Chapter 51: Dead Men Tell No Tales

Squeezing his eyes shut, Viserys tried to block out the cacophony around himself. It was a futile effort: he couldn't even slow the thundering of his own heart, or the stink of burned flesh, blood, and human excrement.

"GET READY! HERE THEY COME AGAIN!"

Viserys cracked open an eye, and let out a whimper. The ranks of enemy soldiers rushed forward again, through a hail of arrows, a rain of oil, and the thunder of his sister's voice.

"SACRED LIGHTNING BLARE!"

Fireballs, darts, and toxic gas from the enemy lanced back up. One arrow in particular seemed to grow larger and larger, until it filled Viserys' vision entirely. At the last possible moment, a gauntleted arm shot out and blocked the arrow from taking Viserys in the eye.

"T-thank you, Commander Connington," Viserys stammered, looking in horror as the man who had once been his father's hand inspected the arrow that was lodged in his gauntlet.

A trickle of blood leaked out, but Connington simply ripped the arrow out and shook the hand. "Think nothing of it, Viserys. Your sister would be devastated if we lost you."

"Not as much as I would," Viserys muttered, then yelped as a siege ladder slammed into the bulwark in front of himself. He tried to pry up the ladder and shove it away, but the iron spikes had dug into the rock, and it was far heavier than it looked.

"Together now, HEAVE!" Connington ordered, and he and Viserys managed to shove the ladder away, sending Unsullied screaming to the ground below. There were many more ladders however, and soon Viserys was fighting for his life against a squad of Unsullied and a Harlequin Grotesque that had made a small opening. He battered aside the spear of an Unsullied frantically, but a moment later, a dark shape swooped down, slamming into the foes and scattering them from the battlements.

Viserys nodded thanks to Belzerg the Dragon, but the beast was already making another strafing run against their foes. After that, their enemy retreated, leaving dozens of dead in their wake.

Viserys looked around, and blanched. There were at least as many dead defenders, former slaves pressed into service to defend their lives and homes, and Brothers and Sisters of the Faith Militant. Their numbers were dwindling. When Viserys looked out at the Red Host, the same could not be said of them.

The pyramids of Meereen were indeed burning now. The city had been breached twice, both times from sections of the wall Iris had been drawn away from. Today, that hadn't happened, but one pyramid had been filled with Great Masters and their servants that had sought to use the enemy attack to rebel against the rule of the Stormborn.

Iris had called down lightning and thunder until the pyramid was a smoking ruin. But when she had been distracted securing their rear, the enemy had nearly taken the city. They had been driven out, but at great cost. There were not enough defenders, and too many foes. The Siege had lasted 13 days now, and it did not seem that it could last many more.

The situation was desperate enough that Viserys had given up on hiding. He'd seen what their foes did to anyone they captured. A few citizens of Meereen had been hauled away when the enemy had been driven from the city. They'd been crucified for three days, then their bodies burned while they were still alive as an offering to Kefka. The grotesque shadowy horrors that had arisen form their corpses had taken Iris and three now-dead Brothers to kill.

"They nearly breached the gates today," Jorah informed the command staff tiredly that evening. "If not for her Grace, they would have had another major break into the city. As it was, we only barely repelled them.

"Stormborn, it may be time for you and your brother to flee the city. On the Dragons, you could make it to Volantis. Rally troops there and bring them to our aid. We cannot hope to hold with what we have," Commander Connington said.

For once, Viserys actually rather liked the idea of flying around on a dragon, terrifying as it was.

Iris, however, shook her head. "You're just trying to send me to safety. I won't run from this. Neither will Big Bro. A ruler must be willing to fight for their people against evil. We can still win, I know it! The goddesses wouldn't have led us here to die."

"What led us here is your poor grasp of geography," Viserys muttered, but when Iris looked at him, he smiled and said, "Perhaps one of us should go to Volantis and get reinforcements, sister? Even you must realize without help, we're doomed."

