Euron

It was in Euron's personal cabin of his silence that Xaro Daxos's head rested. The severed head was mounted on the wall as a man would do to a deer. The merchant's pale skin was beginning to thin. Its waning cheeks stretched thin over sharp bones. Its teeth were ripped out in favor of fingernails and toenails. Euron personally took the time to wrench the nails from Xaro's hands and feet with a curved blade and a hammer. The nails were shoved so deep the gums bled.

"The best part is the eyes." Euron smiled and licked his dry lips. "The eyes are the keys to the soul."

The Crow's eye scooped out the eyeballs and replaced them with the rubies and opals the merchant had worn at the time before his ultimate death. One eye was blood red, the other was a dark blue mixed with lime green. They were truthfully beautiful. The marauder yearned to fetch them from around Xaro's long neck back at the summer islands where they first crossed paths. He had the motivation to do it now.

"You dared to approach me again in that fat ass wheelhouse empty-handed. Now, look at what that got you," Euron purred. "Now you're dead and on my wall. I can now grant you permission to think about what you did wrong. Perhaps then I forgive you. Perhaps I will not forgive you because I wanted my dragon eggs. You think an apology and some nice sweet words from you will appease the god?"

The dark-haired girl with his seed sat on the bed. Euron couldn't recall her name after he killed her family and rapped her on her father's body. He took her as his salt wife and thought nothing of it. She flinched when Euron gazed upon her. Euron noticed it. He didn't like it. He didn't tell her to have that reaction; it made him feel ugly. And he dared not forget what she did on the docks. He marched over to her, flung her out of the bed, and she fell to the floor with a pained scream. Euron enjoyed hearing it. It was music.

She flipped on her back and scrambled backward as Euron slowly stalked towards her. "Wh-what I Do?" She cried out, her arms vibrating with fear. Euron liked fear. He liked it better when it was because of him. The feeling was unparalleled. He was not going to stop.

"I managed to draw the boy!" She continued to plead. She started to cry ugly. Her back finally met the end with the leg of the table. "P-p-please, I didn't do anything wrong, my god."

Euron cocked his head to the side. "If you managed to draw the boy to me, why are you so afraid? Why are you trying to run from your god if you didn't do anything wrong?"

The Greyjoy can see the wheels turning in her head. "Come here and hug me." He held out his arms. "I am happy. I am not mad with you. However, I will get angry if you don't bring your ass over here right now." Euron even gave her a disarming smile.

The girl still looked at him with rightly earned fear. Her arms still shaking, she slowly got up from the floor. "O-o—o-kk." When she got close, Euron grabbed hold of her around the waist and gave her a tender kiss. He can feel her grab his arms nervously, sinking into his embrace. Euron then put his head on her shoulder and nibbled the crane of her neck. Moments passed with them in this position. Her grip finally slackened.

His knife plunged into her stomach with a wet plop. The girl quietly gasped, her breath leaving her body. Euron ripped the blade out and ecstatically watched her facial expressions as she sank to the floor in a heap of blood.

He stood over her as she coughed and choked on her blood. As a boy, he always liked the sight of blood; his dead brothers suffered because of that. As a grown man he loved it more so, and everyone is suffering for that.

"I…thought...You...Wasn't angry," the girl gargled out. Her hands were stained with blood as she tried to cover her stab wound. The futility grew as more blood seeped between her fingers. She coughed up another splotch of blood. She blinked rapidly when the blood landed back on her face and into her eyes.

"I'm not angry. I'm disappointed," Euron said simply. "Yes, I'm disappointed in you. There's a difference between getting angry and getting disappointed. Getting angry earns your scars, but you live to see another day. Getting me disappointed, you will not draw another breath. I can't let you disappoint me again. You almost scared Jon Snow away."

"The…baby…" Her tears and blood combined at her ear.

"A cock can be used more than once," Euron deadpanned.

The girl died. An unsullied mute dragged her corpse out of the room. Euron knew the body will be used before it got cold and then discarded to the sharks. It made him happy that his servants will be awarded for serving him justly.

