At King's Landing…

Daveth spent the following days in solitude—having executed the High Sparrow, Lancel and the remaining Sparrows left in the capital city, the Young Stag spent much of his time reviewing documents, petitions… and of course, planning for a moment's respite with his wife upon her eventual return. They'd been preparing for their anniversary for quite some time if it weren't unplanned events from occurring. Bodrin had been assisting as the King's scribe to lessen the burden, though Tyrion—Daveth's uncle and Hand of the King—often stopped by to pick up the stamped documents.

Nearby, Lyonel and Cassana were busy playing with their toys—wooden knights, blocks and dolls. Catelyn babysat them while her son-in-law occasionally shot a glance over to his right to check up on them.

"The shipment you've requested has arrived, Your Grace," said Bodrin, breaking the Young Stag's concentration.

Daveth slid another stamped document to the side. "I trust the contents inside were not damaged in anyway?" he asked.

"Not that we know of. The people of the Reach exercise delicate care and tenderness when it comes to gardening."

"I see. Put it over there on the counter."

"What did you buy from the Reach?" asked Catelyn.

"I promised Sansa we'd have a proper anniversary before all this mess started."

Bodrin and Shae both brought in the ordered goods into the room and placed it down on the counter next to Daveth's personal desk. All were placed in a fancy decorative glass vase etched with vines – its content including a mixture of red roses, yellow daisies, white lilies and lilacs and purple hydrangeas. Next to it was a crown of winter roses, blue with frost; almost similar to the Queen of Love and Beauty crown the Young Stag had given to his wife when he won the joust at the Tourney of the Hand years earlier.

"There's also this," Bodrin presented a shiny crown; freshly forged by the looks of it.

Daveth examined the metalwork closely. Hammered, polished and sparkling when exposed to sunlight, the design closely resembled the ancient crown of the Kings in the North with some minor adjustments: the metal bodice featured a row of nine steel grey iron spikes shaped like longswords with ruby gemstones around the side of the open circlet, the center-front featured two howling scaly direwolves incised with runes of the First Men. Studded antlers of House Baratheon also protruded around the crown – depicting the Stark Queen's marriage ties to the royal family.

"I hope she likes this," Daveth quietly hoped.

Catelyn noticed. "Sansa's changed you this much, hasn't she? How uncharacteristically soft of you," she teased in a motherly tone.

The Young Stag's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Wha…? Hey! I am NOT soft!" he said defensively.

Lyonel and Cassana giggled at their father's apprehensiveness.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Shae interrupted, "but there's also this." She handed the Young Stag a letter, sealed in gray wax – which remained unbroken.

"What is it?"

"It's a message from your wife. A raven flew in just this morning."

Daveth cracked the seal and read.

"My dearest King,

I write to inform you that the traitor Ramsay Snow had attempted to
usurp power in the North, having murdered his father Lord Roose
Bolton along with both his wife Lady Walda and their trueborn son.
Our ravens dispatched to White Harbor that had gone unanswered for
quite some time was a consequence on Ramsay's part to prevent
anyone from discovering his plans – one we learned upon our arrival
and further explained the situation to Lord Manderly.

What came next during our travels to my home at Winterfell was rather
disturbing: along the kingsroad we discovered Theon and my friend
Jeyne Poole being pursued by Bolton soldiers, presumably having been
dispatched by Ramsay himself. As it turns out, the 'Arya Stark' rumor
had proven nothing but a deceitful lie. Because of the vile nature and
horrors inflicted upon my homeland and its people, I cannot in good
conscience describe what has happened via raven for concerns that
the message might be intercepted.

I am sorry. I'll explain more once we return to King's Landing soon,
I promise.

The Winter's Voyage should be arriving at the port within three weeks,
two should the crew have the wind blowing into our sails. Until then,
take good care of the children and yourself. I know you'll only shake
your head and roll your eyes, but by the Old Gods and the New you
can be so stubborn sometimes."

As predicted, Daveth did indeed roll his eyes sarcastically and shook his head. When he resumed reading the letter, one note in particular caught his attention.

