JON
The warm Riverland wind whipped passed his ears as Rhaegal let out a shriek that was echoed by Viserion. The sky was littered with whisps of clouds that rested just above them and the early morning sun that was rising in the east did not give of much heat.
Turning to look back, Jon smiled at the white dragon as he let out another roar as a flock of geese traveling south just behind them, squawked in fright and scattered to the winds.
Continuing his way east to Riverrun, Jon urged Rhaegal still higher in the sky. The higher they went, the colder and thinner the air around them became and when they flew so high that they disappeared into the clouds it started to become hard for Jon to breath.
Jon was forced to take deep breathes through his mouth and the temperature in the clouds was like being dunked into a pool of ice water. Jon resisted a shiver and encouraged Rhaegal to go lower again.
Perhaps there would be time later to see how high in the air they could go together. Jon felt a certain thill of excitement run through him at the prospect.
As they lowered their altitude, Jon saw the red stone walls of Riverrun come back into view. A sigh escaped his lips and a sharp sense of disappointment rose in him at the thought that their flight was now coming to an end.
Rhaegal and Viserion went lower still, until Jon could see the tents of the men around Riverrun come into view. The colourful tents looked like mismatched blanket around the castle of house Tully and the men and horses looked like little dots as they saw to their duties.
Jon had done his best, trying to organise the placement of the soldiers in such a way that they were forced to mingle and integrate between Kingdoms. However, he knew that they needed much more than that to finally let go of the hatred that had sprung up between them. What they needed was a common enemy that they could hate more than each other.
Rhaegal let out a roar as they turned in a circle, the wind whipping through Jon´s hair as they headed for the empty field not far from the castle walls and close the edge of the encampment.
He could see men stop in their tracks as they often did when Jon and Rhaegal took to the skies together.
The emerald dragon shrieked as they started their decent. As they continue to fly lower, Jon spotted Ghost sitting right where he had left him, beside Ser Brynden and the two dozen Targaryen guards that had accompanied him to visit the two dragons.
Landing right in the middle of the tent city and as soon as Rhaegal´s feet touched the soft, grass covered ground, the white direwolf rose and trotted over to them, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his ears perked excitedly.
As Rhaegal lowered his shoulder to ease his way down, he cooed and turned his head slightly towards Jon as Ghost rushed to his side and leaned against him, hoping for a scratch as a reward for his vigil.
Indulging Ghost, Jon walked to Rhaegal´s large horned head as he buried his hand in the white wolf´s shaggy fur. Reaching up with his other hand, Jon rubbed the scales of the enormous dragon´s head.
"Go on then." Jon said in a low voice. "Go and play with Viserion."
Jon felt a smile grow on his face as Rhaegal let out another shriek and took off to the clear blue skies. The gust of air that followed the green dragon tussled Jon´s hair and Ghost´s fur as Rhaegal joined his white scaled brother.
Watching the two dragons for a moment, Jon then turned and walked over to the lord commander who had an amused look on his face. "Enjoyed your flight, your grace?"
"Always, Ser Brynden." As he closed the distance between them, Jon was acutely aware of the soldiers staring at him as he grabbed the reins offered by the lord commander. "Any trouble while I was away?"
"No." The Blackfish smiled grimly. "However, lords Theomar Smallwood and Clement Piper arrived in your absence. They should be waiting for you in the courtyard."
Nodding, Jon tried to ignore the stares of the men as they gathered around the edges of the empty field that the dragons used for their rest and pulled himself into the saddle of his ink black horse that he had been given by lord Manderly.
"How is lord Theomar related to Thoren Smallwood?" Jon asked the lord commander. He remembered the ranger quite vividly. The man had been aggressive and closeminded, Jon hoped that the lord Smallwood was nothing like him.
"A cousin, twice removed I believe." Ser Brynden said as slowly made their way to Riverrun through the encampment at a walk as they men cheered and pointed at them. Jon could hear his name called from all directions and many of his new titles thrown his way. "He had a son who died at seven. His only heir is his daughter, Carellen a maiden of twelve or there about."
