Jon

They stared at him when he fell asleep. They stared at him when he awakened. The dead bodies were ever staring, their soulless gazes unwavering. Flies buzzed above their heads and entered their open mouths. The Greyjoy positioned their heads to where they all faced him.

"You've never been in the spotlight," Euron had said with a smile. "Now you've got all the attention you asked for, just for you."

Jon thought he was right. It was dreadfully silent on the ship. He didn't think a single crew member uttered a word from above. It was just the clank of his chains and the often stormy waters. He had no track of time. He was afraid of losing his mind, so he started chatting with the fallen.

"I didn't have joy growing up," Jon told them. He talks and they listen. "The other children were scared of playing with me. I was deemed the bastard of Winterfell. They thought it was a disease, and they didn't want to get contaminated."

"It only got worse when I got older. They lost their innocence and gained consciousness and ruthlessness. They wonder why the great Eddard Stark shammed himself into having to look at me every day. I question that too." Jon can feel the pain opening up. "Their whispers grew louder and so did Lady Stark's protest for me to leave as I am old enough. She was never fond of me. I've never done wrong against her, but I still drew her ire all the same."

"I was little when I started eavesdropping on her arguments with Lord Stark. I would sneak up to their door and press my ear against it to hear. Lord Stark never raises his voice. But he was yelling when it came to me. No matter high in pitch Lady Stark's voice gets, Lord Stark never yielded. He is of my blood, he would always answer. Lady Stark took that anger out on me, not physically, but verbally. It was a mental thing. She snaps at me with her mouth and yells at me with her eyes. I would feel her glare on my back all around the castle."

"When she couldn't get Lord Stark to do anything about me, she took it upon herself to try to turn my siblings against me. Rickon is too young. Arya and Bran never listened. Robb took some things to ear but outgrew that when we grew up. Sansa was fully convinced I was no good. She calls me half-brother and often pretends I'm not in the room. She is her mother's, perfect lady."

"Theon and I never saw eye-to-eye. He considers Robb to be his best friend and was jealous of how close we were. He calls me a lowly bastard. I call him the lost squid. But the only thing we agreed on was how Lady Stark didn't like either of us. She doesn't hold contempt for Theon as she does me, but she doesn't trust him. I could tell."

"I do think I'm worthless." They took that information in silence, no judging to be heard. "I didn't want to tell myself that. I wanted to go to the Night's Watch, but my uncle Benjen is missing. Therefore Lord Stark forbids me from taking the black. I left to go to Essos. I even messed that up. Now I'm a slave and probably on route to be sold in the free cities."

"A part of me believes I deserve this." Jon licked his busted lips. "I'm a bastard. I have nothing to contribute to this world and Robb was right. Another part of me hopes that maybe…maybe I can find my mother in the cities."

"Even as outrageous as that sounds, I still want to see her. I want to know who she is, or even just her damn name. I want to know something! I use to dream about her and wake up with tears. Robb and I used to share a chamber. I know that he use to stay up hearing me cry. Maybe he wanted to comfort me but he didn't know how? Maybe he thought I was going to hurt myself? Did he think I was capable of doing that? Well, I'm probably not going to see him again to ask." That hurt Jon. He and Robb were very close, only second to him and Arya. They left on rocky terms, and they were never going to make up.

"It also hurts that I might be willing to kill myself," Jon whispered. He knew. "I've thought about it as much as I thought about my mother. If she was dead I could join her." He couldn't count on his fingers how many times he heard the whispers and thought about ending the pain right there. He couldn't imagine Arya's pain and withdrew from those dark thoughts.

"Would the rest be sad?" Jon wondered. "Would they be sad because their bastard brother slit his wrist and was found in the waters with the fish?"

He stopped talking to the bodies. He withdrew in his own dark thoughts among the blood and the shit and the piss and the hungry flies. He was so stank that all the smells were not so distinctive and they became his own.