Iris opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, a door opened and a very worried Captain Joko spoke. "Khaleesi, there is maegy magic in the air. Smoke and fog roll in. They are trying a night attack, I think."

"Damn, we haven't even had time to rest," Connington growled. "I'll see to it."

"We'd best all see to it. I don't know what tricks the Red Priests are trying, but if that smoke is poison we'll have to retreat. Are the pyramids ready?" Iris demanded.

"They are stocked as full as we can manage, and those that cannot fight have retreated to them," Jorah agreed.

Iris put her helm back on and nodded. "Then we fight as long as we can, then retreat to them. The walls will not hold against another assault like the one today."

Viserys thought of slinking away to the pyramids, but swallowed when he saw Iris looking at him. He forced himself to take his position at the gatehouse, and his heart sank as he looked out. The night was bright with a nearly full moon, and the land around the city was growing hazy. Dark clouds were rolling in from the sea, and soon the land would be blanketed in a thick fog.

"Good condition for a night attack," Jorah muttered. "Have torches lit! See if her Grace will get those dragons into the air to provide us with warning."

The enemy army was writhing with activity, their night fires burning brightly as more sacrifices were made. The Unsullied were forming up, but were soon lost in fog and mist.

Viserys gripped his sword, his heart pounding. Around him, ex-slaves shifted nervously, gripping their spears.

Then the drums began.

The Indefatigable creaked and groaned as Theon stood on the prow, looking out into the fog dark night. Behind him, men with faces blacked with coal or smeared with seaweed paste to turn them green looked up at him.

Taking a deep breath, Theon raised the salt water flask high before himself. "The Blessing of the Drowned Goddess."

"Salt and Iron," the men behind him intoned.

"We take the sea into ourselves, and become one with our goddess."

"We drown again, one with the depths."

"What is dead may never die!"

"But rise again, harder and stronger!"

Making a face, Theon pulled the cork from the bottle and forced the sea water down his throat. He coughed and choked at first, but then the horrid taste turned sweet in his mouth. It still made his stomach roil, and Theon half wondered if he'd botched the rite and would vomit it all up.

Then he gasped in pain, doubling over as his body writhed and twisted. He stumbled forward, pitching himself over the side of the ship. There were splashes all around him as men flung themselves into the water, spasming as they did so, their bodies jerking and twisting.

Theon opened his mouth, and breathed in. Water coursed into his lungs, but he did not drown as he continued to sink into the depths. He opened his eyes, and they did not sting. Instead, he could see easily in the murky depths as he floated ever deeper. His eyes glowed a pale yellow, illuminating the water around him. He looked down at his hands, only they were gone. In their place writhing tentacles the size of thick cables, and Theon grinned.

"Thank you, Nyarko," he gurgled.

She had been gone for their entire voyage down to Slaver's Bay, a month and more. Their way had been made impossibly fast by a combination of the currents that Theon and the other Drowned Priests had called and the magical wind that Rain had blowing at the back of the Iron Fleet the entire way. Some days they had traveled over 100 leagues, and now, they were ready.

Despite Nyarko's absence, Theon felt a presence when he spoke to her, and took courage. The Ironborn's goddess was with them. As made manifest by her blessings upon them.

Theon used his new tentacled limbs to propel himself forward through the warm water of Slaver's Bay. Sharks and other predators steered well clear of him as he led dozens of Ironborn who had similarly been transformed through the waves. A dark shape loomed towards Theon, larger than any whale.

He did not shy from it. They were both krakens, and he had called this one. A child of the Drowned Goddess.

Above Theon, the waves beat and frothed as the oars of the longships beat the waves. The Indefatigable could not beach herself like the longships could, as she was a purely seaborn vessel. But there were hundreds of longships and only the Indefatigable needed to stay off from shore. Claire had left her own ship for one of the longships, and was racing towards the shore above Theon even now.

As the shore approached, Theon heard a sound like thunder above him through the waves, and a moment later, he heard muffled voices. He joined in, though he could not hear the words.