"They all know serving me will save the world. I'm needed to save humanity as we know it. I'm the god that's going to rid this world of all imperfections, one by one." Suddenly feeling the daunting task in front of him, he sat down at his desk with a heavy sigh. On the table was a whisky bottle. At a first glance, anyone would say that it was just a normal beverage. The god Euron wouldn't just drink a common drink. He drinks beverages that are appropriate for his status. The Warlocks of Qarth were not too happy when they found him chopping down their black barked trees to get what he desired. Euron straightens out the predicament in the only way he knew how. That's why he snuck the warlocks into his ships through barrels.

The shade of the evening slid deliciously down his throat. Its thick and oily energized him just as killing would. He drank the blue wine so many times, hence the layer on his lips. Out came the transition with the environment changing. Euron was no longer in his room or even on his ship with his mutes and slaves. He stood in a Smokey void surrounded by voices and flashing images. The imagery and voices blurred together a great deal. It was only with Euron's experience that the blurring halted, and a single scene played out before him.

"Father, Smith, Warrior. Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger," the groom and the bride recited before moving in to kiss. "I am hers and she is mine…I am his and he is mine…from this day until the end of my days."

Amongst the trees, flowers, and a lake, Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna said their vows. Only a single man was with them to pay witness to their union. It was the perfect picture of tranquility and harmony.

Euron puffed through his nose excitingly. His eyes were trained up at the marriage in the distance rolling in every direction so he doesn't neglect a detail. The vision did not last and slowly pulled away. The world distorted again to a scene that was less peaceful and more hectic. This scenario was not as much of a spectacle as times went by fast. It eventually turned into darkness but Euron managed to peep through his eye.

A tall tower stood in the hot dry sands of some part of Dorne. Three bright white cloaks shined in the dark. A clatter of horse hooves hit the ground hard. Harsh words and threats were spoken. A woman's scream was heard in the middle of the clashing of swords. A star in the dark was stabbed in the back. There was a bed full of dead roses and blood.

A lone winter rose stood out.

And then Euron saw him clearly, Jon Snow.

"His name…His name is Jaehaerys Targaryen."

"Promise me, Ned….Promise me…"

Time expired and he was thrown back into reality.

Euron got to his feet so quickly that the chair he was sitting in was knocked back. He then paced back and forth muttering to himself. The shade of the evening had never granted him something like this before. If he ever had visions, it was in general symbols, vague images, and words. Euron made do with what he had. It was one day on another voyage in the sea he saw a lone winter rose among the snow, a dragon with a wolf head. For the first time, Greyjoy actually did not know what it means. Euron was so angry he couldn't decipher what he meant he descended into a dark rage that concluded with a few severed heads, feet, and arms. In the past, the warlocks were the first to introduce him to the art of black magic. These warlocks were more stubborn and petty. Euron skinned one alive and fed his skin to the rest or they would starve.

The shade of the evening gives Warlocks powers. Their power only diminished because they have lost their way. Euron was only getting started and reaped off the benefits. The visions he got he figured out on his own with his intellect. Sometimes Euron got the feeling it wanted to show him what he wanted. But this…this was different. Euron knew it wanted him to show the god the truth. He was missing something. The next time he consumed the shade of the evening he had another vision. It was a red comet streaking across the sky, dead dragon eggs coming back to life, powers awakening in cold winter, a sword encased in fire. Euron read enough books to know what it meant.

It was the prince that was promised born again, of Ice and fire. Magic is slowly returning to the world because of Euron. The fire rises and the cold does too to meet it. Euron made this happen. This was a testimony of his power.

Euron was going to find him, not to save the world supposedly, but to mold him into Euron's own image. He knows ancient power is brewing in the far north. He saw it through his eye, only him because he was a god. Euron saw them, the cold and the death. And they saw him too. They didn't like that he can spy on them. They didn't like the competition. It didn't last too long as they managed to block him out. He didn't care. They have their agenda and he has his.

At first, Euron peered through his eye at the Targaryens to the east. It was most sensible to look there first. The once-proud family thought they were smarter than anyone else as they hide and gamble to retrieve their former glory. He spied on in their mists and scoffed at what he saw. He promptly pulled away from the fake dragon and searched elsewhere.