Jon's whole body tensed up when the door squeaked open. Euron Greyjoy seems to be oblivious to the stench as he waddled to the middle of the room. His blue eye was smiling.

"Good morning," Euron greeted.

"Is it morning?" Jon asked. "I couldn't tell because a crazy asshole has me chained in his ship. I apologize for my ignorance."

"Ask your roommates." Euron gestured with his hands to the murdered. "They are with their 'gods'." He spat the last word out. "They should know whether it's morning, afternoon, evening, or night. They can tell you how much time has passed. It can be a fortnight, a moon, just ask." The rant brought a gleam to Euron's eyes and prompted him to move forward.

"You don't believe in the gods then," Jon guessed uncertainly.

Euron smirked. "You don't think so?"

"It's why you behave like a savage."

"Say that to me again and you will see how much of a savage I am."

Jon did not say another word. Anger brewed, but he dared not spill it out. The dry blood on his face was a constant warning not needed to be said.

"Men, women, and children breathe only to serve their gods but why?"

It took a moment for Jon to realize the question was for him. "It's to give them hope, shelter, and protection from men like you."

Euron laughed. "It's clearly not true."

Jon was offended, as he was a believer in the Old gods. "How's it not? They are the oldest gods, long before the Andals came with their seven." The Weirwood tree at Winterfell was a testimony of that.

Euron looked at him like he was a stupid child. "They had power but that doesn't make them gods."

"The Children of the Forest carved faces into weirwood trees. They got power from the Old Gods. How's it not gods?" Jon challenged.

"That's the hilariousness of that situation. They did something remarkable, magic. But everybody can do that, and they were labeled as gods!"Euron laughed. "I can't imagine what they will name me after I open all of their eyes!"

"What do you mean?"

Euron sharpened his gaze on him. "There are no gods in this world, never have been. We are all on equal footing to get what want, how we want. The 'Old Gods' were never special, at least in the terms of what is capable. I walked among the ashes of the old city of Valyria. I know what the absolute highest looks like." A dark gleam can be seen in his good eye.

"But what about the Weirwood trees?" Jon protested. "This man is crazy."

Jon was very much expecting Euron to remember that piece of information, but the man just waved it off. "Those are just trees. Anybody can plant trees."

"I feel the power in them!" As a child, Jon had been scared to go into the godswood. He felt the power in there. He heard whispers, old whispers.

Euron nodded. "You may do. But that's not what it all is. They made sacrifices to give them the powers the stories said. It's nothing complicated. They took life. They did rituals. And they carved the faces of their victims in the Weirwood trees. They pray, and when they die…their soul gets trapped in the tree."

"You lie!" Jon was horrified. "The Children of the Forest were peaceful."

"You think the 'Old Gods' history was full of peaceful prayer? What makes you think the children fight off the first men with anything other than blood magic?" Euron shrugged. "That's the type of thinking that got you chained in this ship."

"You are crazy," Jon told him. "You shame others for their religious because you are an ungodly man."

At that, Euron chuckled. "Why, Jon, I am the godliest man ever to raise sail! From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray."

"No, they will be running away in fear. They will only be praying to the gods because of you, not to you."

Euron saw the look on his face. "Why you don't believe what I say? This is the reason why I captured you."

Jon whipped his head. "Why?" He was dying to know.

"So I can break you," Euron said calmly. Jon didn't see the punch. The fist connected with his already tender nose and sent him sprawling in pain. "I want to break you and rebuild you from the bottom up. What cannot be fixed can be created again." Jon heard the crackle of a whip and tensed. "It starts now."

His back flared up in excruciating pain. Jon screamed, arching his back to avoid another blow. The leather whip spits in the air and connected with his back the second time. The third blow slapped fruitfully, and Jon's shirt and skin split.

Jon trembled on the ground. He can feel the blood gushing from his back.

"Why believe in gods when they can't save you from pain?" Euron slapped him with the whip. Jon screamed. "Can they save you from this?" Another slap came to another scream. "Or can they save you from this?" SLAP and Jon screamed.