"…dreadful words and constant reminders aside, I do have good news
I would like to share with you. As your wife, it is my duty to inform you
that I am again carrying your little prince or princess inside me.
Maester Luwin examined me and informed that I am currently two
months along into my pregnancy, nearing the third.

Perhaps we can rest easy once Lyonel and Cassana learn they will
soon have a little brother or a sister to play with? Silly notion, I know.

Be well and safe, love – you and the children are always in my thoughts.

Forever yours,
Sansa"

Daveth reexamined that last bit over and over again with realization setting in. "Cat," he broke the silence, "it's… a message from Sansa."

"What does it say?" she asks.

"She… she's pregnant again."

Catelyn smiled. "Congratulations, Daveth."

"Thank you." He turned to his son and daughter. "Lyonel, Cassana," he called them.

Both twins stood from playing with their toys and waddled over.

"Daddy?" Lyonel piped curiously.

The Young Stag knelt down to meet them at eye-level. "Kids, your mother is on her way home now. How would you two like to draw something nice for her?"

"Mommy come home?" they asked excitedly.

Daveth nodded.

"Yay!"

"Yes, yes, I know. Now go get some paper and your crayons and draw something nice for your mother."

With that, the 2-year-olds Lyonel and Cassana hurriedly scoured across the room gathering what seems to be a mountain of paper and picked up their scattered crayons on the floor before getting to work scribbling and doodling. Daveth and Catelyn sat down beside the twins to observe what they were drawing: Lyonel was attempting to sketch a portrayal of what seemed to be a mounted knight riding a horse or on the back of a giant direwolf; Cassana, meanwhile, tried her hand at depicting an open pasture, a land cultivated with grass near a river with a bright rainbow shining from above.

Although they were relatively new with artwork, Catelyn praised her grandchildren's pictures—Daveth remained on the sidelines… watching them from afar. Despite their being a sense of peace and tranquility throughout the land, the Young Stag couldn't help but suspect that something might come around to disrupt it once more—and House Baratheon must always be ready to rise to the occasion when trouble comes.

"Wook, daddy! Wook!" Cassana held up her picture.

"Me too, daddy!" Lyonel showed his.

Daveth redirected his attention. "That's very nice, children. Put them on the counter over there so your mother can see it, and don't forget to clean up after yourselves."

"Okie!"

Both Daveth and Catelyn watched the twins picking up their sketches and placed them on the counter next to the other gifts. Once done they moved to pick up their crayons and toys which remained scattered across the floor. The Young Stag felt fortunate that his mother-in-law was helping him handle two hyperactive twins else he would've gone insane.

*KNOCK!*

*KNOCK!*

"Come in," called out Daveth.

The door to the room opened, revealing Tommen. "Brother," he acknowledged.

"Ah, Tommen. I didn't recall sending for you."

"You didn't. I was… actually hoping to ask a favor of you."

Daveth was now curious as to why Tommen would approach him like this; but then again, considering recent events, the Young Stag had his share of suspicions of what it is that the Young Cub might ask him.

"Lyonel, Cassana… be good to your grandmother. Your father needs to have a word with your uncle."

"Okie!" they replied, plainly uninterested and focused on drawing more pictures for their mother when she does return.

Daveth and Tommen stepped outside the room, closing the door behind them. Once they were alone, the elder Baratheon had a serious facial expression.

"All right, Tommen. What is this about?" he pressed.

"I know it sounds sudden, but I need to ask a favor from you."

"That depends. What would that be?"

"Train me. Teach me how to be a knight, brother."

Daveth blinked briefly before he brushed back a black bang that had fallen across his forehead. "Train you," he repeated the question. "Let me see if I'm hearing you correctly. You come to my chambers and… request that I personally take you under my wing and supervise your training—sword and lance? Do you actually know of what it is you're really inquiring?"

Tommen broke eye contact a bit before bolstering his confidence. "Margaery says that a member of the royal family has to know how to defend themselves when our loved ones are threatened. I mean, how can a man protect his family if he can't even make the effort?"