Euron was slightly saddened at what he saw of the Iron Islands, just slightly. His brother Balon was meeker than ever before. Victorian's monstrous battle-ax was losing its edge. Asha, a woman, has more respect from her crow than the entire Iron Island has for their lord. Aeron was becoming more and more deluded by his fake god. His childhood home has lost its way. They cling to the idiotic inspiration that the Drowned God is going to lift them up from the sad gutter they are in. The only key for them to do that is them. Yet, they fail because they attach themselves to the old ways that ran out of steam a long time ago. He will return and perish that illness.

His eye then turned north. He knew he was looking at the right place. There was old power there. Then his eyes landed on the solemn face of Jon Snow. Euron didn't know why it leads him to the bastard of Eddard Stark. Nonetheless, he did his research.

Now here he was with the rightful king of Westeros and the prince that was promised chained right on his ship. Euron applauded Eddard Stark for his craftiness. Now he was going to cause destruction and use Jon for himself.

"Not only Jon is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, he is legitimate, not even close to a bastard. His name is Jaeharyes too! Oh, how much bloodshed will transpire because of this information." Euron closed his eyes wistfully. His mouth savored at the chaos that can be erupted. He can set the world alight with just one raven to Kingslanding. He can feel himself harden in his breeches.

"What shall I do?" Euron hummed blissfully. Should he propel Westeros and possibly Essos into war or wait for a better time to strike? The answer was obvious. Euron narrowed his eyes on the parchment and ink before him, his face in deep thought.

The sun was setting when the raven took to the skies, the rolled-up parchment tied securely to its leg. The bird flapped and glided its way to carry out its duty. Euron stood on the deck of his Silence, hands on the railing, watching the raven's flight until it was just a small black dot on the horizon and was seen no more beyond the dying sun.

Euron was very happy. Many people will not live to see another sunset in the near future.

The crow's eye took the time to take in the scenery. His beautiful mutes of all kinds and his base-born bastards steadily dip their timber oars in the water. His ships were all organized in formation; he wouldn't dare have anything less. All the sails boast red-eye with a black pupil beneath a black iron crown supported by two crows. It was his personal sigil. It rippled in the air, and it sounded like death.

"Smugglers and pirates see my sails and weep."

There was not a sound from his crew, not a peep. The only thing you can hope to hear was the rush of the ocean and the chirping of the seagulls circling in the sky. It was only silence. Euron personally ripped out every crew member's tongue. They cannot take the chance of sharing their secrets with people not worthy to see. It was the ultimate mark of loyalty.

Euron later retired to his quarters. He closed both eyes but only one of them twitched. His awareness expanded wide afar.

Jon

He was floating in the dark abyss again. Jon wanted to scream. He wanted to wake up. "Why is this keep happening to me?" Jon asked frustratingly.

"Maybe this keeps happening because you are still ignorant of the truth," a voice responded. The voice was Jon's own voice.

Jon didn't even bother turning around. He dashed away. He ran as fast as he could in this nightmare. He skid to a stop when the fake Jon popped in from of him. The thing raised a curious eyebrow and smirked. The replica opened its mouth only for Jon to run again in the opposite direction. "Leave me alone!" He shouted.

"How can I do that when I am you?" A voice said from the side.

Still running, Jon peeked to the side to see his replica floating easily beside him. It was like a parasite. Jon stopped and extended his arm into a punch.

The replica disappeared and reappeared out of his reach, still smiling. "You should stop that."

"Who's going to stop me?" Jon threw another punch.

"You."

The next second Jon was on the floor with a knee on his back. He could not get up.

"Are you going to face the truth or are you going to keep looking pathetic?"

"Let me hear this so-called truth then," Jon muttered. He can maybe do this and the thing will leave him alone.

"You are a pathetic bastard."

Jon felt the sting. "I'm not pathetic."

"Look into your feelings, Jon. You know this to be true. Dare I mention…didn't your own brother call you pathetic in front of all your father's lords?"

"He didn't mean it," Jon said weakly.

The replica scrunched his brows in false confusion. "He didn't? Let's see again."