SLAP! Jon shifted his body between the front and the back, quickly determining which side will hurt the least. It all hurt. The whip came fast and came hard, unrelenting and devastating.

SLAP! The whip soured in the air with pieces of skin on it.

SLAP! Driblets of blood flew.

Jon opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His back had to be smeared with fire. He saw Euron's boot from the corner of his eye. "You know what makes a god? It's the whip. A god brings pain. The devotees receive it. I'm the god. You are not. I'm whipping you. You are taking it."

SLAP!

"We are the ones who choose if we can be a god or not. You will see or die."

SLAP!

Jon blacked out.

He must've been asleep for a while. The flies scampered away as he slowly pulled himself to an upright position. His back yelled at him. It stung worse than any bee. It hurt to move. Blood from his back was splattered on the ground right where he was laying. Jon was in so much anguish.

"Why is this happening to me?" He asked the bodies.

They just stared at him with their knowing eyes. Because you are a bastard, they said. They knew more than him. Suddenly he was tired of them. He was tired of them judging him. They are dead, not him.

"I didn't ask to be a bastard," Jon finally snapped. "I didn't ask to be born. Why is this happening to ME?!"

He screamed. No voice answered him.

He sat there in his blood, piss, and shit. The flies were his only option for his fierce hunger. His own blood was the only option for his unquenchable thirst. That got him sick. Then he had to sit in his own vomit. It was humid. Sweat and blood plastered the hair to his forehead. "I am going to die here." Jon knew his days were numbered.

Jon didn't have enough energy to react to the door opening. Instead of Euron himself, it was one of his crew members. It was a scrawny man in chainmail. His eyes were dark as he took in Jon.

"Help," Jon groaned out. "Help me."

The man opened his mouth for Jon to see a severed tongue. He unlocked the manacles on Jon's wrists and feet in silence. Another man had to come to assist. They got him to his feet and roughly dragged him along.

They marched through the darkness, up a flight of stairs, and into the bright glare of the sun. Jon blinked stupidly at the light. It took a few heartbeats for his eyes to adjust to the unfamiliar light. Euron stood in the center of the dock, his eye smiling.

The fleet was docked at a port Jon did not know. It was a small town that Jon can see. The people were milling about peacefully. They did not know the storm that is on their shores. "These freaks with no tongues are going to give those people naught but fear." Trembling, Jon looked around at the mutes on the deck with disgust. His eyes settled on the figurehead that was behind everything. "But Greyjoy, he's going to give them naught but destruction."

"Come here, Jon," Euron called out sweetly. It was anything but sweet.

His brain did not process him walking until he was there, his back tingling all the while. Jon looked into Euron's smiling blue eye and felt the hate coursing through him.

"You hate me don't you?" Euron had a grin. "You want to kill me."

Jon's leg was shaking like a leaf. His back was wolfing. Nothing was as strong as his hate. He looked at Euron dead in the eyes and wanted to stab his smiling eye. But he said nothing and did nothing.

Euron's grin grew wider as if he noticed Jon's inner conflict. He then casually threw an arm over Jon's shoulder, causing the other to flinch terribly. Those are the hands that just gave him lashes. Euron firmly guided them to the ship rail, looking at the unaware city. "We need more supplies before we partake in our next big voyage. We need food, water, and wine. I noticed you were hungry. I apologize for my ineptitude. And I need a few women to rape and to take as salt wives. You know how we Ironborns get." Euron laughed when no one else was laughing. His laugh carried over the deck, smooth and evil.

Euron leaned over and sniffed him. "You smell like shit. We need to do something about that. Do you see that city in front of us? I want you to freshen yourself up in the nearest Inn. Go." Jon found himself with a bag of coins in his chest.

"Go," Euron urged, a smile on his blue lips. "I want you back on this ship by sunset."

