Jaime

The doors to the great hall of Winterfell opened, revealing a room packed tight with bodies, the conversations of the Northern lords dying when they saw him standing in the open doorway. Before he could take one step, the guard kicked him in the back and Jaime fell to the ground, flat on his belly. He heard someone laugh and his face burned hot with anger – and a bit of embarrassment.

He was pulled roughly to his feet and marched further still. On his left Bronn was arguing with the guard holding him, demanding to be unhanded. Jaime did not bother to fight.

As he was led forward people turned to openly stare at him: men, women and even children. One of the lords spat at him, and the saliva landed on Jaime's cheek. Because his hands were held behind his back, he could not even wipe it off. Two squires were laughing at him – squires, for crying out loud – and there was a little Northern lady towards the front of the room who was glaring at him. If looks could kill, Jaime knew he'd be dead.

On the dais, the bastard Jon Snow sat in the lord's chair, his white direwolf snarling at his feet. Next to him was a fierce, silver-haired woman who could only be Daenerys Targaryen. Standing behind Jon were his sisters, Lady Sansa's mouth forming a line, and Arya Stark looking like she wanted to murder Jaime with her bare hands. Next to her was the boy, Bran Stark, and Jaime's stomach churned. I've not seen the boy since that day. He thought. The day I tried to kill him. He saw the boy's wheelchair, and the cold, neutral expression on his face, and felt sick.

He looked to Daenerys Targaryen's left. There was his brother, Tyrion looking at him with pity and sorrow in his eyes, and Jaime had to turn away. I threatened to kill him the last time I saw him and yet he still feels bad for me. But inside Jaime knew that was one threat he never would've followed through with. Even though he meant it at the time – or thought he meant it – he never would've been able to raise a hand to his brother. I think he may have been the only one in our family who really loved me. The thought was jarring to him.

There was Varys the Spider, that smug schemer, and Jaime almost wanted to congratulate him for switching sides so effortlessly. A foreign woman stood loyally by the Dragon Queen, as well as the captain of her Unsullied, and there was a man with a bear sigil who had to be Jorah Mormont.

The guard threw him onto his knees at the foot of the dais, so that he was looking up at Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow, and all the rest. Bronn was dropped down next to him and the sellsword cursed as he hit the ground. "Seven hells! You might as well take a club to my knees, why don't you?"

The Dragon Queen and the Bastard of Winterfell seemed to take no interest in Bronn's complaints. "Jaime Lannister," Jon Snow said. "We meet again – without your sister's army."

"My apologies," Jaime said dryly. "It seems my sister is a lying bitch who can't be trusted."

There was laughter from some in the crowd, but the Dragon Queen's eyes were flashing angrily. "This is a joke to you?"

"No, Your Grace – "

"Silence." Even though she was such a petite woman, her voice commanded authority. "You mock me, ser. Did your sister Cersei send you here, to have a good laugh at my expense? 'Oh, look at the little Dragon Queen. She actually believed us when we said we'd help her – what a pretty little idiot!' Is that it?"

"Your Grace – "

"Not another word." Arya Stark snapped at him. "No one cares what you have to say." Jaime had assumed that she was dead until today, and it seemed he'd underestimated her. The little girl was gone, and a vengeful woman remained.

"Your Graces," Bronn piped up. "Why are we being punished? Just because Cersei's a cunt – "

"You will not speak unless you're spoken to." Daenerys Targaryen ordered. "Is that clear?" Bronn closed his mouth and sat back on his haunches.

"My queen," Tyrion's voice cut into the conversation. "If I may – Cersei broke her promise, I know, but Ser Jaime has come after all. He has many faults, but he is a great fighter. Can we afford to lose him at such a vital time, with the Night King threatening us all?"

"He was a great fighter." Some lord or other called out. "How is he supposed to slay anything with only one hand?" There was more laughter and Jaime stared down at the floor, a lump in his throat.

