Dany II
Dany paced across the deck of her flagship, too nervous to stay still. She'd sailed out of Sunspear with her fleet of Ironborn and Unsullied, leaving Prince Doran's knights and spearmen to march northwest over land with the Dothraki. She didn't have the room to take everyone on her ships, and the Dornish spearmen and Dothraki riders were best used for land battles, not sea battles. Still, she couldn't help but worry. Her Dothraki were under orders to not rape or pillage the lands of her allies, but if even one of her khals stepped out of line, they would ruin everything.
The Prince of Dorne watched her from his chair. Though his men were elsewhere, Doran had accepted a place on Dany's small council. That meant leaving Princess Arianne in charge of Dorne while he sailed with Dany, joining the council aboard the ship that served as her castle. Areo Hotah, his bodyguard, stood on the deck beside his lord, attentive as always, though there was no threat in sight.
"Your grace," Doran said carefully. "I needn't ask what worries you, because there are many things, but how might I help?"
"I don't know," Dany replied. "I can't help but worry. So many things could go wrong, and we're in Westeros now! This is where I've wanted to be for so long," she trailed off, frowning at the leagues of sunlit sea in front of her.
"May I ask why?" the prince wondered.
Daenerys turned to look at him, unsure of what he meant. "Why I wanted to come to Westeros? It's my home, Prince Doran."
"Yet you had never seen it, until your ship brought you to Sunspear," the man answered, watching her with shrewd, dark eyes. "What drove you west, when you were already a powerful queen in your own right?"
"Westeros is my birthright," Dany told him, wavering. It wasn't her reason, and she knew it. Recovering her father's throne had been Viserys' dream, not hers. "When Viserys died, I became the last Targaryen in the world. The Iron Throne is mine, by right."
The Prince of Dorne shook his head. "It's not enough, your grace. Your family lost the throne, and Targaryen inheritance alone means little after more than twenty years of usurper kings and queens. You did not come to reclaim a throne, but to win one through fire and blood."
Doran seemed to be asking a question, but Dany was not sure what he wanted. As she gazed at him, confused and silent, the prince signaled to his bodyguard, who wheeled him closer to the queen.
"Your grace," Doran said gently. "I have kept Dorne out of the wars of Westeros since Prince Rhaegar died on the banks of the Trident. I've been honest about my desires—for justice, for vengeance, and for a ruler who will be wise and maintain a lasting peace after the fire and bloodshed are over. I would beg you to be honest with me, in return. We are about to go to war against five—excuse me, four-and-a-half—" he amended, sending a quick glance at the Ironborn crew "of the seven kingdoms. What do you hope to gain from it?"
And then, Dany understood.
"I want a home, Prince Doran," she said in a near-whisper. It seemed almost shameful to admit it. "I've been an outsider almost all of my life. When I wasn't running from the Usurper's assassins, I was living with people whose traditions were totally foreign, and to whom my name meant nothing, except a bargaining chip. I've ruled people who wanted to own slaves, to profit from fighting pits, and all sorts of barbaric practices. I rule Dothraki, who think it perfectly normal to start a brawl at weddings and let guests kill each other."
Prince Doran's eyes softened.
"It's true that ruling Westeros was my brother's dream. I was never so ambitious as a child. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to go back to Ser Willem Darry's house in Braavos and live with the old bear. He's been dead since I was five years old, and I still dream of that house. I want to belong, and war is the only way I can return to Westeros. Any usurper king or queen would have me and my dragons killed."
Dany stopped. There was a lump in her throat and her eyes stung. She could almost hear Viserys yelling at her to Stop crying, Dany, you're not a baby! Are you a princess of House Targaryen, or a sniveling commoner's brat?
"Oberyn visited Ser Willem once," Doran told her kindly. "It was when we arranged your brother's betrothal to Arianne. You must have been two or three years old then. He said he'd never seen a happier Targaryen babe; he found you in the garden, collecting flowers for Ser Willem and sucking on a lemon while Viserys played in the shade. Our niece and nephew were not so lucky; living in the Red Keep can oppress one's spirits, even as children, and poor Elia was ill so often that little Rhaenys and Aegon were left in the care of nurses for much of their lives."
Prince Doran could only guess how Dany thirsted for stories of her family—not her mad father and his cruelty, but her sweet mother, her kind goodsister, Rhaegar's young children—but she had a more pressing question.
"Have I passed your test?" she asked quietly.