"What kind of man is he?" Jon asked, hoping that the knight would have good news for him.
"He was always ready to answer Hoster´s call, unlike Late Walder Frey." Ser Brynden´s eyes roamed over the gathered crowd on both their sides as Jon gave a small wave to the men who called out their greetings. "However, he is proud and has a quick temper and he did fight alongside my brother against house Targaryen in Robert´s rebellion."
"And lord Piper?"
"More even tempered than lord Smallwood, although he is not much of a fighter. He will be glad to see justice have done to Old Walder and Riverrun freed. I think that he will be eager to declare for you."
As Jon was about to ask more questions about the lords, a man clad in the colours of house Banefort, elbowed his way forward and yelled. "Seven blessings to you, your grace."
"And to you, good ser." When Jon replied to the man, the crowd grew even louder and more men shouted their greetings and waving their hands in the air, almost as if hoping to be noticed.
They made their way through the encampment, as the soldiers shouted and cheered, when they finally rode through the gates of Riverrun they were met with a troubling sight.
Lord Crakehall and a man wearing the colours of house Smallwood were trying to come to blows while being held back. The Wull of the mountain clans was effortlessly holding the newcomer by the scruff of his neck while the lord of Crakehall was trying to rip himself out of the grip of the sellsword Bronn, while Ser Jaime was standing in front of the large man, his left hand on the man´s chest as he hissed lowly at the man clad in brown, black and white.
The lords sworn to Jon had all come into the courtyard, filling it with colours and bewildered faces as they stared at the two lords trying to reach one another, forming a half circle around them, while the lord of Riverrun tried to calm the two men down.
"What in the Seven hells is going on here?" Ser Brynden bellowed as they pulled their horses to a halt. As the lord commander´s voice boomed over the courtyard, lord Crakehall stopped fighting ser Jaime and ser Bronn and stared wide eyed at them.
The newcomer, still firmly in The Wull´s grip was trying desperately to rip himself away and lay into lord Roland. "I dare you to say that again."
"Lord Smallwood." Edmure Tully spoke to the enraged man, his face pale as Jon dismounted from his horse. "Please, his grace is here."
The tall dark-haired man in the Wull´s grip turned his head slowly as Jon walked over to them. Lord Smallwood stared at Jon, his eyes wide going from Jon himself to Ghost who had latched his enormous form to his side.
As Theomar Smallwood opened and closed his mouth, horror written across his face, Jon turned to lord Edmure. "My lord lets head into the great hall. I am sure lord Smallwood and lord Piper are weary from the road."
Lord Piper, who had been practically hiding behind the gathered crowd of lords, rushed forward and bowed. "Your grace, it is an honour to meet you."
Two younger men followed the shorter, older man, both wearing blue, white and pink traveling leathers. "And you, my lord." Jon replied as they walked into the castle.
Lord Edmure rushed forward and fell into step with Jon. "I am sorry your grace. The behaviour of lord Smallwood and lord Crakehall is inexcusable."
"Do you know why they were coming to blows?" Jon asked the lord paramount of the Riverlands.
"I think that Crakehall might have implied that the lords of the Riverlands are cravens." Lord Edmure´s cheeks turned red with anger.
"As exciting as watching the lords fight one another in the courtyard, next time do take me with you when you go dragon riding." Arya popped up beside Jon, without making a sound until she spoke up.
Lord Edmure jumped in surprise when she made her presence known as Jon smile at his sister. "I would have invited you today but you were nowhere to be found."
Arya swore darkly, reminding Jon more of the girl she had been, rather than the young woman she was quickly becoming. "I was busy."
"Aye, I figured." Jon said as they entered the great hall. "How about tomorrow?"
"Really?" Arya excited look made Jon smile even wider. "I will be ready, I promise."
Jon was hit with a deep sense of wistfulness when he saw the look on her face. The reminder of their childhood in Winterfell, when Robb and Ned Stark had been alive and there were no worries about how the Others were marching on the Wall, or how to unite the Seven Kingdoms to defend the realms of men.