Daenerys Targaryen ignored their gibes. "My dear Hand, I understand where you're coming from. If Cersei did not want Ser Jaime coming to Winterfell, I would imagine she was not too happy with his decision, to say the least. But there's more to consider, and many more crimes to his name. Like killing my father, King Aerys, for starters."

The words poured from Jaime's mouth before he could stop them. "Your father was mad. He was a danger as long as he lived."

The guard grabbed him and slapped him across the face.

The Dragon Queen sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. "You conspired with the Boltons and the Freys to murder the Starks."

The sting from the slap was now only a dull ache, but his indignation burned. "I had nothing to do with that!" The guard moved forward, as if to strike him again. "Hit me if you must, it's the truth!" The guard looked to Jon Snow, as if silently asking him if he should strike Jaime again or not, and when the man shook his head the guard dropped his hand, looking disappointed.

"Regardless," The King in the North continued. "Many here wish us to hang you as an oathbreaker, Ser Jaime. Do you have any defense?"

Does it matter what I say? They already think I'm guilty. Seven hells, maybe I am. "I had my reasons."

"The things I do for love." Jaime felt a shudder run through him and he looked over at Bran Stark, who was only staring at him blankly. "That's what you said to me, wasn't it? That day in the tower?"

"The tower?" Arya Stark spat, glancing back and forth between her brother and Jaime. Her gaze settled on the latter, and Jaime saw pure fury in her eyes. "You were the one! You pushed him!"

It wasn't a question, but Jaime looked at the ground and answered all the same. "I did."

The Northern lords began to yell then, a thunderous roar rising through the room. "Traitor!" they screamed, and "Kingslayer!", and "Give us his head!"

Jon Snow silenced them all by holding up his hand. He looked at Jaime, thinly veiled anger in his grey eyes. His little sister may have been the one reaching for her sword, but Jaime could tell that Jon Snow wanted him dead just as much. "You pushed my brother – then only a boy of ten – and hoped he would die. You did not succeed in killing him, but you did paralyze him. That's attempted murder, Ser Jaime. What do you have to say?"

I was under Cersei's spell. He thought. I loved her so blindly and so foolishly that it didn't matter to me that he was a boy. All I cared about was Cersei, all I thought about was Cersei, and she returned my blind loyalty by casting me out and threatening to kill me…Still, he knew that was no excuse. "It was wrong." Jaime said. "I know it was wrong. And if you wish to kill me, then fine. I knew there was a chance this might happen, and I will die gladly. I know I deserve it. But I also know that we are on the brink of a bigger war, a war between the living and the dead, and I will fight besides you in that war if you'll give me the chance. If I must die, let me die with a sword in my hand."

Silence. The Dragon Queen looked at Jon Snow and they stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking. Arya Stark whispered something in her brother's ear, her hand on the hilt of her sword, but Lady Sansa pulled her back in line.

"My lord Hand," Daenerys said to Tyrion, but as she spoke she was staring at Jaime, not him. "Do you wish for your brother to live?"

Tyrion hesitated, as if it were a trick question. "He is my brother, Your Grace. And he…he showed me kindness, back when no one else did. So…yes, I want him to live."

"May I also speak on behalf of Ser Jaime?"

Every head in the room turned, including Jaime's. His eyes landed on Brienne of Tarth, separating herself from the crowd to address the Dragon Queen directly. Same stupid, stubborn, brave wench. Jaime thought. Trying to get herself killed for me again.

"Speak, Lady Brienne." This time it was Sansa Stark who spoke. "You know we all trust your counsel."

Brienne paused and wet her lips. She glanced at Jaime, biting her lip. "Lady Sansa, before I was in your service, I served your mother Lady Catelyn, gods rest her soul. She asked me to take Ser Jaime to King's Landing and in that time I spent many months in his company. I'll confess I did not like him at first, hated him in the fact. But he saved me more than once, something which I'm sure many men of greater renown would not have done. He lost his sword hand because he was protecting me from being raped. Another time, he put his own life on the line to save me from certain death and nearly died in the process. He did those things because, deep down, I believe Jaime Lannister is a man of honor. I hope in time you will see that as I have." Then, with one last look at Jaime, she stepped back in line and turned away, bowing her head.