Jon turned around but was grabbed back forcefully by his hair. Grip right on his scalp, Euron leaned in and said, "I know exactly where and how far each Inn is. If you don't be here by sunset or you try to escape, I will kill every woman and child in that town and make you eat their arms and feet and drink the acid from their stomachs." Euron gently let go of his hair and made his way down to the docks, his mutes on his heels.

It was a short time to find an Inn and order a bath and a meal. It was even shorter to tell the Innkeeper to escort him to his room immediately. Looks of alarm and grimaces from other guests were sent after him and the Innkeeper. On his way, he heard a couple of interesting chatter among the cups.

"The King is demanding some good coin for Jon Snow," one man said in his cups.

"Doubtlessly because Lord Stark is his closest friend," another man stated.

"No! The king wants the bastard found to kill him!" Another claimed.

"Hush," the first man said angrily. "You don't know a whim of what you are saying."

Jon did not have enough will to hear more of the small talk. Dirt and other stuff not worth naming trailed in his steps. They got to his room soon enough. The Innkeeper gave him a look of pity. Jon closed the door to make it disappear.

The amount of dirt, sweat, and blood that seeped into the bathtub will have Jon ashamed until his final days. The feeling of finally cleaning himself drove those feelings down the sink. The warm water and soap eased his mind enough to let out his thoughts.

"Arya will call me dirty." Jon played with the water, trying to see something through the murkiness of the water. "She will beat my arse and say that I can't embarrass her like that again." He splashed the water, hoping to see Arya in the reflection. All he got was his own blood.

Jon broke down crying. In his own grime, he let his tears flow. He got up, seeing red, both from crying and from raw anger. "I'm no one's slave," Jon told himself. He's going to kill the Crow's Eye before he submits again. "I can keep the coin he gave me and get me a ship away from here. I cannot afford a sword, perhaps a dagger."

He dressed in fresh clothing. He gave himself a fresh mental objective. He made his way for the door. As soon as he opened the door, the Innkeeper was there. Jon was confused when the keeper put a hand on his shoulder with no consent.

"You're in trouble, son," the keeper said. "Every damn man down there saw you came in, drowning in your own shit and blood."

"I've got a plan for that," Jon told him. "Do not worry."

The older man shook his head. "This city goes out of its way to help one another. We see a person in need, we help."

"This is different," Jon said, trying to explain the gravity of the situation. "This man is dangerous."

"You don't have to tell me. I know who he is, the Crow's Eye. I know his work when I see one." The man's eyes narrowed. "He comes around this city whenever he plans on partaking a demon's voyage he's been doing. He steals our coins, water, and bread. He steals our women. He molests our children. He burns our Septs. He's a savage, ungodly, and a taint upon this land." In his hand, he showed a clean sharp blade. "It will be our pleasure to rid the abomination of this world."

"How many fighting men do you have?" Jon asked.

"We have enough," the Inn Keeper. "Every person in this city will raise swords against this demon. We knew he was coming back eventually and readied ourselves. We are tired of his terrorism. We are religious men and women. The seven shall guide us to victory. Will you stand with the holy?"

"Will it be enough?" Jon had to think. Then he thought about the other people Euron must've captured and made his slave. "What would Lord Stark do?"

He didn't take long to grab the cold steel. He was not going to let innocent people die when he can help to save them. They went downstairs to a group of armored men. They nodded approvingly and got him a jerkin and chainmail. The process was fast and quick. "They've been ready for some time," Jon noticed. The Crow's eye was not liked around these parts.

It was sunset and there were already clashes of steel on the street. Jon and the men in the Inn arrived at the scene and joined the fray. The Innkeeper was right. It appeared like every person in this city came out to fight. The cobbled street was packed. Still, more people poured out of shops, homes, narrow alleys, balconies, everywhere a person can be. They grabbed whatever they can use if they don't have swords: Sharp wood, stakes, pans and pots, boots, dinner knives, and rocks.

