A/N: Thanks for all the awesome support. Special thanks to those who have been kind enough to take the time to leave reviews. Your support for this crazy crack idea means a lot to me and keeps me going.

Not only an update earlier in the day than usual, but this is also the longest chapter for this story (before I added the author notes) Enjoy.

Farwynd & Fire

By Spectre4hire

10: The Way

The priest of the Drowned God was not who she was expecting to meet. Not just a priest, she noticed his hands were bound and behind his back. But a prisoner. He had been brought to them on the dock with Ramsay Snow prodding him with the priest's own cudgel. The priest's hair was muddy brown with strands of seaweed woven into it. He dressed in wool robes of green and grey, stained by salt and sea.

Daenerys knew she had much to learn about the Drowned God, but she found it odd how reluctant the priest was to be near the water. Shying away from being near the dock's edge, determined to stand at its center. More than once, she caught him sending furtive glances towards the water. She found her own eyes searching too, but the Bay of Pentos' waters were murky.

"Ramsay tells me you've been busy since your arrival to Pentos," Dagon stood tall and impassive. He wore snug trousers and a tight-fitting dark tunic. A gem cut in the shape of a shark tooth was used to fasten his black cloak which shimmered with sapphires and pearls sewn in the shape of a great shark.

"You travel with many ironborn, captain. I was merely offering my services to them."

"As a priest of the Drowned God or a shameless lickspittle for the Greyjoys?"

Ramsay snickered at the captain's question.

"You have been away from home for a long time. Have you forgotten your duty to-" The priest quieted in an instant when Dagon took a step forward.

"I have sworn no vows to the Seastone Chair."

"Balon Greyjoy would see you as an ally," the priest argued, "He'd see you married to his daughter, Asha, his heir."

Married. The word didn't have time to crystallize inside her before it was swept away by Dagon's brusque reply.

"I'm already betrothed."

"Her?" the priest gave her a scathing look, "This girl from the greenlands? She's soft as mud," he sneered, "take her as your salt wife. I'll perform the ceremony myself," he advised, "But as your rock wife?" He spat on the warped wood of the deck, just missing his bare feet, "thought you'd know better, captain. A rock wife must be of salt and iron, strong and blessed by the Drowned God," he shook his head. "Not some wisp of a girl with a tainted name."

Daenerys barely had time to ponder all the hate he poured into his tone at the mention of her family's name before he continued. " Stormborn," he hissed, "She was made of the Storm God's seed. He took the blood and flesh of all the Royal Fleet for this foul coupling." A spasm of anger flashed across his face. "She carries His name." His body twitched and she knew if his hands were not bound, he'd be jabbing his finger at her, but instead his fists shook behind his back. "She is a means to destroy all you've built! A seductress sent by the Great Tempest to bring down one of the Drowned God's greatest champions."

Her chest tightened. She looked away first, needing to see how he was taking in the priest's words. Dagon's piercing dark blue eyes and stormy visage were enough to make the prisoner take a step back. "You insult my betrothed," he said with a stillness that reminded her of the calm sea air before the storm.

"No," he shook his head, "I'm only providing counsel."

"Counsel?" Dagon repeated, a sliver of a smile appeared, a small sharp cut in his intimidating countenance. "What do you think of such counsel, Ramsay?"

"Pitiful, captain. He offers you a girl and calls her an heir?" He cackled, a noise that made the skin on the back of her arms and neck prickle. "Greyjoy has a son, priest. He comes before her." He then smiled, "Not that it will matter." His pale eyes gleaming with some secret that only he and Dagon seemed to know. "Greyjoy's afraid because skalds across the Iron Islands sings of your glories, captain, not of his." One of Ramsay's hands closed around the priest's shoulder making him flinch. "What songs has Balon inspired, priest?" he whispered the question like they were abed lovers.

The priest licked his lips. "Balon backs the Old Way. He will lead us to-"

"Victory?" Dagon supplied with a chuckle. "How many great victories has your master given us?"

Ramsay's mirth joined his. "He raised himself a king, but lost how many battles? How many sons?" The priest grimaced as Ramsay's grip tightened. "So, he seeks my captain's riches, my captain's glories to try to build what he's failed to do, what he can't do." He brought his face right to the priest's ear. "You're a worm."