Sansa Stark turned to look at her brother. "I hold no hatred for Jaime Lannister." Bran Stark said in that same monotonic voice. "It was meant to be this way, one step in a larger journey. And after all…why walk when you can fly?"

Jaime didn't know what that meant, but if the boy was speaking in his favor, he wouldn't complain.

Sansa Stark whispered to Jon Snow, who then turned to Daenerys Targaryen and whispered to her. She nodded solemnly, and then looked at Jaime. "I will not be killing you tonight, Kingslayer, nor your friend here. I know my Hand loves you, and I trust Lady Brienne's testimony – she has proven herself to be honorable and loyal, unlike yourself. However, you best remember that this does not mean I have forgiven you." She nodded at the guards, who promptly ripped Jaime and Bronn to their feet, and Jaime felt as if his shoulder was nearly dislocated. Pain flared up in his arm and he had to bit his lip to prevent from crying out.

The Dragon Queen gave the command: "Throw them in the dungeons."

Brienne

As she walked down the dark steps toward the dungeon, she heard the sound of singing, a voice getting louder and clearer the further she walked.

"A bear there was, a bear, a bear! All black and brown and covered with hair! The bear, the bear! Oh come they said, oh come to the fair! The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear! All black and brown and covered with hair!"

The dungeons were dark and she had only a small candle to light her path. Brienne had been expecting it to be cold down there, but it was actually quite warm, and she recalled it having been mentioned that Winterfell was built on a hot spring. They won't freeze to death down here, at least. "Jaime?" She called out softly.

"Wench? Is that you?"

Brienne reached the bottom of the stairs and held up her candle for light. She saw Jaime curled up inside one of the cells, his head pressed against the bars, but he visibly perked up at the sight of her. In the cell opposite his, his companion was singing loudly and off-key, the source of the song she'd heard.

"Oh, sweet she was, and pure and fair! The maid with honey in her hair! Her hair! Her hair! The maid with honey in her hair!"

Jaime nodded towards him. "You remember Bronn."

"From Riverrun," Brienne said. "Yes." The other man smiled at her in acknowledgment but continued on with his song.

"The bear smelled the scent on the summer air! The bear, the bear! All black and brown and covered with hair!"

She recognized the song: "The Bear and the Maiden Fair". The Bolton soldiers had been singing it when they took her and Jaime to Harrenhal, and it was the song which inspired them to throw her in that awful bear pit. Jaime saved my life that day. She knew she would never be able to hear this song again without thinking about that, the moment her feelings towards him began to soften.

Brienne walked over to Jaime's cell and hesitated, gripping one of the bars and looking down at him. He was rubbing his shoulder, as if in pain. Those guards manhandled him, surely. "I…" She stuttered. "I came to see if you were all right." Immediately she thought it was a stupid thing for her to say. Of course he's not all right, he's imprisoned and the Mother of Dragons wants him dead.

Jaime laughed humorlessly. "My head is still attached, at least." He paused, looking up at her. "What are you doing here, wench?"

What was she doing here? She wasn't even sure she knew. After Jaime and Bronn had been taken away and everyone else left the great hall, she'd started to walk back to her quarters only to find her feet carrying her here, hearing herself telling the gaoler that she needed to see the prisoners on Lady Sansa's orders. But she hadn't stopped to think through what she was going to say when she saw Jaime. We exchanged harsh words last we spoke. And yet here I am, putting my neck out for him gladly… "Why did you change your mind?"

"Well, if Brienne of Tarth is saying 'fuck loyalty', it must be serious."

"Don't joke." Brienne said. "I want a real answer."

"Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair! I'll never dance with a hairy bear! A bear, a bear! I'll never dance with a hairy bear!"

