his hands on a sword!

As if in response, the rope bindings that gripped both of his hands had slackened. Jon looked to his right and smiled. Arthur! The milky-white edge of Dawn had easily sheared through the rope.

Arthur had grinned back at him and held out the oh-so-familiar bastard sword of glittering white steel. "I believe this is yours." He said, handing Wolf Queen to Jon.

Jon didn't have time to get the blood flow back into his wrists. He simply took the blade and drew it, tossing the sheath across the deck. "Starag-"

"I know. Marwyn told us everything." Arthur's voice had grown dark. His purple eyes had dimmed. "Later." He said.

Jon nodded. Of course! Now wasn't the time. Not when their men were fighting for their lives against the Ironborn. Feeling the blood slowly move throughout his fingers, Jon had pressed forward with Arthur to a pair of the mute crewman who charged at them.

"You take the left!" Arthur ordered.

Jon Stark did so. He raised his sword just in time to parry the gleaming axe of the mute pirate. Tang! He then swept the axe backward and kicked hard at the man's knee. He felt the bone crunch underneath his heel. Crrck!

The pirate snarled out a quiet scream of agony and fell onto the deck. Jon felt his blood flowing hot, too hot for his conscience to catch up with him as he sunk Wolf Queen into the man's flesh.

The white sword glowed red against the light of the morning sun. Jon heard another come directly for him from his left. He turned and rolled against the wooden floorboards, avoiding the sharp lunge!

It was the brutish Sothoryi! The hog-like smile was cruel and snarling at him. The Valyrian Steel falchion was already fresh with blood.

Jon growled back. The Sothoryi had killed more than enough of Jon's fellow countrymen. He raised up Wolf Queen and brought it in a downwards arc towards the Sothoryi's neck. The large man had not been fast enough to dodge, so he blocked the white blade with his falchion.

But the White Wolf had been faster, as per his size. He redirected the momentum of his sword into a quick jab that pierced deep into the Sothoryi's right thigh. The Brindled Man had gasped and had thrown a sharp overhead swing at Jon, so as to cleave him in two.

Jon narrowly danced out of the way and brought the gleaming white edge of his sword down into the overextended arm of brindled pigskin. Wolf Queen had easily bitten through the flesh and the arm fell to the ground, spurting blood all over the deck.

The Sothoryi screamed louder as he stepped backward, grasping onto the bloody stump with his only remaining hand. Jon didn't give him another chance. It was either him or the Sothoryi. He launched Wolf Queen in a wide uppercut arc, cutting through the skin with a thick squelch!

The brute dropped to the floorboards of the ship. Dead.

Nearby, Jon had seen Wendel waving his blade frantically. "Haha! Die, you godless brigands!" He laughed as he dueled two swordsmen at the same time, he was incredibly nimble for a man his size.

Jon forced himself to focus on the present. Another man soon came for him, but Jon cut him down with a perfectly timed lunge. His eyes had slackened and rolled back.

He'd barely realized that he was nearly covered in fresh blood. Jon was too focused on surviving, on winning this fight, on going home. He looked up to the helm of the ship and snarled. Greyjoy was still ringing the bell to wake his crew. He was still alive.

The White Wolf ran towards the opposite stairwell that led up to the top deck of the ship. He bounded up the stairs two steps at a time. He had to cut off the head of the snake! End this madness once and for all.

As soon as he made it to the helm, he'd had to jump and somersault along the ground as a long Valyrian Steel blade had almost cut his head off! Jon felt his shoulder rub hard against the wood and got back to his feet. When he turned around, he growled as he looked at the owner of the smoky black sword.

Greyjoy clicked his tongue. "I think the little lord might be a bit lost…" He said cruelly. The handle of the longsword molded perfectly with his hands. Jon knew instantly that he was dealing with a trained swordsman. "What say you, Lord Stark? One last dance before the end of the world?"

Euron was still about a foot and a half taller than Jon. He was powerfully built, and his muscles were clearly more developed from having seen use over the years hauling rope, sails, and killing men. He was still much larger than Jon, and likely just as fast.