Shiver my timbers shiver my soul

Yo ho heave ho

There are men whose hearts are as black as coal

Yo oh heave ho

All around Theon, the ocean itself seemed to beat in time to the rhythm of the hymn to Nyarko-san, goddess of Plunder and Pillage. The Ironborn were not soldiers, they were raiders. Normally they would never commit to open battle like this.

But they could if they had to.

Shiver my timbers, shiver my sides

Yo oh heave ho

There are hungers as strong as the wind and tides

Yo oh heave ho

More verses rang out through the depths and across the waves, a song that was familiar to the shores of Westeros, and one that would have made the faithful of the Seven cower in their crofts and holdfasts as the Reavers came out of the mists.

Shiver my timbers, shiver my thigh

Yo oh heave ho

They say what is dead may never die

Yo oh heave ho

The shore became a dark shape ahead of Theon, and he gave the command to the kraken, which burst forth from the waves as he bellowed the final verse of the Raider's Hymn.

Shiver my timbers, shiver my sails

Dead men tell no tales

With a howl like the heart of a storm, the great kraken broke from the surf, along with a dozen of its brothers and sisters. It shot out a torrent of water, strong enough to break bones and smash ships. Theon poked his head from the water to see a line of enemies that had formed a shield wall break and stagger as the leviathan's attack washed some of them away. The Red Priests screamed and wailed as the salt water struck them, dousing their magic and killing some.

Theon let out a war cry, but it came out as a gurgling, rumbling thrum as he hauled himself out of the surf. His body had transformed, and this night, he walked the land as a Faceless One. He raised his cutlass in his tentacled grip and stode forward across salt drenched sand.

From the darkness, a hunking shape dressed in wet motley hurled itself at Theon, laughing madly as the bells on its costume tinkled. The Harlequin staggered Theon, cutting his flesh with its claws. But it did not slay him. Bellowing in anger, Theon gripped the creature in one tentacle and plunged his blade in, then threw the monster into the line of enemy soldiers, bowling them over. Beside him, more of the transformed Ironborn slaughtered the servants of the Lord of Light, their dark forms writhing in the foggy air.

Theon tossed about some of the Unsullied, ripping one limb from limb with his own monstrous strength. They did not break however, and more of the soldiers swarmed forward across the sands. Theon and the other Faceless Ones looked like they might be overwhelmed, until behind them, the longships plowed into the shore.

Howling battle cries, the Ironborn raiders rushed ashore in a wave of iron and blood. Normally, the Unsullied's shield wall would have easily repulsed such a reckless onslaught, but with the kraken and Faceless Ones acting as linebreakers, the Unsullied were unable to act as a unit. They were peerless soldiers, but in one on one combat against warriors, they were sadly outmatched.

The black tide rolled up the shore, led by Theon and the rest of the Faceless Ones. As they moved onto dry land, Theon's strength began to sap and fade, the blessing of the Drowned Goddess leaving him. Ironborn never struck far from saltwater, as Nyarko's magic did not work away from her natural element. Worse, the fires of the Red God burned brightly even in the fog, driving off the mists and weakening their foes further.

Theon thought the advance would stall, until a howling gale blew up. He turned to see Rain standing atop a dune, her arms thrust up to the sky, dress whipping about her in the breeze.

"HURRICANE!" Rain screamed, and rain and wind pelted their foes, extinguishing their fires and blinding them even as it strengthened the Ironborn.

This time, Claire led the charge, still wearing her uniform, hat perched at a jaunty angle on her head. She seemed to have no need of armor, as darts and spears skittered off her flesh, leaving only minor wounds. She cut a Harlequin down with a single blow, then sliced the spell of a Red Priest in twain before doing the same to the woman that had been offering praises to Kefka.

Theon would have grinned if he still had a mouth, and he strode forward, ripping into another squad of Unsullied that had attempted to regroup and tossing them about like children's toys. Their spears bit at him, but his flesh was still enchanted, and healed nearly as quickly as the wounds were inflicted.