The man's eyes shone with unshed tears after speaking of his murdered sister and the children, but he smiled at her. "For now, I am perfectly satisfied with my choice of queen. And know this, your grace: as long as I live, you will always have a home in Dorne, no matter what may come to pass in the other kingdoms."
Dany looked at him, so overcome that she could barely speak. The prince squeezed her hand gently with his own. He'd donned gloves to ward off the chill of the sea and hide the reddened, swollen joints, though Dany knew his hands pained him greatly. When she recovered, her response was so faint that a slight breeze would have blown it away.
"Thank you, Prince Doran."
Their moment of peaceful quiet dissipated when Yara Greyjoy, aspiring queen of the Iron Islands, jogged towards them from the helm of the ship. Her dark eyes were glinting with excitement. Lord Theon followed, looking worried.
"Your grace! Prince Doran! Look there," Yara told them, pointing. "Do you see the flame?"
Dany looked, and indeed, there was a distant flame rising on the horizon. "What is it?"
"It's the top of the Hightower," Yara replied. "The tower itself is so tall—over a thousand feet—that the flame can be seen for miles and miles. We're about five-and-forty miles from Oldtown."
"It's one of Lomas Longstrider's nine Wonders Made by Man," Prince Doran added, looking at it with interest. "Although the current tower is fairly recent. The earlier fortresses were much smaller and made of wood. Some of the tales say that Bran the Builder raised the first stone tower, only two hundred feet tall."
"Bran the Builder?" Dany asked, curious. She had never heard the name before. The only builder her brother had told her about was Maegor Targaryen, king of Westeros and builder of the Red Keep.
"Brandon Stark," Theon explained quietly, noticing Dany's confusion. "The Starks have hundreds of Brandons in their crypt, but this one was the founder of House Stark, if the tales are true. The Northmen say he raised the Wall with the help of giants and the children of the forest, and he also raised Winterfell, and Storm's End with Durran Godsgrief, and possibly the first stone Hightower."
"Sounds like quite the legend," Dany answered, once again feeling the sting of her haphazard education.
"In any case, we'll reach Oldtown soon," Yara added, businesslike once more, "and that's where we'll find my kinslaying shithead of an uncle, and whatever fleet he's assembled. I don't know how he built one so fast."
"He's formed an alliance with Cersei Lannister, so the answer is simple," Prince Doran offered in his calm manner. "The Greyjoy fleet must have joined with the Lannisport fleet."
"That won't last, no matter what my uncle and the Lannister whore promised," Yara said decidedly. "Pyke and Lannisport have been enemies for thousands of years. Any Ironborn captain worth his salt would never trust those yellow-haired greenlander bastards, and they won't trust our folk, either."
Lord Theon looked embarrassed by his sister's crude language, but he said nothing. Daenerys nearly laughed; she'd been a khaleesi before becoming queen! Rough words would never frighten her or disgust her, not when there were so many other, far more terrible things in the world.
"Then, if Her Grace's dragons don't scare them off, and they truly are attacking the same place together, we may have to hammer at their weak alliance until it shatters," the Prince of Dorne told them.
"How?" asked Lord Theon.
"Perhaps we ought to cut off some tongues, like Uncle Euron does," Yara said in disgust.
"We need one side to turn on the other, showing that they can't count on their new allies in a panic," Doran explained. "If you'll allow it, your grace, Varys and I will command a small group of your men and see it done."
Dany didn't trust the eunuch alone, but Doran's involvement sealed the deal. "Very well. How many men will you need?"
"Oh, half a dozen Ironborn, and half a dozen Unsullied should do," the man replied. "Areo, take me inside, please."
With little effort, the bodyguard picked up the prince from his chair and carried him down the stairs to his cabin. Dany hoped Doran would make more use of Varys than she'd been able to thus far. There wasn't much information to gather while sailing without ravens, and the man knew little of naval warfare.
As the Hightower grew larger and taller, and the bay narrowed enough to see land on both sides, Dany and her companions finally saw the battling fleets awaiting them. Though the news coming to Sunspear had been sparse, Dany and her commanders knew that the Redwyne fleet had separated to protect the coast from Lannister attacks, and the Ironborn had joined their new allies, setting much of the Reach on fire between the Mander and the Whispering Sound. Though the majority of the Reach army remained intact, the Redwyne fleet had been much reduced, and would be desperate for relief.