Jon snarled. He launched forward, holding Wolf Queen with both hands as he pressed with a wide overhead cut. Greyjoy deftly clicked his blade against Jon's and weaved it aside, nearly throwing Jon off balance.

The White Wolf had managed to sidestep the quick sweeping arc that Greyjoy had countered with. Damn! He was far better than Jon had anticipated. At least he was still alive to find out.

This time, Greyjoy stepped forward on both feet, his mad grin was ever-present. "A little wolf lost at sea! Consumed by the Kraken!" He sang as stabbed at Jon's legs. Jon brought Wolf Queen downwards and up along Greyjoy's side. The white steel edge caught the Valyrian Steel blade and nicked against the scales of Greyjoy's armor.

They separated again. This time, Euron had flicked at the barely scratched scale. "Impressive! For a moment I thought you were simply another lordling barely able to handle a sword." His summer blue eye had locked onto Jon. "Show me what else you have, Stark! Show me the Song of Ice and Fire!"

Jon leaped forward and lunged his blade toward Greyjoy's neck. It would be the only spot on his body where Jon could puncture him. The Valyrian Steel suit had covered him from neck to toe.

Greyjoy had sidestepped the blow at the last second, feinting with a sideswipe at Jon's stomach. Jon had made to block the attack but had felt shock enter his system as the tip of the Valyrian Steel longsword had fanned across his chest. "Agh!" He shouted in pain.

Jon moved away to give himself more room. Greyjoy stood on the opposite end of the deck, the tip of the longsword was dripping red with blood. My blood. Jon realized.

"I wonder who showed you that one…" Euron grinned, flashing his perfect white teeth. "Your dead Targaryen father? Or was it your northern whore of a mother?"

Jon Stark rubbed his hand across the red welt on his chest. Greyjoy was trying to make him angry. He'd already made one mistake with that lunge, but if he got mad, he'd make more.

Slowly, carefully, Jon had readjusted his stance. "Has anyone told you that you talk too much?"

The grin had died. "Nobody who's lived to say it twice!" Greyjoy had jolted forward, lancing his sword towards Jon's chest. Jon saw it coming from a mile away and had taken the hanging stance in response. He hooked Wolf Queen underneath the Valyrian Steel longsword and turned it upward, giving him the chance to slice Greyjoy's upper left cheek.

The Ironborn had simply continued with the pain, however. He kept raining blows against Jon's guard, trying to break it. Again and again, Jon Stark felt the ache in his muscles begin to intensify with each strike. He was trying to make more distance so he could counter, but Greyjoy was relentless.

When Jon had tried to sidestep Greyjoy's next overhead cut, he felt a stinging pain light up the right side of his face. He nearly stumbled to the ground but kept his sword pointed out at the Ironborn.

He'd been cut! A fresh scar had run up along from the middle of his cheek to just above his eyebrow.

"A souvenir?" Euron had pursed his lips. "It's a shame you won't be able to show it to your lady friend… What was her name again?"

Jon felt the anger in his gut begin to boil. Don't let him tempt you! Don't let him make you angry!

Still, Greyjoy continued. "Margaery! That's the one! Bloodraven had told me about her… I wonder what a sweet girl like her would ever want with a green boy such as yourself. Perhaps I should pay a visit to the Reach one of these days and-"

That was it. Jon leaped forward again, this time set on going for that damnable summer blue eye. With lightning speed, Jon had darted his blade upwards, aimed at Greyjoy's head.

There was a hard pressure that had cracked down onto the back of his skull. What in the Seven Hells?! Greyjoy had been right there! Then he was gone the next. Jon Stark rolled along the wooden floorboards as his head began to throb painfully, Wolf Queen having been knocked out of his hands.

"My my…" Greyjoy had shaken his head as he stood over him. "It's so very easy to control others once you can manipulate their emotions." He smiled kindly down at Jon as if he were a Septa trying to ease the suffering of a soldier. "Had you not learned that lesson from your dear 'Uncle Starag'?"

Jon tried to find Wolf Queen, but the pommel had been kicked out of his grasp by Euron's boot. Jon Stark watched as the white steel blade slid off the deck and into the black waters below. No!