Jaime muttered under his breath and picked up an iron cup from the floor, chucking it through the bars with his good hand. It bounced off the floor in Bronn's cell and landed near his feet, startling him. "Can you shut up?"

Bronn huffed. "It's not my fault there's nothing to do in this cell."

"Just for a moment?" Brienne asked him. "I promise we'll be quick." After a moment's hesitation, Bronn leaned up against the wall and continued to hum quietly to himself.

Now that they could actually hear each other, Brienne placed the candle down on the floor and grabbed the bars of the cell with both hands. "Why are you really here?"

Jaime smiled at her with that teasing, stupid, handsome half-smile. "I thought of a maid with a sword called Oathkeeper."

She touched her scabbard without realizing it at first. He was the one who gave me this sword. She thought, recalling that day when she left King's Landing, how she looked over her shoulder as she rode away and found him already staring. She wondered where Jaime's matching blade was – it had been taken from him when he arrived at Winterfell.

"Cersei never loved me." Jaime continued. "At least, not as much as she loved herself. It's time I stop following her example…and start following yours."

Brienne could feel her cheeks grow flushed. In the adjacent cell, Bronn was continuing to sing "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" quietly to himself. "I'll get you out of here." She told Jaime. "I'll talk to Lady Sansa, and the Queen. I promise."

"Well," He laughed. "I know better than to doubt you, wench."

Brienne picked up the candle again and hesitated, wondering if there was something more she should say. "I'll be back later. I'll try to sneak you some blankets, and maybe a decent meal."

"Until then, wench."

She turned to go, cursing herself internally for not thinking of something better to say. What has gotten into me today? I'm not in my right mind.

"Brienne?"

The single word made her stomach flutter. He hadn't called her "wench", he'd called her by name. "Yes Ser Jaime?"

He hesitated. "Thank you. For what you said."

Luckily her back was turned, so he could not see the smile that spread across her face in that instant. "You've saved my life quite a few times. I figured I should return the favor."

Daenerys

"I can't believe this."

Daenerys paced up and down the length of the solar, but no matter how many times she did it her anger did not lessen. A day after Jaime Lannister's arrival, she was still furious, and wanted nothing more than to fetch Drogon and fly to King's Landing, to burn Cersei Lannister in her keep. But I can't do that. She reminded herself. As satisfying as it would be to kill that woman, I need to think of the people. Not my petty vengeance.

"Your Grace," Tyrion said. "Sit down, have a glass of wine. You need to calm your nerves."

"I'm not thirsty." She reached the end of the solar and turned to make another lap. "I never should've trusted a word out of that woman's mouth. When this war with the Night King is over, I will make her regret her insolence. Perhaps I should send her her brother's head as a gift…"

She looked at Tyrion, his face drawn. "Your Grace, with all due respect, Jaime is my brother. I know him better than you do, and I believed him when he said he was here to help. And he could prove a valuable asset when it comes time to challenge Cersei – he knows her strengths and her weaknesses better than anyone. We could exploit that."

He was right, Daenerys knew. I must not act in anger. I must think of the larger plan. She stopped pacing and leaned up against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. Truthfully she had too much on her mind. She kept thinking about being in the crypts yesterday with Jon, and how much she had wanted to accept his proposal. It wasn't the matter of an heir that was stopping her, not really – there were other ways to choose a successor, Jon and Tyrion had both told her so – but she felt that Jon deserved to have a child of his own someday. Even if that child is not with me. A queen has to put others before herself.

The door opened and Varys appeared, swooping in smelling of perfume, robes fluttering. "Have you reached a decision, Your Grace?"

Daenerys sighed. "The Kingslayer shall live – for now, at least." At her words, she could see Tyrion exhale.

Varys nodded his head. "A wise decision, my queen. There will be time to deal with Jaime Lannister, now it's best to focus on the Jon Snow problem."

Tyrion's eyebrow raised. "How do you know about that?"

"Very little gets past me, my lord Hand. And servants always like to eavesdrop and gossip – you just have to know when to listen."