"Gods," said Dany's Hand, shading his eyes to look into the distance. "She's given Euron Greyjoy the last of the wildfire!" he cried, aghast.
He was right. Dany looked, and indeed there were ships burning in an inferno of green fire. The nearest of them were flying Redwyne colors. Far behind them, between Oldtown and the defending fleet, floated perfectly safe Greyjoy longships and Lannister war galleys, as well as some smaller ships Dany couldn't see properly.
"Fire ships," Yara Greyjoy said grimly, putting away her looking-glass. "If we sail further into the bay with those coming toward us, we're all dead. It will be too cramped to maneuver around them."
Dany looked at her dismayed councilors, and fought the urge to laugh at them.
"Remind me, Lord Hand; what are my house words?" she asked pointedly.
"Fire and blood," Tyrion replied. "And that's not comforting at this time, your grace."
"You forget that I bring my own fire," the queen told them all, gazing upwards in search of Drogon. "I'll fly overhead, and ensure that any fire ships are ashes at the bottom of the bay before you come close."
"It is too dangerous, my queen," protested Grey Worm.
"I agree, your grace," Lord Varys added.
"What would you have us do, then, while the city is defenseless and the Reach is burning? Shall I wait on the ship, eating lemon cakes and playing cyvasse, while the people I mean to rule suffer? I think not."
She called to Drogon, more with her mind than with her voice. It was hard to explain how their bond worked, even to herself, but her child swooped down towards the water, like he did when he fished for whales. Rhaegal and Viserion remained high above them, gliding on the winter winds.
"Slow down our fleet. I'll clear the path," Dany said, then climbed aboard her dragon, ignoring all protests.
Riding Drogon was a delight, despite her purpose for doing so. The winter sun blazed above her, and the salty sea-breeze was bracing after days of a stuffy cabin. Far below the queen and her dragon lay the most fertile and beautiful part of Westeros—Rhaesh Andahli, as the Dothraki called it—as well as the engineering marvel that was the Hightower. For a moment, Dany forgot that she was flying toward an enemy fleet she must kill with dragonfire, and simply basked in the joy of soaring above the world.
But the flames licking at every seaside village ruined the idyllic picture. The destruction soured her enjoyment, though it did nothing to change her mind. It was time to fight fire with fire, and take back her father's kingdom. Dany urged Drogon lower, into the path of a Lannisport war galley.
"Dracarys!"
The effect was immediate. The wooden ship and its golden-haired crew alike burned instantly under Drogon's black flame, leaving only small pieces of debris and ashes scattered on the seawater. A massive curtain of steam formed where Drogon's fire had touched the seawater, bathing Dany with its searing heat.
Men on a nearby Greyjoy longship were pointing and shouting in alarm. Some tried their luck with crossbows, but Dany flew out of range as quickly as she dared. Her next target was one of the fire ships, devoid of people but presumably containing pots of wildfire. She ordered her dragon to burn it, and indeed, the thing exploded in black and green flames. The Greyjoy ship was too close; it, too, caught fire, and terrified Ironborn and thralls alike ran in a panic, hoping to jump overboard and survive in the water. Yet the wildfire spread too quickly, catching all but a few and trapping them on the deck or below it. For them, death by dragonfire was a mercy; a quicker death than the one awaiting them. Dany gave the order again, Dracarys, not realizing that she was weeping until a blast of cold wind hit her cheeks.
The Greyjoy and Lannisport fleet looked endless. Over and over, Dany bid her dragon dive, blast his black-and-red fire at a fire ship or an enemy galley, and retreat before anything harmed herself or Drogon. The screams of dying men became a wordless roar in her ears, and Dany ignored it as best she could.
If I look back, I am lost. I am NOT my father; I burn them only because they attacked my allies. They deserve to die.
As Dany swooped low for another attack, she caught sight of her own fleet, anchored safely away from the wildfire. Yara would not risk the ships until every last bit of wildfire had died. Dany hunted for her next target, and found the last of the fire ships between two Lannister ships. Drogon reduced it to ash and green flames, taking the two Lannister galleys with it.
Suddenly, Drogon shrieked in anger, and turned so abruptly that Dany nearly flew off his back. Only the reins kept her from death, and she looked around in alarm as she scrambled back aboard her dragon. The enormous Greyjoy ship approaching them had fired several siege weapons on its deck, striking Drogon hard in his left wing. The bolt had not gone through cleanly, but lodged in the bone, impairing Drogon's flight. He was bleeding sluggishly.