Even so, the Red Host had numbers on its side, and it looked as though they would weather the Iron storm and perhaps retreat in good order to reform and rebuff their foes. Before they could, fires flashed in the sky, and flaming death descended upon their flank.

The three dragons that appeared from the sky caused the Unsullied to buckle. But when the Stormborn herself crashed from the sky, riding lightning and destruction, they broke. Theon could only watch in awe as a girl, her skin glowing with power and her sword shining like a thunderbolt slaughtered dozens of Unsullied with one swing of her blade, then blew away a troop of Harlequins at a word.

He had thought himself blessed by divine power and an unstoppable force. Now, he just hoped she was on his side.

From the city, the gates flung open, and the defenders sallied forth. Despite still having a numerical advantage, the Red Host found itself pressed on three sides, caught between the Storm Born, the Ironborn, and Meereen. It broke and buckled, and soon even the Unsullied were routed, fleeing into the night in desperate panic. Theon and the Ironborn pursued a short distance, but when they made for the Red Waste, the pursuit ended. Away from the shore, the Ironborn were not strong fighters, and instead they contented themselves with their typical occupation: looting and burning the camp the enemy had left behind.

As Nyarko's blessing left him, Theon slumped to the ground, choking and gasping for breath as he reformed into his natural shape. He spat up salt water and ichor, then wiped his mouth and stood, glancing around him. To his shock and dismay, he found a great black dragon with a silver-haired dragon lord perched atop it looming over him.

"Er, greetings. Viserys Targaryen, I presume?" Theon called.

"Who's asking?" the man asked suspiciously, and the dragon rumbled dangerously.

Theon stood up, saluting with his fist to chest. "Theon Greyjoy, High Priest of the Drowned Goddess. We have come to aid you against the Lord of Light and his minions."

"Oh. Well, thanks for that. I was a bit worried when I saw the giant tentacle monsters, but I suppose the enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that," Viserys commented, still studying Theon closely.

"The Drowned Goddess stands with the Seven against the Lord of Light and the Great Other once more," Theon said firmly, sweat trickling down his back as the dragon continued to study him more like a meal than a man. Though to a dragon, those could be much the same thing.

"Yes, yes, I'm well versed in the religious angle. Say, I don't suppose you're single, are you?"

"I am... unwed," Theon said carefully, not sure of where Viserys Targaryen was going with this.

Viserys nodded to himself, as if deciding something. "You're not bad in a fight, quite the warrior, eh?"

"I am chosen of Nyarko-san, and my blood is salt and iron!" Theon proclaimed, puffing out his chest despite feeling queasy and more than a little afraid of the dragon.

"Capital! Would you like to marry my sister? She's in need of a 'Big Bro' and I can't think of a more suitable candidate than you," Viserys suggested.

"Marry- but she's to be the queen!" Theon gasped.

"Yes, obviously. But I think you'd make a wonderful prince consort," Viserys said seriously.

To Theon's astonishment, the dragon rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, a puff of smoke emanating from his nostrils.

"Oh don't give me that, Belzerg. He's as good a choice as anyone. I'm sure my little sister would love to-"

"There you are Big Bro!" a chipper voice called, and Theon turned, then gasped as Iris Targaryen strode out of the fog and smoke, smiling up at Viserys. The dragon lowered his head, and the girl-queen giggled and affectionately petted the great black head. "Good job, Belzerg! You kept Big Bro safe!"

"Er, greetings, sister. This is, ah, Theon Greyjoy. You should have seen him fight, he's quite the warrior," Viserys said nervously, actually leaning away from the girl who wouldn't have come up to his shoulder.

"Your Grace, it is an honor to meet you," Theon said, kneeling this time. "I would have you treat with my sister, Lady Claire Greyjoy. She would see you return to Westeros and reclaim your birthright, then lead us to victory against the Kinslayer."

"The Kinslayer?" Iris asked, stepping towards Theon. Her sword was bloody and unsheathed, with Iris instead resting the blade that was bigger than she was on one shoulder.