"Can they actually pull this off?" Jon thought. Hope blossomed in his chest. They were pressed in so tightly on the street that they started to pile on each other.

It was a while but Jon clashed swords with one of the mutes. Head and back hurting, Jon was still a formidable foe, especially for his young age. The mute had no proper training. Rodrik would've laughed.

Jon kept himself steady in compensation for his injuries. He parried a sloppy thrust and plunged his sword in the man's throat.

It was his first time killing a man.

"I never killed a man before." Jon's arm was slightly wobbly.

"If you take a man's life, you owe it to him to look him in the eye as you do," his father had said. That's what Jon did. He kept eye contact with the mute as he slid the sword out of his throat. The tip of the sword was rosy blood.

He took too long to reset himself, and he received a blow to the head. Vision getting blurry, he blocked an overhead slash. The mute punched him in the mouth with the other mailed hand. Jon rolled unsteadily to his feet. He started to tremble. He was too weak. The street was beginning to clear out, losing its density. Jon didn't check to see if it was good or bad.

Jon brushed the blood from the corner of his mouth. The mute rushed at him wordlessly. "I got him." He overreached, and Jon lowered himself and put his sword between the man's armpits. Blood showered Jon's upper front.

He then moved on to another one, then another one, then another one. He didn't know how he can keep fighting in this state but he did. "Who's the worthless bastard now?!" Jon slit opens a throat.

"So, you have chosen disobedience." The voice was laced with humor.

Jon charged at once. "I'll fucking kill you!" He yelled, trying his best to charge. He was going to kill the Crow's eye. He was not going to be a slave anymore. He is going to be free. Jon was then on him. He didn't take notice of Euron's dark gleaming scaly armor, or the whispering sword he had in his hands. He just wanted to kill him. Red murder clouded his eyes.

Euron laughed breathlessly, covered in blood, as he blocked each of Jon's slashes. "Don't you feel powerful taking life away? Don't you feel the rush of elation when you can choose who can live or not? That's how I feel every day. I make the choices for who's worthy to see the world I plan to create."

Jon feigned to the right, only to get cut. Jon stepped away, screaming. It was only the lightest of cuts but it burned. He didn't see it coming either. It was fast. However, it did not deter him.

Only growing angrier, he charged again. Euron met his sword easily. "Do you know," Euron murmured, "that you are going to be the cause of all these people's deaths? I will not spare a single one."

Jon's low slash was parried. Every killing blow he tried to deliver was deflected or put to the side with ease. He struggled to keep Rodrik's teachings in mind as he grew more and more irritated.

"All these people are going to be raped before they are killed," Euron promised during their fight. "Do you think my mutes care if they are cold or young? I surely don't."

Jon's overhead slash was pushed aside. Euron took the offensive. Jon did the best he could to defend against the series of strikes that appeared to come from every direction. Each of them has the potential to end him where he stood.

"I promised you retribution for your actions, Jon," Euron announced, "and you will face the consequences."

Euron blocked another strike and pushed him to the ground. His blue eye smiled at him. "I have to kill him," Jon got to his shaky feet. All around him, the people of the city were losing their lives fighting against their oppression.

Snow and Greyjoy once again clashed in a bout of swords in a land that's neither theirs. One had the eyes of anger, the other bloodlust and elastic. They come into a contest of strength that pinned their faces close together. Jon can see his smiling blue eye, his blue lips, and the face he wanted to kill.

"You wanted this to happen," Euron said softly. "You wanted all this carnage to happen. You could've tried to escape as this fight isn't yours to fight. But you wanted revenge. You wanted to…kill me."

Euron spat a glob of saliva into his face. Jon hurried to wipe off the spit and heard the man's laughter. "Your gods couldn't save you from that shame," Euron mocked. "And they are not going to save you from me separating your head from your shoulders."

Jon's anger boiled to its steaming point. He lost all his remaining self-control. Jon sped forward with his sword held over his head, eyes murderous.