Dany felt her dragon's pain and rage as though it were her own. Every part of her screamed for vengeance, and Drogon felt the same; he didn't need Dany to give the order. Within seconds, his black flames had engulfed the monstrous galley and all of the siege weaponry on board, though not before another bolt had struck her dragon in the leg.
She knew her time was limited. Drogon had never been tame, and it was useless to ask a dragon to be so. Now that he was injured, there was only so much she could ask of him, and destroying the entire enemy fleet on her own was absurd.
Choosing her targets carefully, Dany approached another galley full of siege weapons, this one flying Lannister colors. They fired at her, and at Drogon, but Dany was more prepared this time around. A quick command to Drogon and the nearest bolts burned to ashes before reaching them, while the injured dragon dodged the others. Golden-haired sailors met their fiery end screaming, and Dany felt Drogon's fury beginning to abate. Soon, the pain would overpower everything else.
One sunken war galley later, Drogon had had enough. Dany steered him back to her flagship, landing on the deck with a crash. The largest of her children was growing too big to do this much longer, but that couldn't be helped; Drogon needed his wounds bandaged. As for Dany herself, now that she was away from the battle, she noticed the unmistakable scent of burnt hair, and looked at the charred ends of her plaits in surprise.
I'm going to need a wigmaker, she thought wildly. I can't meet the high lords of Westeros with a bald head!
The thought almost made her giggle, and she knew it was the battle-madness wearing off.
Immediately, Tyrion, Missandei, Grey Worm, and the Greyjoy siblings appeared, skirting carefully around the wounded dragon. Now that he lay so still on the deck, Dany noticed many smaller wounds from arrows and debris dotting his hide, and fought to contain her anger.
"What was it, your grace?" asked her Hand. "We saw something hit Drogon and nearly topple you both!"
"A ballista, I think," Dany replied. "Just there, on his wing bone. The bolt must be removed before he can fly again. There's another one in his leg."
Tyrion winced. "How will we get them out without burning to a crisp?"
"I will keep him calm," Dany answered, hoping her dearest child would allow it.
Queen Yara produced her ship's surgeon, an old Ironborn sailor with more scars than skin. The man trembled as he approached the dragon, but went to work at once, proving his bravery without words. Dany stayed in the dragon's line of sight, stroking his head and willing him to be still. He roared piteously as the Ironborn healer cut the bolts free, and Dany's heart broke for her child.
"Now comes our turn, your grace," Theon Greyjoy spoke up, distracting her. "You've cleared the path, so we'll sail into the bay and meet our uncle. Unless you can fly another dragon, you'd best stay with this one, far from the battle."
"I cannot ride Rhaegal or Viserion," Dany told him, "I don't have the same bond with them that I have with Drogon. But I am their mother nonetheless; if I give them commands, they will obey."
Or so she hoped. Her children could be willful at times.
Night fell, hiding the burning shores and enemy ships from view. Still the distant wildfire burned on the water, consuming the scattered remains of destroyed galleys. It would run out of fuel by morning, but the ghastly green flames danced behind Dany's eyelids, invading her dreams. Ser Barristan and Tyrion Lannister had told Dany of her father's obsession with wildfire, and her mind could now supply images to go with the grisly stories.
She would never be able to sleep.
The deck was not empty, despite the late hour. Tyrion Lannister sat with a bottle of wine, staring dully at the distant fires. Not too far away, Theon Greyjoy paced restlessly.
"You should rest, Lord Theon," Dany told the latter, quite hypocritically. "A battle awaits us in the morn."
The Ironborn tried to smile, but his missing teeth ruined what must have been a roguish grin, once. "I have little hope of glory in battle, your grace," he replied, courteous but bitter. "Sleep will not restore my strength, or return my missing fingers. The best I can hope for is a good death."
Dany wanted to pity him. His sister had told her some of the things Theon had suffered in captivity. And yet, the queen couldn't help but feel he had brought it all on himself. Was a man doing monstrous things excusable, if a bigger monster came along and did worse to him?
She was all too aware that to many Westerosi, she would be the bigger monster. There were no easy answers in life, she pondered ruefully, and Theon Greyjoy's past misdeeds were not hers to judge.
"What will happen, should you meet your uncle in battle?" Dany prodded. Kinslaying was very much frowned upon in Westeros, and yet Greyjoys would fight on both sides tomorrow.