An ironborn veil had been put up by the three men leaving her forgotten in their conversation. They spoke of things she didn't understand. Things I should understand, she realized, Things I need to understand. If she was to be Dagon's wife like he believed, like she hoped.

"You speak of Balon and the Old Way?" Dagon asked.

"I do," the priest stood straight as an arrow's shaft.

"Then you need to know the truth," Dagon said softly, moving closer towards the priest.

"And what's that?" He tried but failed to hide his distress at Dagon's advance.

Ramsay, who stood behind him, kept a firm hold on him, denying him an escape.

"There is no Old Way or New Way." Dagon lifted the priest off the ground with an effortless tug. "There is only my way." He said over the priest's squeal. "And I'll drag my people to glory if I have to." He moved him to the edge of the dock and the priest screamed, high and piercing.

Is he afraid of drowning? She watched the front of his robes darken, then heard the splatter of piss hitting the wooden boards. Daenerys noticed Ramsay too was staring out at the waters, but there was a yearning in his pale eyes as he whispered fervently over the priest's own pleading prayers.

"You do not serve He who Dwells Beneath the Waves," Dagon's hands wrapped around the priest's throat. "You will not be welcomed in His Watery Halls. There will be no feasts for you. No mermaids for you. Crabs will feed on you for all eternity for what you've done."

Daenerys kept her eyes on the Bay, but she heard Dagon speaking over the priest's dying gasps and gurgling.

"You who put the Greyjoys over Him. It's He who we must serve above all else."

A sharp sound broke through his words, the priest's throat had shattered. She then heard the thud of the body hitting the deck. She gathered herself before she turned around, relieved that the priest's dead face wasn't looking towards her.

Ramsay was crouched down, examining it. He guffawed. "Not a drop of blood, captain."

"Cut off the head," Dagon ordered coolly. His back was to them, facing the sea.

"And the rest?" Ramsay had already drawn his dagger.

"Yes." His voice was low and strangled. He didn't wait for Ramsay's answer or even for her before he left.

Daenerys didn't stay. She left Ramsay, who was happily singing some sea shanty while his dagger sawed through meat and bone. She went to her betrothed, who hadn't stopped for her. He continued in his direction without even looking back to see if she was following.

His absence made the memory of what she just saw worm inside her mind. He had made it look so effortless. As if he was lifting a doll and not a man. A dull throb filled her, but there wasn't fear. She felt no trace of it cling to her. She watched him kill a man, but she didn't feel frightened like she did when Viserys threatened her or hit her.

He spoke out against her, remembering the priest's words. His dark ravings about Daenerys being descended from a storm. And Dagon killed him. It was an odd feeling that stayed with her, filling her chest, softer than numbness, neither hot nor cold. He killed him for me. She felt safer when she considered this. Protected, watching what he'd do to defend her, to defend them.

"Daenerys."

She looked to see he had stopped for her. She smiled at him which seemed to surprise him, but he returned it. "I killed that priest because he was faithless." He looked past her, towards the Bay. "He was false." He closed his eyes and half turned away from her. His body went still, but she saw the tension in his face and then in a flutter of movement, he dispelled a breath, and his body loosened. He continued speaking as if nothing had happened. "He'd have our people follow the Greyjoys, and I can't have that. Balon can't lead us forward. Only I can."

"Even when you take a wife from the green lands?" She asked, while she quietly puzzled over what she had seen.

That made Dagon look at her. His eyes were sea green and clear. "You were born to salt and sea the same as me." He offered her his arm which she gladly took. Feeling safer and stronger when her fingers curled around him.

"He was wrong," she knew who she was, where she came from. "I'm the blood of the dragon."

Dagon laughed. It was not the derisive laugh of her brother, but something warmer. It made her smile. He regarded her with approval that made her swell with pride. "We'll need that fire, princess, to rule our lands and our ships. Ironborn despise weakness and expect their women to be as strong as steel."

Then I will be that. "Can you tell me more?"

And he did.

The night before she worried and waited alone in the dark in her room. Afraid, she had ruined her brother's plans. That fear followed her into her dreams, where Viserys had chased her, hurting her. She ran from him, but her body was ungainly. She stumbled and fell, collapsing onto a beach.