Jon took his usual seat at the head of the table and watched as the lords all took their seats. Except for the two lords who had almost started a fight in the courtyard and lord Piper and his sons.
They were led to the middle of the great hall and before the high table.
The early morning sun streamed through the high windows of the great hall, casting the newcomers and lord Crakehall in a pale glow as the banners of house Tully and house Targaryen littered the red sandstone walls.
Jon allowed the silence to settle over the hall as he studied the lords before him. "I must confess my confusion, my lords, as to why two lords of the realm were fighting like children in the courtyard."
Staring at the two lords before him, Jon felt like he was doing a bad impression of his lord uncle when he had gotten in trouble with Robb.
However, the method seemed to work on the two men, as lord Smallwood started to fidget and lord Crakehall stared at his feet. "It was nothing, your grace." The later managed to grunt as he continued to stare at his boots.
"Nothing?" Jon asked raising a brow. "You almost came to blows over nothing?"
"Yes, your grace." Lord Crakehall insisted while lord Smallwood said nothing, only nodding while glaring angerly at the larger man.
Jon almost snorted at the painfully bad lie. "Well since I have you here lord Crakehall, I want you to report to lord Mallister when this meeting is done. You and your men will be marching with the men from Seagard to the capital."
Lord Crakehall´s face turned as red as an apple at the implication that he would be working under lord Jason for the foreseeable future. "You want me to work under Mallister, your grace?"
"Aye."
Lord Crakehall opened and closed his mouth a few times before nodding in defeat. Jon gestured for the man to take his seat and turned his gaze to the Riverlords before him.
"Thank you for making the journey, my lords. I hope that it was uneventful."
"It was your grace." Lord Piper bowed deeply, his wild red hair sticking out in every direction. "It will be an honour to throw our strength with yours and fight under the Targaryen banner once again."
Hearing Ser Brynden snort quietly behind him, Jon opted to ignore the Kingsguard for the moment. "Thank you, my lord. Your support is greatly appreciated."
The doors of the hall opened with a great bang, making the lords all whip around to maester Vyman come rushing into the large room, the chains around his neck clinking with every step. "Your grace." The man huffed trying to trip on the long grey robes he was wearing as his wrinkled face was contracting with horror.
"Your grace." The man said again as he neared the high table. "A raven for you, from Oldtown."
The surprised looks on the lords faces mirrored Jon´s feelings rather well as the maester of Riverrun rushed over to him and handed him a small scroll.
Taking the letter from maester Vyman´s soft hands, Jon saw that the grey seal had been broken. Turning to look at the maester, the older man looked regretful. "I apologize your grace. I saw the seal and I thought it was for me. It did not occur to me that anyone else would get letters from the citadel."
Opening the letter in his hands, joy spread though him at seeing Sam´s familiar handwriting. Yet that happiness was only short lived as the hastily written words glared up at him, bringing news of death and destruction.
Clearing his throat, Jon looked up from the letter and looked over the hall that was filled with the curious faces of the lords of the North, the Vale, the Westerlands and the Riverlands. "My lords, there is news from the Reach. It seems that Euron and the Ironborn have left the West and sailed south to Oldtown."
Guilt pooled in his belly at the thought that he had sent Sam, Gilly and the babe to Oldtown, where Euron Greyjoy and his Reavers were now raiding.
Were they dead? Had they been taken as thralls to serve on the Iron Islands?
The furious looks were not just on the faces of the lords of the West when Euron Greyjoy was mentioned but also on the faces of the lords of the North, who remembered the stories that had come pouring from the homes when they had been away at war in the Riverlands.
The cursing of Euron Greyjoy´s name could be heard from every corner of the great hall, Lord Crakehall was even heard swearing bloody vengeance against every Ironborn that dared to cross his path.