'Of course she would put such ideas in his head,' the Young Stag thought. "But why come to me? Why not ask Ser Loras or uncle Jaime?"

"Loras just got married last week and couldn't be bothered. As for uncle Jaime, well… Daveth, you're my brother. We've all had to watch you be forced to fight a lot of battles alone. I want to help."

"Wanting to learn how to be a knight isn't the same as what you hear from the old tales. Honorable as knighthood might be, it tends to be misused or makes unready young boys meet an early grave."

"But I can help. I'm tired of being gullible, always sitting on the sidelines while you've had to carry the burden on your shoulders every single day. I mean, you started as a squire and you turned out fine."

"I was 9 when I first started and it wasn't by choice, Tommen. You are 16. This isn't all fun and games," he lowered his voice to a heated whisper so as to not be overheard. "It takes years for squires to become knights. That's not a lot of time to make any serious progress when Daenerys Targaryen is in the middle of amassing her armies and all three of her dragons."

"I know, brother. I know. That's why I came to ask you. It was my choice to make."

Daveth groaned and shook his head. Gods have mercy, his youngest brother was not relenting when it comes to this. Yet even then there was some truth as to what Tommen was saying; not implying just his own brother, but also himself. In a way, Tommen hated feeling powerless and only stepped up to the plate because he wanted to help. Should it continue to persist, no doubt many would use Tommen for their own gains; being shielded from all the wrongs would not give him the life lessons he should have. As the oldest of the siblings, Daveth had long knowing that eventually there'd come a time where every one of them would have to start their own lives.

But that time had already come to pass.

"If you're certain about this…"

"I am sure. I know what I want, and I want you to train me. Show me how to fight so I can protect my wife like you've done for all of us."

Daveth sighed. "Fine," he conceded. "But let me make one thing perfectly clear: if we do this, you'd best be committed. I want to hear no whining or complaining on your part. I do not accept excuses nor will I tolerate laziness. We do this, we go all the way—nothing half-assed. Understand?"

Tommen looked close to confident, hiding his shuffling feet beneath him. "Thank you, brother. You won't regret it."

'You say that now, but sooner or later you'll end up regretting what you said.'

"Oh, and can I have a kitten in the meantime? I-it's for Margaery, I mean."

"No. Now run along to your chambers. We start first thing in the morning."

Tommen nods understandingly and turns around to walk towards his room. No doubt Margaery awaits him there, though the Young Stag remains aware of House Tyrell's current standing ever since the rescue of Lord Mace's son and heir Loras from Sparrow custody. The Knight of the Flowers had been slowly recovering, but his mind will no doubt take longer to heal considering what he's been forced to endure. The wedding between Loras and Ser Kevan's daughter Janei would take place next week, though Daveth planned to distance himself considering he had ordered his own second cousin Lancel be put to death along with the High Sparrow.

Should he attend the wedding ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor, there'd no doubt be a sense of discomfort and somewhat of a social awkwardness with his great-uncle and other second cousins Willem and Martyn Lannister. Daveth shook his head wearily as he looked out the window and noticed a dense, vertical cumulonimbus clouds developing in the distance. Within a few hours they'd be moving further in towards the mainland—hinting that a storm was brewing and would soon hit them.

Even from the Red Keep, Daveth could feel the temperature and smell the moisture in the air shifting and changing. "And so nature demonstrates another example of mad Westerosi weather. The elements full of sound and fury, unpredictable and in some cases dangerous," he contemplated. Yet that didn't stop his left hand from trembling slightly. 'And yet… why do I suddenly feel uneasy?'

Somewhere on the Iron Islands…

Heavy rain pours down on the ruined landscape of the decimated Iron Islands; thunder booms loudly and lightning bolts shoot across the stormy skies. It's been more than three years since the end of the Second Greyjoy Rebellion, yet the scars and devastation remained. Where the group of seven small rocky islands located far off the western coast of Westeros with stone castles, steep hills and shipyards were reduced to piles of rubble and ruin, crushed yet charred skeletal remains and the landscape rendered a barren wastelands—uninhabitable and devoid of both life and plundered resources.