Then, his whole world turned black and red as he felt the tip of the Valyrian Steel sword enter his leg. Slowly, carefully, it was being twisted around like a Maester's scalpel.

Jon Stark screamed in agony as the longsword gave in another inch into his flesh. It was nothing like the Stepstones, nothing like when he'd been nearly pummeled to death. This was controlled pain, meant to torture him, to make him beg for it to stop! Gods, it was going to go through his whole leg!

Suddenly, the sword had been pulled away, leaving Jon in a cold sweat, holding onto his bleeding leg. He tried to wipe at his eyes as he now heard the continued clashing of swords. He saw the milk-white blade of Dawn! Arthur!

The Sword of the Morning and the Captain of the Silence had clashed back and forth across the helm of the galley. They were two opposite forces fighting against one another. Chaos and Order. Jon watched the stony, furious expression on Arthur's face and the maddening, joyful gaze that Euron had given Jon's uncle. Like he was interested in the newcomer, almost like a child curious about a new animal it had seen.

Steadily, easily, Arthur had beaten Greyjoy's rain of blows. There was no possibility of Euron ever being as skilled as the Sword of the Morning himself. And it showed clearly as Arthur handily evaded Euron's feints and sharp jabs, weaving around his lunges, and quickly parrying the cuts.

Arthur must have realized he couldn't cut into the Valyrian Steel armor that Euron was wearing, so, in the blink of an eye, he countered Euron's next lunge by slamming the flat of his sword down on Greyjoy's gloved hand. Even through the leather gauntlets, his flesh had cut open, making him drop his longsword.

Euron's hands had flown up in surrender as his sword clattered against the wooden floorboards. His smile had deepened. "Arthur Dayne himself!" He said excitedly. "Well, aren't you lot full of surprises."

Arthur didn't answer. He kicked away the Valyrian Steel longsword while he held the edge of Dawn to the other man's throat. He likely knew just how dangerous Euron Greyjoy was, and had absolutely no qualms about killing him.

Arthur had made to swing at Greyjoy's neck. When the milky-white blade was perhaps a foot or so away, Jon's vision had lit up with fire.

A sharp burst of flaming sparks had shot out from Greyjoy's bleeding hand directly at Arthur. Jon watched in horror as his swordmaster, his teacher, his uncle lit up in flames, his clothes burning, his skin singed and charred! One last trick by Euron Greyjoy!

Jon Stark scrambled on his legs to go help Arthur. He heard his uncle scream and scream and scream as he writhed on the wooden floor. Ignoring any pain he might've felt, Jon patted out the flames as best he could. No! No! No! Not him! Not him, too! Gods, no!

By the time, he'd patted all the flames away, Jon looked on as he saw the condition his uncle was in. Arthur was barely breathing, his eyebrows had been singed off, and his clothes were charred into ribbons.

Jon made to grab Dawn's handle, but his head was blasted backward and he toppled onto the ground. His head pounded like the bell Greyjoy had been ringing earlier. He knew he was finished. Any moment now, and he'd be shown to his grave.

He looked up the moment his vision cleared. Greyjoy had picked up Dawn and looked at it curiously. "I've always wondered what this looked like." He said.

Then, with a thousand million bolts of thunder flooding through Jon's chest and ramming into his heart at full speed, he watched as Euron Greyjoy brought the glassy white blade down into Arthur Dayne's chest, easily cutting through the flesh, and impaling the heart.

"NO!" Jon lanced forward and felt his wounded leg catch on something. He fell back to the floor face first, trying to crawl his way over to his dying uncle.

Those purple Dayne eyes had turned towards him. Jon didn't know what they were trying to say. He felt the salt tears begin to fill his eyes as he watched blood begin to seep from the wound in the chest, it poured in viscous clumps up from the heart.

Greyjoy had pulled Dawn up and out of Arthur's chest. He grinned madly as the sun rose behind him. "A pity." He said. "Swordsmen oft don't account for magic."

The sky overhead had shaken terribly then. Lightning had cracked and dark clouds had formed high above them. Euron's eyes had gone wide then with fear. "No… No!"