"I SAY WE RIDE TO OLDTOWN AND KILL EVERY IRONBORN WE CAN FIND." Galbart Glover jumped to his feet and thrust his fist into the air and he was met with cheers from all around the hall.
"The Greyjoy´s will be long gone when we make it to the borders of the Reach, much less Oldtown." The Greatjon said, sending an impatient look to the lord of Deepwood Moat. "We would do better to ride to King´s Landing and hope to meet them there."
"Why on earth would the Ironborn go to King´s Landing?" The newly seated lord Piper asked with a deep frown on his face.
"Maybe Euron has designs on the Iron throne." Lord Banefort looked around the hall, almost as if seeking support to his argument. "They started in the North and then moved to the West and are now raiding in the Reach. If they keep this up, they will likely be heading to the capital."
"Or the slave markets of the Free cities."
Everyone turned to look at lord Varys, who had been standing not too far behind the high table. Gone was the heavy gown the man had been wearing and in its stead was doublet and trousers in browns and greys, making him almost blend in seamlessly into the background. "After Daenerys Targaryen conquered Slavers Bay, the price of slaves has risen considerably all over Essos."
"Are you saying that they are taking our people to sell into slavery?" Lord Banefort looked horrified at the implication.
"According to my little birds the Ironborn are taking a lot of people captive. A lot more than they usually do on their raids, I cannot imagine any other purpose from their actions."
"This cannot stand." The newly arrived lord Theomar slammed his fist into the table, anger shining in his eyes. "The Ironborn must be defeated."
"Lord Umber is right." Ser Jaime Lannister´s voice cut through the noise of the lords cheering in agreement with lord Smallwood. "We will never reach Oldtown in time."
At the fact that Jaime Lannister was agreeing with him, the Greatjon looked bewildered and seemed to hardly believe what he was hearing.
Jon steeled himself, knowing that there was only one thing he could do. He owed it to Sam, Gilly, the babe and the people of Oldtown.
"I agree." Jon said with a frown, making everyone fall silent and look at him. "Lord Royce, lord Edmure, how soon can we start the march to King´s Landing?"
"As soon as you wish, your grace." Lord Royce replied.
"Good." Turning to lord Tully, Jon spoke again. "Can you send out your fastest riders to meet the Riverlords still on the way here, to tell them to meet us on the road?"
"Of course, your grace."
"Ser Brynden." Jon spoke to his lord commander, who seemed to straighten. "I will leave you in charge while I am away."
"Away?" Dead and horror dripped from his voice as he felt the stare of every lord in the hall on him.
"Aye." Jon nodded and turned to the lords. "I will take Rhaegal and Viserion to Oldtown and help defend the people from the Ironborn."
THE INNKEEPER´S DAUGHTER
Her face hit the wooden deck of the ship and she felt the pain burn and her vision darken. Myrna could only barely make out the words that were exchanged between the reaver, who had pulled her by the hair to the ship that she was now held prisoner in, and another man.
When her sight cleared up, Myrna looked at who her capturer was talking to and was not surprised that she did not recognize him. Yet the man looked highborn, his clothing was far too well made even if he was covered with dirt and blood, to be of smallfolk stock.
As she observed the two men, a large set of hands grabbed her wrists so hard that she thought for a moment that the man who had grabbed her, intended to break them. No, instead the Ironborn man clamped her in cold iron and fastened the chain to the deck.
Feeling the horror and dread rise in her, a sob wanted to burst out of her and yet, Myrna managed to push it down, knowing that it was never a good idea to draw the attention of men like the Ironborn.
It was better to keep your head down and pray that they did not notice you.
Myrna watched silently as the Ironborn dragged more people onboard the ship, women, men and children; all were chained to the deck and forced to stand silently and completely still by their captors. When the reavers had almost filled the ship with prisoners, she could hear shouts and hollers from them; ordering the men to unfasten the ship from the small stone dock that lay in between two warehouses.
As the ship silently slipped from the dock, Myrna could hear something bump against the wooden hull. Twisting her neck slightly so that she could see what it was, Myrna was horrified when she locked eyes with a milky eyed corpse floating between the ship and the stone pier.