"He will kill me," Theon said, unflinching. "I'm not strong enough to fight him, and he has already proven that family means nothing to him. Euron Greyjoy lives to serve himself."
"What about Yara?"
"Yara could very well kill the fucker," Theon admitted, "and I hope she does. The Ironborn will follow the strongest leader, and killing our uncle would prove Yara is the one, even though she's a woman. Then we wouldn't even need to fight the rest of them."
"You're a remarkable man, Lord Greyjoy," Dany told him, meaning it. "I've never met a man who would support his sister as you do yours, and you face your own death as bravely as my Unsullied."
He laughed, a choked, harsh sound in the stillness of night. "The Unsullied and I have more in common than you realize, your grace," he said. "And there are worse things than death."
A haunted expression crossed his face.
"For Yara's sake, I hope you live and earn much glory," Daenerys said sincerely. "For yours, I hope you find peace, in victory or in death."
The Ironborn bowed, silent, and Dany left him to his brooding.
Dany's Hand was not in the mood for conversation. He said only that he was remembering past mistakes, and Dany let the matter drop. Instead, she went to sit by Drogon, who was sleeping fretfully, his wounds clean and bandaged with pieces of an old sail. They'd had no other fabric long enough to wrap around the dragon's limbs.
The inner fire of her dragon kept her warm despite the chilly sea breeze, and Drogon's wing blocked the terrible green flames from view. With her child's snoring for a lullaby, the queen fell asleep.
Morning came too soon, with a thick fog over the bay that smelled of charred wood and cooked meat. Carefully, Yara's crew lowered a rowboat with Dany and her fellow noncombatants down to the water. Two of the Ironborn rowed them to the nearest shore, where Rhaegal and Viserion had lain down to sleep in a ruined barn. Drogon followed reluctantly when called, wobbly on his injured leg and wing, but lay next to his brothers without protest. With dragons for protection and the fog for concealment, Daenerys and her closest advisers waited, impatient, for news of the coming battle. Doran Martell read from an old book. Tyrion Lannister drank. Missandei paced. Areo Hotah cleaned his weapons.
The fog lifted slowly. At first, Dany saw only the shadows of her fleet as they passed into the bay. Then the sun rose higher, and the mist cleared enough to see colors. Black and crimson, for her own fleet. Crimson and gold, for the enemy. Black and gold, on both sides. Blue, for the remaining Redwyne ships. And far inside the bay, just under the Hightower, a single ship with a red eye sigil. This, the Greyjoys had told her, was the Silence, the ship of mutes captained by Euron Greyjoy himself.
It was maddening to be so far from the action! Dany had to trust that her intact fleet would be enough to take on the reduced enemy fleet, but it sat ill with her to stay out of the battle. If only Drogon were not injured! She supposed he'd fly if Dany commanded it, but not happily, and not for long. She must only fly if the battle went very wrong.
The sun had reached its zenith when the two fleets finally engaged. Dany heard the unmistakable sound of siege weapons striking wooden hulls, and the faraway screams of men. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Prince Doran remove a device from a pocket, and bring it up to his own eye.
"Would you care to look, your grace?" he offered a moment later, showing Dany a small Myrish lens. It was a beautiful piece of work, golden with intricate Rhoynish scrollwork and small, varicolored gems all along the tube. "I'm afraid that's the best we can do from this distance."
She took the lens and peered through it. The first ship she saw was one of Yara's, sinking and aflame. It was not Dany's flagship, but dread grew in her belly as she turned the lens here and there, searching for more tidings of the battle.
Here, a wreckage in Lannister crimson. She could see men swimming away from it. There, a half-sunken Redwyne ship, with a prow so damaged it looked like a sea monster had chewed it up.
There it was! She'd found her flagship, and it was still upright and whole. It was, however, very close to the Silence. Were the Greyjoys negotiating terms? Was the battle over? It had been a while since the last scorpion blast.
"Oh, this is so infuriating!" Dany groaned, dropping the lens. "They're close enough to parley, but who knows what they're actually doing?"
"You trust your Greyjoy allies, do you not, your grace?" Doran asked, watching her curiously.
"Yes, I must—but I do wish we had news!"
"Not a resounding defense of our Ironborn allies," the Imp said wryly, "but I don't blame you. They're an untrustworthy bunch at the best of times."
"So says the Lannister kinslayer," Doran Martell replied, in a tone that quelled any further japes.