Behind him, standing on the railing of the helm, was a great shadow of a body. The tanned flesh was riddled with scars both old and new. There were countless burns, bruises, and laps on the skin. And staring directly at Euron Greyjoy was a thunderous lightning blue eye.

"Imposs-" Greyjoy hadn't gotten the chance to finish his sentence. The shadow had jumped down with a smoky black blade in hand. Euron tried to lift Dawn in time, but Starag was too fast.

The exchange of blows was short. When Euron had tried to lunge directly at Starag's chest, Jon's uncle had gotten Longclaw within his guard and knocked it off to the side. Then Starag had dropped Longclaw and tackled the shorter man, knocking Greyjoy off his feet.

Two sweating faces were up against one another. Dawn's pommel had crashed and crashed against Starag's side, but he didn't care. He only grappled his bloody hands around Greyjoy's neck and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until Dawn clattered to the floorboards. Euron's hands and fingers tried to tear at Starag's face, but they struggled pointlessly. Even from on the other side of the helm, Jon had heard Starag whisper harshly through gritted teeth. "Die, Greyjoy! Die!"

Jon watched as the hands stopped moving. In Starag's bloodlust, he'd continued to grip tight around the throat. Even as the tongue had rolled out, even as the summer blue eye had rolled to the back of the head and the body fell to the ground, lifeless.

Greyjoy's skin had turned purple by the time Starag had let go of the corpse. He turned to Jon then, the lightning blue eye was half-crazed. Gods, how did he survive the fall? How did he get out of the pit?

Starag let out a hard breath and climbed over to him and Arthur. Arthur! Jon had looked back down at his uncle. Arthur was coughing up blood, his mouth was leaking the stuff in droves!

"Arthur! Don't move." Jon tried covering up the hole in Arthur's chest with what remained of his coat. "Don't make a sound! W-we'll get Marwyn, okay!"

"I-I-" Arthur coughed again, this time spitting up more blood onto Jon's shirt. "I don't think I'll make it…" He smiled red, even when he was dying. "Won't go very far with this…" He said, gesturing to the irreparable wound.

Jon cradled his uncle's head in his hands. It was all his fault. If he hadn't gone after Greyjoy! If he'd warned Arthur about Greyjoy's magic!

The Sword of the Morning had managed to take Jon's hand and squeeze. "Y-y-you shouldn't blame yourself… I d-did my duty." He coughed again. "I died for my King."

"But you're not dead, Arthur!" Jon couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his bloodied cheeks. "Not yet! Not while I say so!"

Arthur laughed harshly, his voice rasping. "I will be soon." He said quietly, his eyes fluttering. His hand had squeezed Jon's harder. "I'll go see your mother… And I'll see Rhaegar… Wherever they are… But you? You'll be here. You'll be safe and sound. You'll be King one day… and that is enough for me."

"But what about Dacey?" Jon cried. "What about Amelia and Ulrich? You've got to go back home to them!"

"And I will. You'll take me back. One way or another." Arthur nodded. "Dacey said she'd hunt me down and f-flay me alive-" He coughed again. "-If I didn't come back home."

The whole time, Starag had said nothing. He'd taken Dawn from Greyjoy's corpse and brought it up to Arthur, putting it in his other hand. Arthur smiled at him. "Hah! Knew you were still kicking! The only person I knew who could still keep going inside that volcano…"

"Just barely," Starag said sadly as if he knew something that Jon didn't. Knew that something bad was going to happen. "You ought to worry about Dacey, though. When she says something, she means it."

Arthur nodded. His grasp was slipping. "I know… I know…" He said. "She'll calm down though, a-always does… Tell her I said; She's the most beautiful star I've ever seen…"

Starag smiled grimly. "I will." He said.

"My watch has ended…" Arthur pointed his finger at Starag's scarred chest. "But you…" His expression turned serious. "Now… Now your watch begins…"

The finger had fallen away from Starag's chest. Down to the wooden floorboard. The digits around Jon's hand had slackened. The light behind those purple eyes had died away. Now, there was nothing behind them. Not a soul. The Sword of the Morning had gone.

Arthur Dayne was dead.