The body was pale grey and wearing the Hightower armour that she had so often seen when helping her father serving ale, that only seemed to make the man even paler. The ship pressed on, pushing the guard´s body away almost like a fine lady waving off a fly.
"By the Seven." Myrna looked up as she heard a young woman beside her gasp under her breath. Following her horrified gaze, Myrna felt her stomach drop and she could hardly believe her own eyes.
The Hightower that had stood for thousands of years on the Battle Isle had always been a source of comfort for the citizens of Oldtown.
Yet now, the enormous tower that had stood proud since the arrival of men was being bombarded with the boulders from the machines that maester Samwell had called ballista.
Faintly, Myrna could hear the woman beside her start praying and murmurs of how it was the end times.
"Quit your mewling." A reaver growled as he walked past smacking the woman in the face so hard that she fell to the ground.
Myrna went to kneel and help the other woman up but was stopped. "Don't you dare move." The reaver hissed, his eyes promising pain. "You move and you will regret it girl."
Clenching her small fists, Myrna stood still as a statue and averting her eyes, praying that the man would lose interest in her when she did not fight his orders.
The woman was still on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably as she asked the Mother to protect her. Her prayers seem to make the man even more furious as rushed forward and punched her in the face. "Be quiet or I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you."
The man pulled out a dagger from his belt and held it close to the woman´s tear filled eyes. He stared at the now silently crying woman, a deranged smile on his face before he walked away, tucking the blade back.
As the ship sailed towards the sea, the people who had been taken all remained silent; hoping that they would not draw in any more attention to themselves from the Ironborn.
Turning her eyes away from their captors, Myrna´s eyes were drawn to the Hightower. It was so tall that it could be seen from anywhere in the city as its green flames licked the skies above it. Until the Ironborn attacked, Myrna had never seen it coloured green before, as her father had told her that the lord Hightower only lit the flames green when he was calling his banners.
They sailed underneath the tower´s shadow and even when she leaned her head back, she could not see the massive beacon on its top, only the emerald light from its fires against the darkening sky.
Hearing the Ironborn shout out their orders, Myrna wondered if they were headed for the lands that the invaders hailed from. As a child she had been told that the reavers came from the Iron Islands and often took people as thralls.
She shuddered at the thought and looked back down into the Honeywine. More corpses floated down the river and the closer to the Whispering Sound they went, more bodies littered the water and the river seemed stained with their blood.
Myrna stared into the waters, unable to look away from the horror that the Reavers had created. Was her father down there? Floating and dead, at the whim of the Ironborn?
Was the kind maester Sam there?
Staring into the ever-reddening river, Myrna could hear the woman beside her start sniffling again, this time much quieter than before. Yet she could hear the woman mumbling the prayers that they could hear from the Starry Sept almost every day.
Regrettably it was not quite enough. The man who had hit the woman before came back, every step heavy and his eyes glinting with madness. "I told you to be silent." Growling as he drew the dagger once again from his belt.
His movement was quick as the blade slashed across the praying woman´s throat. Blood gushed out immediately as her hand´s shot up and clutched at the wound, trying to stop the bleeding yet unable to.
The woman gasped for breath, the chains around her wrists clinking like the golden bracelets Myrna had once seen the daughter of lord Hightower wear, as she road through the city on her splendid grey palfrey.
As she fell to her knees on the deck; the reaver grabbed her face and reached down her mouth. With a terrible sound, like fabric being ripped, Myrna watched in silent horror was the reaver tore out the woman´s tongue.
A cold smile grew on the reavers face as he held it out for all to see and with that grin on his face, he shoved it down the woman´s throat before tossing her body over the railing, her wrists still chained to the deck.
With a loud thump, Myrna felt her heart skip when the woman´s body landed against the side of the vessel and she could hear her feet kicking against the ship's hull.
"Let that be a warning to the next person who gets on my nerves." The reaver stared at Myrna, daring her to start praying or make even the slightest noise of complaint.