Everyone will know the truth soon. She thought. It was hard to keep secrets when the walls seemed to have ears. "Either way," Daenerys said. "This changes nothing. Jon Snow and I will proceed with our alliance as before, and when the time comes we will take the Seven Kingdoms together."

"So you'll marry him?" Varys asked.

"I told her to," Tyrion said. "But she's refused."

"Why? You need his claim. He is Rhaegar's trueborn son, and you are only Rhaegar's sister."

"I know that." Daenerys said. "Jon Snow and I have agreed that it is better for the Seven Kingdoms that we stand together, not apart. We'll be co-monarchs, to assure an alliance between north and south, but there will be no marriage. He'll produce a Targaryen heir on his own, with another woman." She was using the term 'agreed' loosely, since Jon wasn't entirely sold on becoming king, and still was hoping she'd change her mind about marriage. In time he'll see surely. He's a man of duty, and there's no place for love in politics.

(And yet despite all that she still had half a mind to run to him at that instant and accept him, as unwise as it would be.)

"Very well." Varys sighed. "If we're proposing other potential brides for Jon Snow, then I suggest the Stark girl."

Tyrion picked up the flagon of wine, only to find it empty. "I won't hear any talk of that. Sansa won't marry Jon."

"Why wouldn't she?" Varys retorted. "The Northerners will learn of his parentage, my lord, soon I suspect. If he marries his cousin, at least they know his heir will be just as much Stark as Targaryen."

"Sansa will never agree to it. I would advise her not to agree to it."

"My lord Hand, don't let your feelings color your judgment."

"My feelings? I have no feelings!"

There was a knock at the door then, and Daenerys was thankful for the distraction. She did not want to hear Tyrion and Varys resurrect the same old conversation. "Enter!"

One of her handmaids swept into the room, carrying a large glass of wine in her hands, and Tyrion sat up a little straighter at the sight. "Oh sweet lady, how did you know that I needed a refreshment?"

"I was told to bring this glass to the queen, my lord Hand." The handmaid said. "To calm her nerves."

"I'm quite all right, Kira. Lord Tyrion may have the wine if he wants."

Tyrion reached out to take it, but immediately Varys slapped his hand away, spilling a few drops of wine on the floor. "Hey!" Tyrion said. "What was that for?"

"I think you've had quite enough, my lord Hand. You'll need to keep your wits about you."

"I have plenty of years of practice on how to operate while drunk." Tyrion said, but he leaned back in his chair and relented. "You never let me have any fun, Spider."

Varys smiled tight-lipped. "You can celebrate after the crown is on our queen's head."

The handmaid turned to Daenerys. "Is there anything else I can bring you, my queen?"

"There is nothing I require. Why don't you take a rest for a few hours?" The handmaid curtsied, thanking her for her generosity, and then left the room.

Once the three of them were alone, Daenerys pushed off the wall and moved to sit next to her Hand at the table. "We can discuss marriages and alliances once the Iron Throne is won. Right now, our war with the Night King should be our first priority."

"Very well." Tyrion said, then he hesitated. "Your Grace, if you don't mind me asking…do you feel well?"

"As good as I can be, given the circumstances. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that…" Tyrion sighed. "You haven't talked about it much. The news about your dragon."

At his words, Daenerys's stomach dropped. Her poor, sweet Viserion. The night that Bran Stark told her what happened to him, she had cried herself to sleep. Viserion had always been the kindest of her dragons and now not only had he been so cruelly ripped from his mother and brothers, he was being used against her by the Night King. A dragon is not a slave, She thought. But now my Viserion is being used as one…Worst of all was the knowledge that now she was going to have to kill him again in the forthcoming battle.

Daenerys shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure, Your Grace?" Varys asked. "You've barely eaten. Should I go to the kitchens and summon some - ?"

"It's nothing." Daenerys insisted forcefully. "Do either of you know how we are progressing with the dragonglass?"