Waves violently crashed against the Iron Islands, battering the archipelago. But anchored not too far from the mainland of Pyke were at least a few ships consisting of about 61-93 ships—one in particular bore the standard House Greyjoy heraldry of a kraken on a black field, but the kraken was silver instead of gold with a third red eye inscribed onto its head. Several small rowboats docked along the shore, tied to wooden stakes used originally at Lordsport until its destruction.

Several cloaked figures walked upon the barren wasteland, stepping on and sometimes crushing charred bones along the way—taking in the sight that the Iron Islands, once poor soil and hardly any natural resources and few poor crop fields, now had literally nothing of value.

His face covered by the hood, the figure grinned wickedly. "Hehehe. Well, well, looks like we missed one hell of a fight, boys," he almost chuckled frighteningly, amusedly looking around as he removed his hood—revealing his identity as Euron Greyjoy.

A wildly unpredictable and cruel man even among the ironborn, Euron was perhaps widely regarded as the most feared pirate alive. Unlike many ironborn, he is a cunning strategist and the mastermind responsible for orchestrating the surprise raid on Lannisport during the First Greyjoy Rebellion. Although his brother Victarion commanded the Iron Fleet, it was Euron who came up with the plan.

His crew was terrified of their captain. "By the Drowned God, there's nothing left…" one of the sailors bemoaned.

"Eh, the place was getting crowded anyways."

"But… but our home—"

"—we'll be getting a new one. A better one," Euron shot back undeterred. "What is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger. That's the custom every ironborn abides by. From Ib to Asshai, from Oldtown to Qarth, when men see my sails… they pray. Or has my brother Balon changed that while I've been gone?"

The wind buffets back and forth. Some of his own crew could not reply; though they had dried blood staining their lips—indicating that their tongues were cut out; a crew of mutes. Despite the winds being strong and some tried to hold their balance, Euron chuckled as he remained perfectly still—his posture remained unmoved by the force of nature.

"Oh that's right, I needed silence. When you're crew of my ship the Silence, that's all I expect from you: silence. Search the area for anything of value."

While his crew scoured the ruined Iron Islands, Euron had a deep sense of nostalgia sweep over him. 'Drowned God, you say? Aeron would've been on another rant about false gods by now. But who knows more of gods than I, eh, Aeron? I am the Drowned God. Golden idols, the trees… I spill their blood upon the sea and sow their screaming women with my seed. Their little gods couldn't stop me then, they won't stop me now. Perhaps the mainlanders are the ones who ought to kneel before me for blessing.'

One of the sailors from the other longships ran over. "Captain, we found something."

Euron looked back to see one holding a driftwood crown and another picking up a broken studded stag antler. There was another rumble of thunder, perhaps even the loudest as several lightning bolts lit up the skies. Euron's face was revealed fully, his grin to be a maniac's smile.

"Ah, so he came back did he? Hehehe, oh how the boy's grown since we last saw him."

"Captain?"

"Why the same frightened little cub we took from Lannisport fourteen years ago, boys. Daveth Baratheon. The same one who destroyed our home," his face grew terrifyingly serene. "He thinks his rage builds a mighty storm, but still he doesn't understand I am the storm. The first storm and the last."

The crew—whatever ironborn remained and mutes—all gestured to one another in fury and rage, most demanding blood and vengeance for the home they lost. Euron retained a vicious grin and took the driftwood crown from one of his underlings.

"Listen up!" his voice bellowed with the thunderclaps, directing his crew's attention to focus on him. "I'm Euron Greyjoy. From this day forward, I claim the Salt Throne. But do you know why? My brothers got what they deserved. No one loved them. No one wanted to follow them. Balon was leading our people nowhere and we would still be heading there if our golden opportunity hadn't been presented itself to us. But Balon was the main cause of it all. He led us into two wars we couldn't win. I've been all over the world. I've seen more of it than every ironborn combined. And across the sea there is a person who hates the great lords of Westeros and the Oathkeeper who rules them just as much as we do. Someone with a large army, three large dragons and no husband. I'm going to demonstrate the superiority of our naval forces to Daenerys Targaryen along with my big cock."