"The Great Other rises again. Dead things stir, and the mists hold the Kvaldir once more," Theon reported. "We have need of Targaryen heroes to aid us. We had hoped you, and, er, your brother would come to our aid."

"You should definitely go, Iris," Viserys said hastily. "I'll stay here and secure a line of supply, make sure Meereen doesn't fall back into the hands of the Red Priests and all that. I'm sure Jorah and Commander Connington would love to go as well, they seem rather into fighting monsters and all that, and you can be Queen and-"

"Big Bro, if I go, you're coming with me," Iris said firmly. "You're the one who's supposed to sit the Iron Throne."

"Ah. Well, I suppose we can talk about it," Viserys sighed, sliding off of the dragon and wincing slightly as he hit the ground.

"Yes! You'll be a fantastic King, Big Bro! I saw you fighting today, you were being brave! We'll make a good king out of you yet!"

Theon blinked, looking from Viserys, to Iris, then back to Viserys. He sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy.

Later, as Iris talked with Claire and Rain about their return, Theon sidled up to Viserys, who was drinking some wine that had been plundered from the Red Host.

"My sister is a Child of Destiny too," Theon told Viserys as he sat down on an overturned barrel.

Viserys paused in trying to find the bottom of his wine cup, and looked up. "Oh?"

"Yes. I am... familiar with how... overwhelming... being related to someone like Iris must be," Theon offered. "Though I can't marry your sister."

"Don't tell me yours wants to bed you too," Viserys grumbled, looking forlornly into his mostly empty cup.

"What!? No! Don't be-" Theon cut himself off from saying disgusting, remembering too late the rather long history the Targaryens had of marrying their own siblings. And very deliberately suppressing all memory of the time he'd tried to hire Claire as a whore.

"Disgusting? I think it is," Viserys grumbled as he poured himself a glass of wine. He looked over at the three women, who even here on the field of victory were planning their next campaign. Viserys took a long pull from his cup, then rested his head on one hand. "I'm not cut out to be king, you know. I just want to live a peaceful life, of study and reflection."

"Like a Maester?" Theon asked incredulously.

"Exactly. Just drop me off in Old Town when we sail for Westeros," Viserys agreed.

"You know... you know they can't have a woman, right?" Theon said slowly.

"A sacrifice I am willing to make." Viserys stood up, then glanced around. "You know, I bet we could find a woman or two in this confusion. Iris will be distracted for hours by this. It's been ages since I managed to sneak away and have a whore or two. What do you say? The women of Meereen must be grateful we just saved them. I'm certain we could find a couple willing to show us just how much."

"Well I-" Theon began, thinking of his own love for Nyarko, strange as it was, as well as Iris's unnatural obsession with her brother.

"Come on, live a little. You said you're not even married yet," Viserys chuckled, throwing an arm around Theon and passing him a bottle of wine as he steered them towards the city.

"I am betrothed," Theon protested weakly, then took a long pull from the wine. It wasn't the best vintage, but victory did make it taste rather sweet.

"All the more reason to get your philandering done before then. Wives are such a bother. Nearly as much as sisters," Viserys mused.

"Perhaps," Theon agreed hesitantly. Nyarko had been gone a long time. Nearly two months now. He did rather want a woman... surely she'd never find out. She'd never asked about his past lovers, and she'd had more than a few of her own.

"Well, we'll just find some out of the way place with some very grateful, very nubile girls," Viserys laughed. "We're all going to die when we have to fight the Kinslayer anyway! Goddesses preserve us, why did they inflict little sisters on the world?"

By the time they made it to the city, Theon couldn't remember any of his protests, especially not with a bottle of wine in him. As it turned out, the citizens of Meereen were very grateful to the Ironborn indeed, and when Theon offered to make a pretty girl his salt wife, she rather enthusiastically agreed.

Viserys, Theon decided as he stumbled into the girl's bedroom, was a rather capital fellow.