"The weapons are coming along and being distributed, Your Grace." Varys answered. "The women and children who do not know how to fight are each to receive lessons with the Winterfell master-at-arms. Lady Brienne and Lady Arya will take a few of the noble girls under their wings as well."

Daenerys nodded. "Very well. I trust your smith is living up to his reputation?"

"The Baratheon boy? He's not my smith, Your Grace."

"But you did pay his apprentice fee, Lord Varys."

"I did, but that was so I knew where to find him in case I needed evidence against Cersei. All of that is irrelevant now, and I didn't bring him here – Ser Davos did."

"Yes, and Jon Snow trusts Ser Davos, it's plain to see…" Jon trusted many people, many more than Daenerys, but the Onion Knight didn't seem like a conniving sort. I don't have to worry about House Baratheon coming after me, I suppose. She had so many enemies she could barely keep them all straight anymore, and she could count those she really, truly trusted on one hand. It was so hard for her to get close to people when she was always wondering who would be the next to stick a knife in her back. But this is the burden I bear. No one ever said queenship was easy.

Suddenly, there was a shrill scream that made Daenerys immediately rise to her feet. She felt a chill, and it wasn't from the weather. "Someone's hurt."

"Your Grace – " Tyrion started to say, but before he could finish she had already burst from the room and into the corridor.

The girl was curled up at the top of the stairs, body twitching, her hands clutching her stomach as if in pain. Daenerys knelt down immediately and took the handmaid's head in her lap, stroking her hair as she convulsed. "It's all right, you'll be all right…" Even as she said the words, she knew they were not true.

The girl gave one last shuddering breath. "Wi…wine…" She gasped, her voice barely audible. And then just like that her brown eyes fixated on something far away – perhaps not even of this world – and her body stilled. That was when Daenerys knew she was gone. A tear slipped from her eye and she stroked the handmaid's hair once last time. Oh, the poor child...

With a sinking feeling in her gut, Daenerys looked up and spotted the wine glass that had been brought to her minutes earlier rolling down the stairs…

Empty.

Theon

He closed one eye and took a deep breath, drawing the string of the bow and then releasing. The arrow whizzed through the air and stuck the raven in the belly, sending it falling to the ground.

Theon smirked to himself and placed the bow back in the quiver. One of the Harlaws picked up the bird and retrieved the note from its foot, reading it silently. "Euron has returned from Essos with the Golden Company." He said. "Now he is sailing from King's Landing to Pyke to escort his freshly built ships – alone."

"Alone?" Theon repeated, dumbfounded. "Is he arrogant or just stupid?"

"Both, probably." mumbled Droopeye Dale, causing the others to laugh.

Theon did not laugh, though, taking the note from Harlaw and reading it over himself, just to confirm. It was his uncle's own hand all right, a letter to one of his crew, not even written in code. He doesn't know I'm coming for him. He thought. He remembers me as I was that night on The Silence, when I ran away scared. But I won't be scared anymore. Not this time.

He looked up. "We'll sail tonight."

The Ironborn stopped laughing and looked at him, suddenly sobered. "Tonight?" Rook echoed dumbly. "But, we'll have no time to prepare…"

"Tonight." Theon repeated, sterner this time. "My sister is your queen. She fought for the Iron Islands when no one else would. She protected us when no one else would. Euron doesn't care about us! All he cares about is himself, and trying to fuck Cersei Lannister." A few of the men chuckled. "We call ourselves Ironborn, but if we're not willing to put ourselves on the line to save our chosen queen, then what are we worth? We'd be no better than those southron pansies. In the Iron Islands, we don't cower in the corners like babies. We stand up and fight." Yara stuck her neck out for me when I was too afraid to ask for help. He added silently to himself, feeling regretful. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for her. What is that life worth if I'm not willing to risk for her in return? "We sail tonight."

This time, no one objected.