"I am that," Tyrion said calmly. He looked down at his empty wine bottle and swore. "And yet, the thousands of years of bad blood between the Ironborn and—hells, anyone else—speak loudly enough. I hope your plan to turn them on each other works."
They waited a while longer; the ship's cook had packed bread, cheese, and dried meats for them, as well as a few casks of wine they'd hidden from Tyrion. It was more of a snack than a true meal, but none of them had the stomach for more. Doran's lens revealed no secrets, and the sun began its painfully slow downward journey to the west.
Dany was keeping Drogon company when three riders suddenly appeared. They were excellent horsemen, with pale skin freckled from the sun, and the colors of House Bulwer of Blackcrown, if Dany remembered correctly. They tethered their horses well away from the barn and approached on foot, palms up and empty to show they meant no harm.
"Your grace?" asked the leader, a middle-aged man with piercing blue-green eyes. "Queen Daenerys?"
"I am she," Dany replied. "What news, ser?"
The men walked closer, and all three froze as they saw the dragons. Drogon and Viserion slept on, but Rhaegal was piercing them his fiery bronze glare.
"He won't harm you unless I command it," Dany reassured them, praying she spoke true. She was sure Rhaegal had feasted on a whale only yesterday.
Recovering from their shock, the messengers knelt at Dany's feet. Behind her, Prince Doran, his guard, and Tyrion walked closer, just as eager for news.
"The two fleets engaged just before noon," the leader told her, "and all was well for a few hours. Some of the Crow's Eye's Ironborn turned on the Lannisport men, though it's not clear why. But Queen Yara and her men stormed the Silence, and were taken captive, your grace. The Redwyne men are fighting on, but the Ironborn will not move without your order."
"What of Theon Greyjoy?" asked Tyrion.
"Missing, Lord Hand," the man replied, clearly seeing Tyrion's pin. "Most believe he fell in battle. We were bid to come by two injured men that managed to swim ashore, and we rode in all haste."
"I must go, then," Dany decided, looking doubtfully at Drogon.
"Your grace, wait," the second rider begged her. "The men say the Crow's Eye means to perform some form of dark sorcery at sunset," he explained. "That is why he did not kill his niece immediately. He wants her blood for something."
"Blood magic," spat Tyrion. "First Stannis, now Euron."
"Sunset," Doran murmured, and twisted in his chair to look at the sun. "I'd say that's in an hour at most, your grace. There's not much time to plan a rescue mission."
"I agree," Daenerys replied. "I'm taking my children, right now. The sun will conceal me until I'm close enough to attack."
"But Drogon's injuries—" protested her Hand.
"I am well aware of his injuries, Lord Tyrion," Dany snapped. "But if I let Yara be sacrificed without a fight, I will have lost this war when it has barely begun. And I know the power of blood magic," she added darkly. "Anything Euron Greyjoy conjures up would be a nuisance at best, and a nightmare at worst. I won't let it happen."
There was no stopping her, and her advisers knew it.
"Seven guide you, your grace," murmured the Blackcrown men.
Drogon was awake. Perhaps some of his mistress' anxiety had reached her dragon through their bond, because he lay his head down on the dirt and allowed Dany to climb. In her haste, she clipped his injured wing with her booted foot, making him groan weakly, but he allowed her to take a seat on his back.
"Drogon! Viserion! Rhaegal!" Dany commanded. "Sōvēs!"
The dragons rose; Drogon did so a little slower and a little more precarious than his brothers, but he seemed to regain his confidence once they were high enough to glide. The sun was traveling steadily toward the western horizon, and Dany used this to hide, knowing any sailors foolish enough to look directly toward the sun would be momentarily blinded, and unable to see her or her children.
The nearest ships were Yara's. Dany flew directly over them, ignoring the shouting of the Ironborn below. Some sprang into action, clearly believing that she was about to rescue their queen. Good. It would save time if they acted now, instead of waiting for Dany to deliver Yara into their arms.
The next cluster of ships bore Lannister colors. Dany ordered her dragons to burn them, and announce her arrival. They obeyed in spectacular fashion, but Dany urged Drogon forward, toward the Silence.
"And now my day is complete!" Dany heard, abnormally loud. A man dressed in black seemed to be shouting at her through a speaking trumpet. As soon as she saw the eyepatch, she knew it was Euron.