The ironborn laugh.

"Sure, we've lost our home, our livelihood and everything that makes us strong. But I see something greater. We're going to take the Seven Kingdoms. I wasn't born to be King. I paid the iron price and here I stand."

*APPLAUSE!*

At the beach, several ironborn carry flags to the stormy shores while they watch Euron kneeling in water. One of the four remaining Drowned Men from Euron's ships stood beside him and pushes him under the stormy waves.

"May Euron, your servant, be born again from the seas as you were," the Drowned Man prayed. "Bless him with salt. Bless him with stone. Bless him with steel. Listen to the waves. Listen to the god. He is speaking to us and He says we shall have no King but Euron Greyjoy. Let the sea wash your follies and your vanities away. Let the old Euron drown. Let his lungs fill with seawater. Let the fish eat the scales off his eyes."

"What is dead may never die," chanted the remaining ironborn.

"What is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger," the Damphair recited.

Underwater, Euron did not struggle at first but soon started thrashing a bit and gradually a lot more before his movements ceased—causing the Drowned Man to release his grip. He thrashed and panicked no more when the final air bubbles came out; the remaining ironborn dragged the drowned Euron back to shore and gathered in attendance around him—thunder booming and lightning bolts lighting up the sky. As one man pressed on his stomach and chest, Euron did not move. Before one could walk close enough, Euron gags and coughs.

"*kaff!* *kaff!* *hack!* *blurgh!*" he propped himself up on his arms and legs, spitting up water and gasping for air. Euron allowed himself to breathe once more as he felt his men place the crown made of driftwood on his head.

"What is dead may never die!" they cheered.

Euron rose to his feet and looks around at the crowd. "The Young Stag will be absolutely surprised to see me again; I'm actually looking forward to seeing the look on his face once word spreads. Go back to your homes! Gather whatever resource we have left, something Daveth Baratheon might've missed. Reinforce our ships and I will give you this world!"

Chapter End

Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry I wasn't able to update as quickly as you'd like – I've been feeling rather sick for a few days but I'm a bit better now. With the Sparrows gone and Daveth planning for the eventual return of his wife Sansa to celebrate their wedding anniversary, an old enemy from the Oathkeeper's past made his return to the world: Euron Greyjoy. How will the terrifyingly sadistic and utterly psychopathic villain impact the Game of Thrones world once Daveth learns of his return? A storm is brewing as stag and kraken will soon clash once more. Thoughts? Let me know.

Guest #1: Finally a fanfic that still updates, amazing!

—I know, but I was sick.

LeaveMeAloneOrElse: It's been so long I forgot but, what happened to Yara again. I remember her being given to the Glovers. Was she executed?

—No, she escaped.

DarkFireCat5241999: Did they have cranyons in the show. Euron dies have another option he could go to valyria

ZabuzasGirl: Love the twins.

C.E.W: Sansa heading back to King's Landing with another child on the way. Now Euron Greyjoy finally reveals himself after seeing what is left of his home in the Iron islands. Emotionless as usual about his home, and the deaths of most of his family. Many in Euron's crew want revenge for the destruction of their home, and will mean to follow Euron anywhere. Daveth will want Euron dead if he finds out he was in the Iron Islands, what's left of them. Euron will look for allies to oppose Daveth, and the chief among them is Daenerys Targaryen. Euron can appeal to her with the motive of revenge and justice for what Daveth did to his home and people.

RHatch89: Awesome update :)

—Thanks.

joharasbel: good work

—Thanks.

Hear My Fury: Oh Euron. You're about to find out the fury of House Baratheon. Your islands are burnt to the ground, if you invade the mainland Daveth will respond accordingly as in you'll be praying that you're being tortured by Ramsay Snow instead of being tortured by the boy you captured. And furthermore knowing Yara will go to Daenerys Euron will have nothing left. There's no Cersei so Euron is pretty much done.