"You woke the dragon," he screamed, his voice hunting her in the darkness. She could hear him coming closer. "You woke the dragon!"

She whimpered, crawling through the sand to reach the tide. Its waters were warm against her bare skin, washing away the blood and the tears. Sitting in the waters, she felt she was being watched, afraid her brother had found her, she looked behind her, but he hadn't. But the feeling of being watched remained, she looked out towards the water that looked black glass. And that was when she saw it, two great bright eyes looking up at her from beneath the sea. Its shadow beneath the water, it looked so familiar and yet different. The word didn't come to her until after she had woken up: Dragon.

And now here she was in his solar learning all about the life waiting for her.

In front of her was a great table made from the hull of a ship. It was beautifully carved and painted with great detail. She thought of the table on Dragonstone, the castle where she was born. She didn't remember it, but she knew about her family's seat. It was where Aegon launched his conquest of the Seven Kingdoms with his sister-wives. That table was a map of the Seven Kingdoms. The one before her was only of the Iron Islands.

The standards were shown to see where each house lived and ruled, but they were almost all new to her. The first name she recognized was when her eyes fell on Pyke. Greyjoy, she took in the golden kraken, with its writhing tentacles looking on at the surrounding sea and land with quiet menace. "All of this?"

"Yes," Dagon answered, "From here." His finger tapped and then blotted out where the golden kraken had been painted. The castle of Pyke remained visible. "We shall make a new name, a new banner, and mayhaps, even a new seat and rule."

It was staggering, but she tried to hide her disquiet at the heavy expectations that were being put on her shoulders. A week ago, she was in Illyrio's manse, wondering why their host was being so kind to her, worried where they might go once, he grew bored of them. But now, she looked out at the Iron Islands table, all this land, and people she was expected to help lead, to rule. She felt a tremor in her chest.

I am the blood of the dragon. She reminded herself, reminded how her ancestor Aegon had stood at a table like this one, looking at the map of his future lands, and made his plans to rule them. I can be no different.

They sat alone on a raised dais.

His seat loomed large beside hers. Its back was made from a broken mast from one of his old ships. It was draped in a white sail, worn and salt stained. The arms were propped up by ship wheels. Embedded into the back were two arching bones that were taller than any man, stretching out like great pale wings. Atop the seat a monstrous skull rested with a gaping jaw filled with large, crooked teeth. The eyes were filled by rubies, each the size of a small egg.

The two of them presided over a great feast where every table was full. She was sure there were more than a hundred men and women below them. Most were strangers to her, only a few she recognized: Gwyn Farwynd, Lonnel Tawny, and Ramsay Snow, they were eating at the closest table to theirs.

"This is your fleet?" she asked when their first course had been brought to their table. Thinking she was looking down at all the sailors and captains and soldiers of his many ships.

He smiled and shook his head. "This is my household."

Our household, and the words made her dizzy. She felt their eyes climbing the dais. Their scrutinizing looks brushing against her bare skin like sticky ants. She itched under royal silks. She thought the noise may overwhelm her. It rose up like some great tide, a rumbling roar threatening to drown her. She felt her smile threatening to crumple. For all the newly built happiness and hope in her chest to crumble to splinters and dust. Flee! The word burst through her clustered thoughts to become her sole focus. She could hear her brother's raging voice inside her, his violent threats, but it was the warm weight of the necklace that steadied her.

A queenly gift, she looked down at the uniquely cut sapphire with its border of pearls. The silver chain lay against her skin as soft as a kiss.

"For your love of the sea," Dagon had presented it to her before the feast. His promised gift, the fourth of seven. The gem had taken her aback, but she could not forget the giddy ripple that ran through her when he put it on her. His fingers on the nape of her neck had her heart racing. The shiver that twisted through her, heat and excitement coiling tightly together when his hand was on the small of her back. When he was finished, and he dropped his hands, she knew she'd give the gem right back to him, if it meant he could touch her, hold her just a little bit longer.

She held the sapphire between her fingers and breathed. I am the blood of the dragon.

The feast that followed was a blur for Daenerys.

She met many men and women, who would come forward to speak with Dagon and to meet her. The first would be the skalds.