Myrna quickly averted her eyes from his furious ones. Staring down at her feet, feeling his gaze on her as she listened to the woman´s kicks grow weaker until they blessedly stopped.
The man growled again, walking away as a shiver ran down her spine as a soft sea breeze swept over the deck.
The further away from the Hightower, Myrna felt her hands start to shake with fear and her heart beat faster. Trying to get her breathing under control, Myrna took a deep breath and immediately wished that she had not.
Turning to stare at her home, she felt the burning of tears in her eyes yet, she refused to let them fall. The invaders would have no such satisfaction from her.
As they travelled further from Oldtown, it became easier to see the damage done. Houses big and small lay in ruins and the huge boulders had left scars everywhere in their wake, as a haze seemed to descend on the city, growing thicker with every moment as the smell of ash, dirt and blood lingered strongly in the air.
Despite the damage done, Myrna saw the Hightower still standing proud and defiant in the face of the attack by the Ironborn ships, that seemed intent on bringing it down with the ballistae.
Feeling the ship turn, Myrna pulled her eyes from the city and looked to the other side of the ship.
There, a much larger vessel was completely still on the water. It´s hull almost indistinguishable from the blood-stained sea around it. The figurehead was in the shape of a woman, one outstretched hand reached for something in the distance.
Beneath the woman, at the place where the sailors that visited the inn called the prow, two figures were tied. One was a dark haired man who was loudly praying to the drowned god, asking him to send the waves up and sink the fleet. The other was a young woman, who was naked and completely still, her wet hair hanging around her face, obscuring it from sight.
The ship Myrna was chained to sailed slowly beside the larger one as she felt her stomach churn at the sight of the golden kraken on the black sail of the other ship. If there was any sigil of the highborn that she had come to hate, it was this one.
Now side by side, the men on the other ship called to the reavers who had taken her and the others from Oldtown and a plank was placed between the two ships, so that the men could walked from one ship to the other.
Then the ironborn started to unchain the captives one by one, walking them, still bound in chains over to the ship with the blood red hull.
The man who had killed the praying woman walked over to Myrna with a sickening grin on his face. "Your turn, cunt."
As she unbound her from the deck, the thought of kneeing him in between the legs and throwing herself overboard entered her mind. However, she was forced to abandon the idea as she had never learned how to swim.
Dragging her onto the other ship, Myrna felt the chains around her wrists cut into her flesh. She bit her tongue to keep from shouting in pain, she did not want to meet the same fate as the praying woman.
Walking over to the other ship proved to be a difficult task, the waves causing the deck to rise and fall making Myrna stumble. Looking down into the blood red waters, she saw more bodies bump against the hulls of the ships, some floating facedown while others were staring up at the darkening sky, horror lingering on their faces even in death.
The reaver yanked even harder on the chains around her wrists, digging even deeper into her skin. Pulling her attention away from the dead.
As soon as she had stepped foot on the new ship, Myrna was forced across the blood red deck and was once again tried to a railing. The reaver that had dragged her over, turned to one of the crew. "Where is King Euron?"
The man did not answer, only turned and pointed to double doors on the other end of the vessel. The reaver growled and stalked over to the doors and knocked before walking through them.
Myrna looked at the other prisoners and it was now for the first time that she noticed that they were all relatively young. Her stomach contracted with dread.
They must be heading either to their invader´s homeland or to the slave markets beyond the Narrow Sea.
Her breath grew shallow with fear and her face went cold at the thought. The idea of being forced into slavery and live so far away from her father and the city that had been her home all her life, terrified Myrna.
She was so deep in thought and the fear had gripped her so tight that she almost missed the door opening again and the man walking out, this time however behind another man.
This one was as different from the other Reaver as could be. Tall, pale and handsome with a large smile on his face, Myrna found herself stuck by him. He was wearing black scaled armour and a leather patch over one of his eyes. The one that Myrna could see was as bright and blue as a clear summer sky, same as his lips that had been stained by some liquid she could not identify.