Yara and an old man Dany didn't know were bound and gagged at his feet. Behind him, in the arms of a scarred, mute captor, Theon Greyjoy thrashed weakly, bruised and gagged as well.
"Welcome, Daenerys Targaryen, Jelmāzmo, Muña Zaldrīzoti!" he called, grinning up at Dany. He'd called her Stormborn and Mother of Dragons in a surprisingly good High Valyrian accent. "Please, do join us aboard my ship. I would like for you to witness this glorious event."
"And what is this glorious event?" Dany shouted, allowing Drogon to perch on the bowstrip. Viserion landed on the crow's nest with a thump that made the whole ship sway, while Rhaegal found Yara's abandoned rowboat and sat on it. It nearly buckled from the dragon's weight.
"Well," the Crow's Eye replied pleasantly, "I'm rectifying a great injustice, your grace. You have your sigils made flesh, as did the unworthy Starks," he paused for effect. "But where is mine? Krakens are not real, you say? Krakens haven't been seen in centuries? I say that is greenlander horseshit!"
His crew of mutes could not cheer, but they raised their sword-hands in unison.
"But a kraken demands a sacrifice before he appears, and I am happy to oblige. What beast could refuse the blood of kings?" he said, nudging the old man with his boot, "or queens?" he added mockingly, as he gave Yara a vicious kick.
"One word to my dragons and you would burn before summoning your precious kraken," Daenerys threatened, her voice cracking as she was forced to shout again.
Euron Greyjoy grinned. "And your pretender queen and ally would burn with me," he replied. "Who will fight for Daenerys Targaryen if she kills her own friends with dragonfire?"
He was right, curse him. She had no guarantee that her Ironborn would follow her without Yara or Theon, and it would set a terrible precedent to let her first Westerosi ally die.
"Name your terms," Dany yelled through gritted teeth. She was running out of time. Behind her, the sun had become a thin sliver of orange fire above the horizon.
"I knew you'd see reason," the Crow's Eye said pleasantly. "I want Harrenhal rebuilt and gifted to me," he began, his lips twisted in a smirk even as he spoke. "I want all of the books about magic and the obscure arts in the Citadel. I want Daenerys Targaryen for a rock wife, and Cersei Lannister and Sansa Stark for salt wives. I want the sword Blackfyre found and given to me...and I'll take one of your dragons, as well."
Bile rose in Dany's throat. "Impossible."
Euron Greyjoy blinked, his face frozen in a smug sort of grin. Could he really be surprised? There was no chance in the seven hells that Dany would ever acquiesce to his demands, and surely he knew it!
Then he moved.
"Very well, then."
A thin slave dressed in ragged clothing stood near the Crow's Eye, holding a crimson horn. Euron took it, and laid it on the deck near Yara's head. Then, before Dany could shout or do anything, the madman picked up Yara by her hair and slit her throat. The old man followed her into the Stranger's arms.
Dany's wordless scream of horror joined Theon Greyjoy's muffled one, but it was too late. The kinslayer allowed their blood to drip, brilliantly crimson, onto the horn of the same color, and then kicked the corpses overboard with a maddeningly cheerful laugh.
"Goodbye, niece! Goodbye, Damphair!"
Then he commanded the thrall to approach, and returned the horn to his shaking hands. Trembling from head to foot, the man blew it, and the sound made her dragons wail in agony. Dany wished she could, too. Most of Euron's mutes had covered their ears, but it was not enough. They were wincing in pain.
The slave began to bleed from the nose and ears, then he fell, screaming wordlessly. Before Dany's terrified eyes, the man's skin blackened as if the horn had burned him from the inside out. It took him seconds to die.
Euron picked up the abandoned horn and dusted it off, still grinning carelessly.
"Amazing, the artifacts one finds while out reaving," he said, satisfied. "The Celtigars kept this one hidden from us for centuries, but now that the Crownlands and the Ironborn are allies..." he shrugged. "Well, it's the dawn of a new age."
Dany didn't know which god to pray to first, so she cast her prayer in the hope that one would hear and grant it. Please, let it fail, she thought desperately. Let the krakens stay in the depths.
But no god was listening. The dark sea beneath them began to churn, and then, the enormous head of a monster appeared, its hideous mouth wide open and hungry.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed and messaged me! Your comments make my day, even if it's been three months since my last update (or more). I hope that hit the spot. Next time, we'll go back to the North and see what the Starks are up to, but we'll return to Oldtown and see what happens with Euron's kraken soon enough!