She had never heard of them before, but they were apparently highly regarded and famous throughout the Iron Islands. Dagon had more than a handful in his employ. She made the mistake to call them minstrels in their presence when they had come to introduce themselves. They had stiffened, bristling at the word.

A beautiful woman with blond hair, dark eyes, and a smoky voice quickly conveyed her distaste for the word. "We're not southern singers." Those behind her, muttered and nodded their agreement. "We are skalds ."

Dagon had chuckled after they left, promising she did no harm. "They do not see themselves as bards or minstrels," he explained. "Those are soft singers who seek to serve only themselves, but a skald is considered a more sacred duty. They serve the Drowned God and our islands."

They seemed the same to her, but she nodded at his explanation. She could agree that they had lovely voices and she found herself fond of many of the shanties they sang. They did not just sing, but they spent portions of the feast reciting stories of great ironborn and their deeds and adventures. She caught several that were about Dagon, those she paid close attention to, or as best she could given the rousing tumult in the Great Hall.

After the singers came the scholars. They were led by a man who introduced himself as Irwyn. He had kind eyes and a friendly smile. She learned these men and one woman were working on treatises on several different sea creatures. And that a few of them including Irwyn had spent time in Oldtown, forging links at the Citadel before finding their way to Dagon's patronage.

The priests were next.

She thought of the dying priest, but a mouthful of wine had helped to calm her nerves.

His bone white hair was long and tangled. His beard rested just above his belt. Like his hair, his beard had seaweed braided into it. His robe was in multiple shades of blues, greens, and grays. She spotted red too before realizing it was a wine stain. Dagon called him Sharkey. None of the other priests behind him spoke. He had a jovial glint in his eyes until Dagon mentioned the dead priest. Sharkey's demeanor darkened, and he ranted about the corruption of his order. He then assured Dagon and herself that true believers of the Drowned God had their support.

After them came a heavy shouldered man with thick muscles. He wore chainmail with a large, black shark tooth emblazoned on the front. His arms glittered with gold and silver rings. He had barely spoken. She didn't even catch his name. He grunted a few times while Dagon spoke and then left as quickly as he had arrived.

"His wife?" She had asked after he excused himself to return to her at his table.

"His crossbow," Dagon had answered. He was the captain of Dagon's dreaded Drowned Legion. His best fighters, killers, and reavers, who he used as the tip of the spear for raids and battles. They were mostly iron born, and enjoyed displaying the wealth from their plunder and kills on their persons.

It was not all new faces. She had been glad when Gwyn arrived. She asked after Daenerys, to see how she was, sounding sincere, and Dany wished she could stay longer. But there were more courses and more people to speak with. Ramsay would come to their table several times throughout the feast, but only to converse with Dagon, coming to his side. His curly hair had been slicked back. During one of his visits, she thought he was hurt, seeing blood, but when he wiped it away, she saw no cut, only pale skin and wet hair.

It turned out not all of those attending tonight's feast were of his household. A pair of captains and friends had come to introduce themselves. One was a dwarf, who called himself Longjon. He captained The Silver Spoon. When Daenerys asked after the ship's name, Longjon had grinned and confessed: "I was a cook before I was a captain." The other was Ysabel Flowers, her father was a nobleman from the Reach and her mother was a sailor from the Summer Islands. Dagon said she had a husband waiting for her in every port.

"In some ports I have two." She winked.

She owned two ships, Tiny Dancer and Moonshadow, she captained the latter. When Daenerys had been told that she would be joining Dagon and the fleet on their voyage to Asshai, she had wondered if she would be the only woman. She was pleased to learn she would not be, and more so when she learned that Captain Flowers had several women who served in her crew.

On and on it went, she found herself getting more comfortable as she settled into the routine for the evening. The one thing she regretted that she was barely able to speak with her betrothed. With the many introductions needing to be made and the conversations with them, they found themselves with very little time to speak to one another.

The last were a pair who hailed from Westeros, a knight and a bastard. Instead of the expected introductions, they told a story which left Daenerys trying her best to follow.

He apparently had been part of Dagon's fleet for some time, hoping to earn some coin to return home to marry his bastard paramour. Her arrival was an unexpected surprise and came with bad news. His lord father had no intention of letting him marry her, but with help from one of his brothers, she was able to book passage to Pentos from Gulltown. And now the two had come before Dagon asking for a place for them.