"Come get me." Euron laughed and pulled a mute in front of him by his shoulder plate. Jon killed him with a cut to send his head rolling.

"I said come get me!" Euron dragged another mute in his way. "You like the shed of blood! Come prove me right, bastard! Make your whore mother proud!"

"I will gut you!" Jon screamed, slaying the mute down. He liked it. He liked hurting the people he hurt him. He liked sending them to their deaths.

"HAHAHA," Euron laughed hysterically and yanked another mute in his way. "YES! KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!"

And kill them all Jon did.

"Nothing will get in my way." Jon was never so angry in his life. He slew mute after mute for what they did to him. It is revenge. He was going to do the same thing to eu-

There was a flash of steel in front of his face. Suddenly there was a pain in his left eye. It burned. Jon dropped his sword to cover his face with a scream. He felt blood. Then there was a burning cut to his thigh that dropped him to the ground. He fell and did not get up. There was no more fight in him. He lost.

"You stood up to your god," Euron talked down to him. The dying sun rays were yellow and orange and set his dark scaly armor in otherworldly light. It fit on his frame easy as silk. The scales danced and shimmered. Ornate patterns were wrought across the armor plate. It was armor thought lost. Euron stood there, an image of an evil spirit straight from hell. "Tell me, what's going to be the shield that will prevent my sword from splitting your throat, hmm?"

Jon felt the heel of the boot on his head. Euron pressed his foot down. Jon squirmed with all his might. He grabbed a fistful of rocks that did nothing to release his head from the torture. He can feel his head starting to pinch in. Tears of agony crept to the front of his eyes. "This is it," Jon thought, his eyes drooping. He was going to die.

The pressure eased.

"The shield is my mercy," Euron told him.

"I'm not choosing for you to die today, Jon." Euron eased his pressure but did not fully let go of his foot. "I'm choosing them to die." Euron turned Jon's head to the left with his heel. Jon's heart sank.

Rows upon rows were the people of the city on their knees, heads bowed. Dead bodies littered the paved street. Fire and smoke-darkened their cheeks. Crows were already picking out their eyes. They got slaughtered.

The survivors were begging for their life. The mutes were not capable of speaking or hearing mercy as they force them onto their knees. The ones who were too maimed to get to their feet were chopped right on the spot. The mutes knocked down every door of every house to drag the remaining civilianization out to the street. Fathers and mothers hugged their crying children, but it did not cause any flicker of emotion from Euron's beasts.

"They are monsters."

"You said that having a religion gives people hope. But what is hope if not loss preserving? What is hope if I did not grant it?" Euron questioned. "I wanted to give them death, not the gods. Where are the gods to stop me from raping and killing them as I please? Tell me, Jon."

Jon did not have an answer to give as he watched what was unfolding.

All of them were rounded up to their feet and pushed to the docks. One by one they were drowned. They gurgled and spit their last gasps before they plunged into the depths of the sea. The ones who knew some bit of knowing how to swim splashed their arms to stay afloat. They were shot with arrows. They sunk with arrows embedded in their chest. The children and babies were grabbed hold of by the top of their heads and were drowned forcefully individually. "That is considered my mercy," Euron said.

"It's so many screams," Jon thought, tears blurring his eyesight. "I failed." The hum of death was deafening with everyone losing their life at the same time. Screams mixed with the splash of death. The hiss of arrows mixed with the dull sounds of the thuds. There was so much blood the sea turned red. Massacred Bodies floated aimlessly in the sea, surely attracting the sharks.

The Crow's eye laughed feverishly at the deaths. Jon watched it silently through the cut on his eye. Euron, at last, got off his head, still laughing his arse off. "Do you see now? The gods are not real, magic is. If they had learned magic instead of praying on their knees, they would not be swimming with the fishes." Euron took a breath of air and shouted, "Set course for Old Valyria!"

Arthur: That is my version of how Jon got the scar over his eye ;) let me know what you think in the review section. Have a nice day!