I'm making two uploads today, because I have a lot of stuff that needs to get done over the next few days.

And no, I am not going to force myself to an upload schedule. That would simply burn me out.

Enjoy. You won't be getting anything more for a bit.

Victarion Greyjoy stood at the fore of his longship, as they plowed through the waves to near the great city. Mereen stood tall and mighty before them, with high walls and gleaming pyramids, and siege lines all around it. Sacrifices were made to the Lord of Light and the Drowned God, and Moqorro watched the flames for signs and portents as they grew ever closer.

"Turn back," came the Priest's voice, as they neared the shore, less than four hundred yards away. "Turn back. Do not make landing today."

"Why not?" Victarion asked. "The Drowned God is on my side. Do I need the blessings of a second?"

"Your Drowned God is a demon, a servant of the Great Other," the priest retorted in a tone that related boredom, repeating himself as he had done a dozen times before. "Only the light of the Lord of Light can show the way, and the flames tell me that you must not land today."

They were very close now, only two hundred yards from beaching their ships, when Victarion saw what was wrong. Pyres burned all about, funeral pyres. "HALT!" He bellowed. "BACK WATER! REVERSE!" The drummers relayed the orders and the fleet leaped to attention, driving their oars into the water and churning the waves as they brought their crafts to a slow speed and began to turn them about. Victarion knew immediately what would have occured if he had landed - bodies being burnt meant disease, horrible disease, and while no Ironborn feared death in battle, death by dysentery or the flux was something vile and shameful, and its victims were not sung about, but forgotten. Diseases would wipe out entire armies if they got rhe chance, and with his men surviving on little other than dry bread and salt pork, they would not likely be strong enough for many to fight should they sicken.

Moqorro smiled. "The Flames have saved your life once again."

Victarion shrugged him off. "What is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger." He may not have been a man to argue religion, but he knew what he needed say then. After all, what Ironborn has not felt the touch of the Drowned God?

Moqorro laughed at him again, but this time, he said nothing aloud. He gazed into the flames long and hard once again, and it was a long while before he spoke again.

"I had a vision," he said. "A horse smote the Kraken."

"You had no such vision," Victarion replied. "The Drowned God's favor rests upon me, for I am an Ironborn."

"Gaze into the flames yourself, and you shall break free from the madness that captures many a man in her clutches. Do it!"

The Iron Captain shook his head. "I should have you thrown overboard for these heresies. I will not abide by them."

"You can do with me nothing that the Lord of Light does not see fit," replied the Priest. "Though the watery depths may yet extinguish the flame that is my body, I fear not death, just as you, who claim to await it joyously and envy the fallen."

"I do not await it joyously," Victarion corrected. "I prepare for it, and I am not afraid of it, but I do not await it with joy, but with calmness. There will I finally be free of my shackles."

"Regardless of your shackles, there is still the possibility, the matter of the vision I beheld. Captain, there is still time to flee."

Now it was Victarion's turn to laugh. "The Iron Fleet does not flee, no matter the foe. We will land and make our way at a distance to avoid disease, but to avoid an enemy because of the possibility of defeat is vile and shameful. We will meet them in the field of battle, or at the sea, or in any other place they will accept our challenge for battle, and if they do not accept our challenge, we will simply march past them into the city."

Moqorro looked long and hard at the captain. "The flames do not lie. There is not a possibility of either victory or defeat - it is a certainty of utter rout, the survivors of the slaughter of battle ridden down and slain or captured. Are you certain you wish to subject your men to such a fate?"

Victarion glared at the priest. "The Drowned God is with me. Cease this nonsense or you will be sent to meet him."

Moqorro looked upset, but he remained silent. He turned back to the brazier and stared once more into the flames, maintaining now his silence.

Victarion watched the men's faces carefully. His eyes roved from man to man, and he watched as they awaited his orders. Finally, he spoke, his decision made.

"You will sleep aboard the ships tonight. You are Ironborn, you should have nothing to fear of it. As you do this, know as well that on the morrow we land, and we will seize the dragon queen and her dragons. When the dragons come, as they inevitably will in the upcomimg battle, the horn must be blown. Not a moment before the dragons have been loosed is the horn to be blown or the attack to begin. It must be a complete surprise."