A scene of that day appeared in front of them. It was like it was seized from the forefront of Jon's mind.

"He's not the better man," Robb snapped, eyes narrowed, snow melting in his auburn. "He's not a man at all. He's just a bastard. He's nothing but my father's mistake. He's only around because Lord Stark feels guilty about bringing a stain to this world. He's not worth anything." There were laughs and hoots.

"That's not what he said!" Jon forced his eyes shut to avoid looking at it. The words his brother spoke that day hurt, but it was not to this magnitude. He couldn't handle this. "You are showing me a falsehood."

"How are you so sure? It's been a while since this day," the replica said knowingly.

"It couldn't be that long." Jon refused to believe it. "That's not what he said."

"There's always the probability of you mishearing him, Jon," the thing said lowly.

"You misheard."

"You know it was loud," the replica continued. "The whole crowd was shouting his name. Were they shouting your name?"

Jon racked his brain for recollection but already knew the answer. "No."

"No." The thing nodded in agreement. "If that's true, why is it so hard to believe what he said?"

"Because he's my brother," Jon said. "He loves me and I do too."

"He loves you?!" The fake Jon threw his head back and laughed. "No, he tolerates you. He said you were a worthless bastard. That's not love."

"He was just angry." Jon was adamant.

The thing shook his head in disbelief. "Let us see something else."

Jon was quiet as he watched it unfold.

Young Jon and Robb clashed with blunted swords. "You are no match for me!" Young Robb announced with his sword in the air. He smiled a crooked smile, and there was a front tooth missing. "I am Aemon the dragon knight!"

Young Jon raised his sword up in the challenge. "You may be good, but I, the lord of Winterfell, shall defeat you!"

Robb looked at him in skepticism. "That can't happen."

"Why not?"

Anger and disgust transformed young Robb's face. "You are a bastard. You will have no wife, kids, or households in your name. How can you be my brother when you're just a snow?"

Young Jon fled from the courtyard crying.

The scene slowly vaporized.

Jon was quiet. The fake one was not. "What child that you know of loves you that say this at such a tender age? It doesn't make sense. Robb doesn't love you. No one loves you. Sansa is the only sibling that didn't care to put up a pretense."

"Arya loves me. I know she does," was Jon's last attempt to fight back.

As always, his replica had a ready answer. "You think she does. She thinks she does too. But it's really how a child will seek what's familiar to them. Arya Stark is an ugly little girl with the same Stark features as you. She is called Arya horse face. She doesn't like dresses or even sewing and feels like an outsider, just like you. It is just a phase all children go through before they grow out of that. She will be the same albeit a little longer than most. Years later she will have a husband and a keep of her own, you dead in the ground, and she wouldn't even remember that you existed."

Jon didn't know what to think anymore. He was in pain. He knows it is true now. "Please...please stop."

It kept going without a shred of mercy. "You can't be that naïve to think this way. Nobody loves you nor will any. Your own mother gave you away as soon as you cried your way out of the womb. She didn't even give you a name. She couldn't even live with the lord of Winterfell to raise you because she was appalled by your existence. She was a whore. She birthed you, and the next day she was off to getting fucked by multiple cocks and had more bastards. You were forgotten." The replica busted out laughing at the pain on Jon's face.

"SHUT UP!" Jon yelled. He believed every word it said, and it hurt more than any blade.

Jon woke up to the rattle of his chains and the heavy sounds of his breath. Tears slid down his still bloodied cheeks. He tried to hold it in, but he broke down in spite of that. Ugly sobs rocked his body. The weeping made him sleepy, but he was too scared to face the truth again, so he just wept some more and tried to stay awake.

The bastard of Winterfell cried while the dead bodies in the room watched in silence.

Arthur: That was dark. Poor Jon :( He's going through so much pain and he doesn't know why. People of Westeros will die indirectly because of him and he's not going to know either hahahahaha. Don't worry, it's only going to get darker from here.

Let me ask yall this, do you think Euron Greyjoy is delusional about him being a god? Or is he justified? What do you think is going to happen in Westeros while Euron and Jon travel the seas? Let me know in the comments!

Leave a review and have a good day!