The sea looked almost black in the darkness of the night as The Sea Bitch sailed towards Pyke. Theon stood on the longship's deck and stared out at the rapidly approaching coastline. In the harbor bobbed Euron's newly assembled fleet of ships, with The Silence resting in the middle of them all. Something's not right. Theon could feel it in his bones. "Where are they?" He asked Tristifer Botley. "Why have they left all the ships unattended?"

Tris pointed towards Pyke. "There are bonfires on the island. They must be having a party."

"Arrogant bastards," spat another member of Yara's crew. "They probably don't even know we're here."

Theon still felt uneasy, but he pushed his reservations down. I'm just being cowardly, trying to convince myself to back out…right? "Fetch the rowboats."

The smaller boats carried them to The Silence and they pulled themselves up with ropes and hooks. On deck it was eerily quiet, not a crew member to be seen. A chill ran down Theon's spine. "Yara?" He called out tentatively.

He could hear from below deck the sounds of something banging against the walls and he practically sprinted to find the source of the noise, the Ironmen following behind. "Yara?" More banging was his answer and when he burst into one of the lower cabins, the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

Yara was bound and gagged, the noise coming from her repeatedly throwing her shoulder against the wall to alert him. Her hair was a matted mess and dried blood was on her face and neck. "Yara." He repeated again, softer this time, before crossing the room in three strides to fall on his knees before her. "What has he done to you?"

His sister didn't respond but she shoved her shoulder into the wall again, staring at him with anxious, watery eyes.

Theon unsheathed his sword and began to cut away the ties at her legs and feet. "We're going to get you out, Yara. I prom – "

He was cut off by the sounds of footsteps from behind. "Well, well, well." A familiar voice said. "Little Theon's come to save the day."

Euron grinned maniacally and pulled out his battleaxe just as Lorren Longaxe and Six-Toed Harl attempted to push him onto the ground, cutting both their throats in one fluid motion. Theon felt sick when he noticed the new accessory hanging around Euron's neck.

A severed tongue.

Instinctively he helped Yara to her feet, her hands still bound by rope, while Euron was busy fighting off two more of Yara's crew who had just come rushing down the stairs. "Come on." They took the steps up two at a time, Theon holding onto Yara's arm, but when they reached the deck they both froze.

They were now surrounded by ships, Ironborn jumping onto the deck, swords drawn, their own men having to fight two or three at once just to keep up with the sudden onslaught. Theon cursed to himself. A trap. It was all a trap. I knew something was wrong, I knew it…Why didn't I trust myself? "What are going to do?" He said, more to himself than anything.

Yara grabbed his hand and used her pointer finger to trace a word on his palm: sword.

Immediately realizing what she wanted him to do, Theon unsheathed his sword to cut the last bit of rope binding Yara's wrists and then he shoved the weapon into her hands. His sister looked at him. "You can do it, you can fight. You're the strongest person I know. And I…" He reached into the quiver attached to his back and pulled out a bow. "Have a weapon of my own."

They were being charged at now but before Yara could even react. Theon drew back an arrow and shot it through the throat of one of Euron's men. His sister sprang to action, slicing at another man as he tried to grab her. It gave Theon a sick sort of satisfaction, watching his opponents fall with each pull of his bow. A memory came back to him of his youth at Winterfell. Robb had been better than him at almost everything – good at swordfighting and politics, better looking, able to get anyone to love him after one conversation…But when they were boys and it came time for them to learn how to shoot a bow and arrow, Robb had struggled. When it was his turn, Theon shot a bullseye on his first try, and it had been one of the greatest moments of his life, knowing there was finally something he excelled at. He pulled back the string on the bow again and an arrow whizzed through the air, landing in the chest of one of Euron's men. This, Theon thought proudly. Is what I'm meant to do.

"Little Theon!" He spun around and saw Euron, returning from below deck with blood on his clothes and a devious smile on his face as he twirled his axe. "Give me my captive back, and I'll give you the mercy of a quick death, else I'll kill you slower! Your choice, coward!"

Anger coursing through his veins, Theon reached for his bow only to find that his arms were being pulled back by another one of Euron's men. The quiver was ripped from his back and went flying across the deck, out of his reach.

Euron was laughing. "No cock and now no weapon neither!"

Part of him wanted to lay down and die. But then in his mind he heard Jon Snow's voice, repeating the words he'd said to him back on Dragonstone: You're a Greyjoy, and you're a Stark.

He had the blood of krakens and he'd grown up among the wolves. I am a Greyjoy and a Stark. He told himself silently. This time, I will be brave. I will win or die trying, just like my family would have. He'd already betrayed Robb once before and he was not going to betray him again by acting selfish and craven now. He would be as courageous as the man he loved like his brother. And Yara – Yara had once told Ellaria Sand that Theon was to be her advisor and her protector. It was time he started living up to the title.

Theon Greyjoy was done being a coward.

Someone was trying to put him in a chokehold but Theon elbowed him in the crotch, hard, and broke free. He grabbed the longsword off of a corpse and charged at Euron with a great scream.

His sword collided with Euron's axe and his uncle cackled as they circled each other in the convoluted dance of fighting. "Have your balls grown back, nephew?"

Theon spun to dodge his blow. "You're going to die tonight, uncle." He said, before throwing all his weight behind a shot to Euron's ribs. His uncle barely dodged it, catching the sword between his hands and cutting up his palms in the process.

"I'll take your tongue," He snarled. "Just like I took your sister's."

Their weapons clashed again and Theon stumbled backward from the weight of Euron's thrust. He felt his legs give way as he blindly tripped over another scattered corpse. He fell flat on his back with an oomph, and then Euron's blood splattered face was leering over him. "Not so tough now, huh?" He said, before bringing down the axe.

"No!" He reached out to deflect the blow on instinct and he screamed as the blade cut his hand. He looked and saw blood dripping down his palm, the three middle fingers now only hanging on by a few threads of sinew. The pain was excruciating and Theon had to bite down on his lip so he could not scream again. Blood filled his mouth.

Euron laughed. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you just yet. You're going to watch me fuck your sister first." He started to bring the axe down again.

Theon closed his eyes and braced for death, but the blow never came.

Tentatively he opened his eyes and found Euron crouched on the ground, laughing again as he spit blood on the deck, including a chipped tooth. "You stupid cunt! I should've slit your throat!"

Yara was standing behind him, holding a splintered wooden shield.

Euron was trying to stand back up, still dazed from Yara's blow and holding the side of his face where she had struck him. Theon pulled himself to his feet with a new sense of vigor. He spotted his bow and arrow across the deck and sprinted towards it, clutching his bloody fingers to his chest. He grabbed the bow and drew an arrow from the quiver, even though his hand was throbbing and he could now barely see straight.

"Hey Euron!" He yelled. "Watch this!"

His uncle turned to face him, a look of shock on his face, just as the arrow flew through the air. Theon's aim was off due to the injury to his dominant hand and his blurred vision, and Euron reached for his dropped axe, but it wasn't enough.

The arrow pierced his eye and blood sprayed.

Euron stumbled and Yara yanked the axe from him, slashing it at his kneecaps.

Theon drew another arrow as Euron fell to the deck, writhing and still laughing – always laughing. The next arrow lodged itself between Euron's lungs and he wheezed, blood and spittle now dripping from the corners of his mouth.

"You can't…win…" Euron was coughing as Theon came to stand over his bleeding body. "Sellswords…lots of 'em…the queen will…crush you…"

Theon felt an eerie sort of calmness wash over him as he looked down at Euron. "Yara is the only queen of mine." He said, before he slammed into Euron's neck with his boot, stomping and twisting.

"This is for my father you murdered!" He proclaimed, before bringing his foot down again. "This is for my sister!" Now Euron began to gurgle, choking on his own blood. Theon kicked him in the throat one more time and now Euron wasn't laughing anymore, a haunting smile permanently stuck on his dead face. Around them, everything seemed to go still.

"And that," Theon panted, breathless. "Was for me."