Ordering one of the crew, the tall handsome man strode forward and watched as the ships around the Hightower continued their attacks, with a wide grin on his face. "It won't be long now."
"What about the riches?" The reaver asked the handsome man, a deep frown on his face. "The Hightowers must have great treasures in their tower."
"You shall have treasures." The smile did not leave his blue lips as he continued to watch the assault. "You shall have the Starry Sept and the rest of Westeros to raid to your heart´s content."
He turned slowly to the Reaver, his eye crinkling at the corner and shining with laughter. "We need to show the people of the green lands what happens when they try and resist our conquest."
The Reaver said nothing, only stared morosely at the Hightower as if he was mourning the treasures that were beyond his reach.
From bowels of the ship, a few crew members appeared, leading three men who all wore ripped and dirty robes that reached their toes, their flesh was pale and their eyes almost dead. Like the tall handsome man, they had a blue substance staining their lips.
They were led to the middle of the deck and the man in the dark armour walked over to them, a smile still on his face as he talked to them in a strange foreign language.
One of the strange men, one with a bald head, pale eyes and nails black as coals replied making the leader laugh. He said something back to the bald man in the strange language, then he walked away from them as their capturers forced the three men on their knees, all facing one another in the middle of the deck.
The men stated to chant lowly in a tongue that Myrna did not understand, their words strange to her ears and she felt the hair on her arms and the back of her neck rise the longer they chanted.
"My King." The Reaver who had dragged Myrna and chained her to the deck walked again to the handsome man, a nervous look in his eyes. "Should we not wait until Victarion comes back from Essos with the Dragon Queen?"
The King only laughed; a joyless sound that made shivers run down her spine. "The Starks have their direwolves and the Targaryen´s have dragons. When my wife and Queen comes, I shall greet her with beasts of my own."
Giving his crew a nod, the King returned to watch Oldtown, his blue eye alight with joyful malice. The men, who had remained silent ever since she had stepped on board all drew dirks and daggers from their belts, moving as one they rushed to the prisoners.
Slashing and stabbing the Reavers hacked at them before unbinding them from their chains and tossing them into the sea. Screams and cries drowned out the noise from Oldtown and when one of the silent sailors turned his cold gaze to her, Myrna knew that she would not leave this ship alive.
A man walked slowly towards her, a snarl on his lips. As he raised his dagger above his head something large bumped into the ship, making the man and everyone else stumble.
The one-eyed King laughed as he stood, almost unbothered by whatever had shaken the ship and turned to the three foreign men and shouted at them in their foreign tongue.
A large hand gripped her arm and Myrna whipped her head to see the man with the dagger having closed the distance between them. He raised his dagger again, leaning close to Myrna and bending her back over the railing, making the wood ding into her spine.
Then the thing bumped into the ship again and they both tumbled over the barrier. Myrna´s breath left her as she fell and as she heard a faint splash, a crack reverberated in her ears before she felt her wrists snap.
The scream that ripped out of her throat echoed of the water and she was sure that the weight of her body was going to tear her still chained hands off.
As the tears swelled in her eyes, she could only just make out the dark form of the Reaver King leaning over the railing.
Against the ever-darkening sky, the man looked like he had just stepped out of the stories her grandfather had told her, about monsters rising from the sea to take and eat little girls who did not behave.
His blue lips looked black as they were still stretched into a smile and over her cries she could hear him chuckle. He disappeared over the railing again and she could hear the clinking of chains.
Then she was falling again.
The sea greeted her harshly and the last of her breath was pushed back out of her body. Twisting and kicking, Myrna tried to swim towards the surface yet it was like the water was holding her in place.
Then she saw it. Out further in the depths something huge moved. Dark and terrible like the Reaver King.
The creature moved slowly, like a worm in the rain only, big enough to crush a house. Then another appeared and another, until they were all around her.
As the enormous worms went passed her, a great, giant abyss opened, surrounded by yellow glistening horns. It opened ever wider until-."