Dagon gave it gladly, allowing them both to enter his services before he made the introductions for her. They were Ser Mychel Redfort and his bride-to-be, Mya Stone. They didn't stay long afterwards, both relieved to know they had a found home and could be with each other.

Their story reminded her of something she would have found from one of her favorite songs and said as much to Dagon during their rare reprieve between courses and guests. She watched the two find seats together on a bench. "What role will you have for her?"

"I thought she could serve as one of your companions for our voyage." He covered his hand with hers, which made her forget all about them.

Happiness flared in her like a lit taper. She smiled, feeling the heat rise in her face. She was vaguely aware they are not alone, that they are at a feast with hundreds, but she was so content with his touch, with his attention, she was happy to think differently. But then it burst.

"A toast!"

They do enjoy their toasts. She didn't understand half of them, but they loved to stop their feasting, to stand and rise, recite a few words and go back to drinking. Some had earned cheers others would earn derision, but their disapproval never lingered after a few beats of loud ribbing. This time she realized, they were turning to their table, expecting the toast. She felt his hand squeeze hers before he let go.

Dagon took their clamoring with a growing smile. He stood from his seat. He feigned to be deep in thought, playing it up for them. When he had a strike of inspiration, it flashed across his face before his smile turned sly. He raised his glass. "Here's to swimmin' with bow legged women."

His toast was met with a rowdy roar, men guffawing and thumping the tables in approval as they drank and laughed. Daenerys drank as well, watching from behind her wineglass the ripples of excitement go up and down the tables. That was when she heard the starting of a new song. An ironborn shanty? She guessed since she had never heard it before.

"Show me the way to go home. I'm tired and I want to go to bed."

It spread feverishly among the crowd, who quieted in their stories and japes, to join the song. Their slurred voices were kindling, letting it grow louder and louder.

"I HAD A LITTLE DRINK ABOUT AN HOUR AGO AND IT'S GONE RIGHT TO MY HEAD!"

They slapped the tabletops, with their hands or tankards and stomped their feet to form a heady tumult, but they maintained the rhythm for the song without the verses getting lost to the drunken din.

"WHEREVER I MAY ROAM, ON LAND OR SEA OR FOAM."

Dagon's voice was among theirs, loud and clear.

"YOU CAN ALWAYS HEAR ME SINGING THIS SONG, SHOW ME THE WAY TO GO HOME!"

Home, she thought while humming along. Have I finally found it? She hoped and prayed, but she wasn't thinking of the Seven, of the only gods she ever knew. In her mind's eye, she saw only the sea, and she kept praying.

A/N: When Dagon had Dany come with him to the dock to speak with the priest, he had every intention to have her see/meet the shark, but somewhere along the way, he changed his mind. Now why would he do that?

If Dany's dream seems familiar it's because it is. It's from the first book with a couple changes. I guess this makes her the Drowned Dragon? The Drowned Dreamer?

I'm going to be tweaking the ironborn culture here and there. One example of this will be drawing inspiration from Ancient Sparta and Vikings to have ironborn women have a greater amount of rights/respect than their greenlands counterparts. This will be one of the reasons why the Seven haven't been able to get a great grip on the Iron Islands, b/c the Faith has a different idea for the roles of women which differs from what the ironborn women are used to and they do not wish to give it up. I hope no one minds.

ASOIAF lore mentions the ironborn's love of songs, so I'm just adding skalds to that while also drawing another parallel between the ironborn and the world/lore Martin drew from when creating them. These aren't one to one comparisons so there will likely be differences of the ASOIAF skalds with their real-world counterparts. The skalds believing themselves better and different than southern minstrels is just the ironborn pretentiousness we all know and love.

"Show me the way to go home" is a song that's nearly 100 years old. Its music and lyrics were written by Jimmy Campbell and Reg Connelly. It's probably familiar to many because of its inclusion in "Jaws" as the song being sung by the guys on the Orca.

I put in quite a few easter eggs and other references in this chapter, including another one from Jaws.

Daenerys and Mya's friendship is incoming. Sometimes sense is just thrown out the window so this story can embrace the CRACK. I just like the idea of them becoming friends especially with Dany being completely ignorant of who Mya's father /

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire