A/N: Longclaw: Hi everyone. We're back with a new chapter. More and more awesome stuff coming, and we're thankful for all the kind comments :D

Also, just want to give a shoutout to some new GoT stories that I think are awesome: one's called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest; another is called Wolves of War by my good friend GulfYankee23 that's a post season 8 ressurection/reconciliation fic; one is a unique spin on the post-season 8 time travel to fix the past plotline (hint, it isn't Jon or Dany going back) called Howl of the Dragonwolves by my other good friend Elphaba818; and the other is a season 8 fix-it called The Kingdom of Ice and Fire by my other good friend WhiteWolf04, starts off slow but I have assurances the plot will be awesome. And don't forget my co-author's stories here and on Ao3 as well! All are really, really good! Check them out :D

BRuh4: Hey there people, we bring another chapter, how cool is that? We appreciate the support in the comments lately, it helps a lot. For those of you who've stuck around after 19 and 20, I want to personally thank you. We're gonna do our damnedest to make the best story we can.

Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 21: Dwarfs and Bastards

"My Lords, my Lords…" Try as she might, Sansa couldn't get the gathering of the heads of the Northern houses - or the heirs if they were still with the defeated army marching north - to calm down. Rowdy and informal, the staple of the North. For the southern-taught Lady Sansa Stark, it was something she wasn't used to. Casting Arya a pleading look, the younger sister motioned for Brienne and Podrick. Without warning both of the sworn swords drew their blades and slammed the hilts into the table, stilling everyone. "Good, I'm glad you can quiet down so this meeting can continue."

With the three Stark siblings arranged at the head of the table, the announcement of Jon's defeat and capture at the hands of the Dragon Queen Daenerys Targaryen had drawn the current fracas. A trail of blown mounts and lack of sleep brought Sansa and Arya back to a frazzled Winterfell - similar trails bringing in the other Lords as well… though many had already been there to begin with. In spite of Daenerys having freed most of the Northern Army, the topic of her forcing them to bend the knee had already brought them all to a frenzy.

Sansa herself was plenty angry for her brother's capture and great-uncle's burning, but she - and Arya, through Rickon was more numb than angry - but as the acting Lady of Winterfell she had no time to give into rage.

"What the fuck are we just standing here for?" Lord Cerwyn pounded the table. "Send the army back! We'll join with Stannis and roll over both the Lion Bitch and the Dragon Whore."

Lyanna Mormont glared. "You sure speak with bravado, Cerwyn." Her tone was icy, looking over the young Lord with contempt. "Did your bout of 'stomach consumption' heal so quickly after having to flee like a coward back to your castle after Northhill?" One taste of battle and Lord Cerwyn had sent himself north, claiming injury. There were rumors that spread like wildfire but no one had said it out loud yet.

His eyes narrowed, leaning in with his ire raised. "Watch yourself, little girl. I ain't no cowardly bastard."

"Jon Stark and Larence Hornwood were baseborn, and yet both of them were twice the man you were. My mother and sisters died at the Red Wedding more of a man than you."

"Are you questioning my bravery, little girl?"

The spitfire of Bear Island did not back down. "I'm not questioning your bravery, my Lord. I'm denying its existence."

Laughs came around the table from the boisterous northerners, Cerwyn looking like the vein on his head was about to burst. He surged out of his chair, arms splaying as if to threaten Lady Mormont. The Mormont guards stood, drawing their swords… leading the Cerwyn bannermen to draw theirs. "Shut up, both of you," Sansa interrupted. "Sit back down or my brother will get his direwolf." Sending one more glare to the smug Lyanna, Cerwyn took his seat as the guards sheathed their swords. Suppressing a smile - the same smirk that Arya wore openly and was planted on Rickon's face - the acting Wardeness of the North took control of the meeting. "The North is facing the greatest threat imaginable. Its Lord, my brother, imprisoned in the south by Daenerys Targaryen…"

"In short," Arya cut in. "Either you stop acting like children or I'll make you." One of the smallest in the room, she held more of a presence than even Wyman Manderly - and in that moment it wasn't a pleasant presence. "I will not have my brother dying because some cowardly highborn goes off half-nocked."

"No one would go off half-nocked, Lady Arya," replied Alys Karstark. "Three dragons. A battered army, no Lord Stark… we're facing the longest winter in a thousand years. Those men are needed in the North."

"And so the Dragon Whore'll just get away with it?" scoffed Robett Glover. At his older age and poorer health, garrisoning Moat Cailin instead of being with the army didn't look as cowardly as Cley Cerwyn. "What happens when she comes here to burn us all?"

Sansa clasped her hands together on the table. "The North remembers, Lord Glover. Our memories are long and there will be time enough to act on them, but in the short term we need to prepare for the winter famines and get my brother back." She leaned back, blue eyes giving away nothing. Jon couldn't have selected a better political player to rule in his absence and Rickon's lack of maturity. "Any ideas?"

Cley Cerwyn may have been chastised, but he wasn't by any means silent. "A raiding team. Hit the Targaryens on Dragonstone and get Lord Jon back - could even kill the dragons as Brandon Snow tried to during the conquest." He looked proud of his idea.

"And I'll take that as a desire to volunteer to lead the mission, my Lord," Arya stayed sarcastically, watching as his proud smile faded. "That idea was brave and foolish when Brandon Snow the greenseer proposed it and mad and foolish when you do."

"We have no one who knows Dragonstone's layout," reasoned Wyman Manderly. "Say we ignore the dragons and go only for Lord Jon. Any raiding team would go in blind." The man had been a formidable warrior before food and drink got to his figure.

The reply came from an unexpected source. "Stannis is the official Prince of Dragonstone." Walda Bolton - formerly Walda Frey - joined her sister Roslyn and the older brother that had married Tywin Lannister's sister as the only Freys of any title left in the Seven Kingdoms. Controlling the Dreadfort as acting lady on Jon's orders until her baby boy Rogar came of age, Sansa intended to have the boy warded in Winterfell. Train the Bolton out of him and cripple House Stark's old enemy once and for all. "He could know many people that can navigate Dragonstone."

Alys Karstark shook her head. "I doubt Stannis would take news of our forces bending the knee well, even under duress." She was visibly worried for her betrothed… the current Magnar of the Thenns - it was an unconventional couple but she was taken by him.

"I will not risk Jon's life," Sansa announced, putting an end to that discussion. "Knowing Stannis, he'll refuse to negotiate until he has the Iron Throne or do something drastic." Brienne's presence behind her, Sansa remembered what she told her about Renly's death. Even if Daenerys was killed in the same way… her men would likely take it out on Jon and she couldn't let it happen. "We will negotiate with Daenerys Targaryen directly."

"That's mad!" A random voice called out, and moments later many voices joined them.

"She'll kill us all!" babbled a frightened Ned Umber - Smalljon's young son.

"He's probably already dead," Barbery Dustin said flatly.

At that, Rickon looked at his older sister with wide eyes. "Sansa… please tell me that's not true…"

Robett Glover - from his perch close to Sansa - leaned in. "My Lady, you are Ned Stark's trueborn daughter. By rights, you should be Wardeness of the North and not his bastard seed." Sansa looked at him with a quirk of the eyebrow, concealing her ire at his statement unlike Arya. The younger Stark daughter wore her rage on her sleeve. Faceless men trained their acolytes to be emotionless, but Jon had always been her weak spot. Glover didn't notice. "The Targaryens murdered both your uncle and grandfather when they went south. Don't fall into the same trap."

"Step back, Lord Glover," Sansa said firmly. Once he complied, she stood. "There is one person for whom Daenerys Targaryen will not harm. A person who I am sure would accept the chance to journey to see her yet also represent my brother's interests."

"And who would that be?" Lyanna Mormont answered.

Brows furrowing, suddenly Arya understood. "You think the Lord Commander would let him go?"

"In exchange for more men and supplies, I bet." Turning back to the Lords, she allowed herself a smile. "They say Daenerys is the last Targaryen alive, but that isn't true." If anyone could convince the Dragon Queen to let Jon go, it was the mentor and friend that he had gushed about whenever they talked about his time at Castle Black… Maester Aemon Targaryen.

"Are you sure you wish to take part in this, Missandei?"

"I am." Despite being able to speak dozens of languages in perfect accents for each, Missandei of Naath felt the most comfortable in High Valyrian of all of them. A leftover from Valyrian colonizing fleets, the Naathi language had disappeared long ago, leaving it as her native tongue just as much as it was the Queen's. "Much as it is… distasteful, our Queen deserves someone loyal to watch the prisoner's interrogation."

Grey Worm frowned as they reached the door leading down to Dragonstone's dungeons. "You do not trust the dwarf, either."

Much as his fancy words and - sometimes - logical advice tempted one to trust him, Missandei never forgot how his treating with the masters ended up. Nor his last name being the same as one of the false monarchs currently opposing Daenerys. "No, and neither do I trust the sellsword."

"He's been a good ally. Protected Mhysa from Yunkai to now." Daario Naharis was not someone he was keen on trusting, but the Second Sons were as loyal to Daenerys as the Dothraki were - all thanks to their commander.

"I've known sellswords before, Turgon Nudha. Seen them put down slave revolts, threaten, rape…" Taking a torch from the hold on the wall, she met her lover's eyes. "You did not see him that night… when he held the knife to my throat simply to gain an audience with our Queen."

"The Queen took him as a lover. She wouldn't have had she not felt him loyal."

"I don't think he would betray the Queen." Missandei opened the door, turning to speak one last time to Grey Worm. "But to impress her, I wouldn't put it past him to do anything. Even the worst atrocities." A soft smile graced her lips as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Rest in my chambers, Turgon Nudha. I'll be back soon." Managing to coax a rare smile from the hardened warrior. With that, she shut the door behind her.

Torchlight banishing the foreboding darkness the black Valyrian-style walls draped over the steps, Missandei couldn't help but flash back to the events of the last few days. Watching as Daenerys landed Drogon upon the cliffs, hugging her tightly - one of the few allowed to do so - upon her safe return. The Queen had been quite… distant. Certainly not the triumphant conqueror arriving back from a decisive battlefield victory. Even for someone as militarily inept as she was, the scope of the Battle of Duskendale as it was being called was immense. An entire enemy army either annihilated or bending the knee, Stannis losing a third of his army and his best commanders…

But even then, Queen Daenerys' mind was elsewhere. And it took a day for Missandei to pry out why.

Jon Stark.

She found the specific cell rather easily, two burly Dothraki bloodriders standing guard outside of it. The Queen's translator and lady in waiting one of the more well-known members of her council, one of the bloodriders quickly opened the door for her. Letting her inside without so much as a grunt. Missandei nevertheless nodding at him. Inside, she found both men she had been speaking to Grey Worm about minutes earlier. "Lady Missandei," Tyrion bowed as well as his stature allowed him to. "We were not expecting you today."

Missandei smiled - the Imp was nothing if not polite and charming. "This was a last-minute sort of thing, Lord Lannister. I have heard of how this Jon Stark nearly defeated the Dothraki and Unsullied on the field of battle and wouldn't properly serve her Grace without getting a feel for him personally."

Idly sharpening his own dagger, two Second Sons behind him, Daario looked up to give Missandei a wicked grin. "Might be a bit too bloody for you, my Lady. Wouldn't want to corrupt your innocence."

"Our orders are to leave Jon Stark mostly unharmed," Tyrion informed the sellsword, crossing his arms.

"And that's what I'll do. Leave him mostly unharmed." It was clear their definition of 'mostly' diverged pretty greatly. "Still, is it truly wise for the dear lady in waiting for her Grace to be…"

A hand held up shushed him. "While I appreciate your concern, Captain Naharis," Missandei said. "It is not necessary. I wish to give her Grace my own conclusions." Daenerys had plenty of advisors and strategists giving her counsel - with Ser Jorah gone, Missandei knew that only she could truly give advice that was for Daenerys, not Queen Daenerys Targaryen. That, and she had to know what this Jon Stark was about. Who is this man that flusters the Dragon Queen and even tamed Drogon with nary a look?

Daario shrugged. "Suit yourself… just stand back by the door. It's going to get ugly." Missandei frowned but did as baded. Clasping her hands upon her stomach and leaning back against the black walls. "Bring him in!" the sellsword boomed.

From a side door - apparently the Targaryens that built this outpost were in need of interrogating prisoners as their longtime descendents were - two Unsullied manhandled a figure into the room. He wore a black hood covering his entire face, but Missandei looked him over just the same. Shorter than most men but still clearly strong. A grey tunic and breeches, covered in grime and dried blood. "Take the hood off," she found herself saying. One of the Unsullied obeyed instantly, ripping the hood off to reveal a man that had been put through the ringer. Bruises all over his face, scraggly hair, and a ratty beard that hadn't seen a razor for at least a week. Much like a hairier version of Grey Worm after the brawl with the Harpies.

Pushed into a chair, hands bound, Jon Stark stood straight. He was a warrior - a rather proud one, but Missandei sensed no smugness. "Tyrion," he said in a gravelly voice. From hearing traders out of White Harbor, the translator placed it as Northern. Suddenly, bloodshot grey eyes found her. "Who's she supposed to be?"

"You look better than before, Lord Stark," the Imp began. "This is Lady Missandei, the Queen's friend and translator. She'll be sitting in on our session today."

"Both you and the sellsword speak the common tongue," he quipped, eyeing Missandei curiously. Sizing her up as a potential threat - he was smart. "Why a translator?"

A laugh from Daario. "What makes you think that you would be the one to ask questions here?" He brandished his dagger, stepping forward. "Lord Jon Stark, Master of War to Stannis Baratheon the usurper. We still don't know where Stannis is going with the rest of his army. You are going to tell us."

Jon leaned back, eyes staring at nothing in particular. "I'm not talking."

Tyrion stepped till he was only inches away. "Please, Jon. This war solves nothing, only death and destruction." He placed a hand on his knee. "You've seen our Queen's dragons. She will allow Stannis to bend the knee and save himself as she did you and your army. Just tell us where he's going."

Making eye contact with Tyrion, then Missandei, and back to Tyrion, Jon smirked as best as he could given his split lip. "I like you Tyrion, and the… translator seems like she isn't a cunt." On instinct alone… Missandei felt it was meant as a compliment. The few Northerners she had ever met were of a boorish type. "But I'm saying a damn thing."

Unflinching as Daario approached, Jon appeared stonelike. Even as the blade neared to his face. "Where's Stannis headed?" The sellsword uttered slowly. When Jon didn't answer, he pressed the point of the knife to the soft flesh of his cheek. "Answer me or I'll cut you!"

"Another scar for the collection…" Jon quipped, drawing on an innate snark he didn't know he had. "Heard maidens swoon over em, so go right ahead."

"Swine," Daario scowled, digging the blade into Jon's face. "Dumb bastard."

Seeing the Stark's face contort, Tyrion stepped up, "That's enough, Daario." The sellsword huffed but complied, blade leaving a tiny cut in Jon's cheek. The Imp's hand came to his own scar instinctively. Dwarfs and bastards… "You have your Lord father's honor, but is honor truly worth this?"

A mere huff, Jon replied, "Honor means nothing if you never live up to it. My father's teaching means nothing if I don't live by the standard he set for me. It's true, you can say my father's honor was what got him killed. Say it all you want, but that won't change me. Even if it gets me killed now, I'd die without shame."

Tyrion chuckled, "Honorable to a fault."

To everyone's surprise, Missandei spoke up, "A confession would save many lives, from both sides, Jon Stark."

"I know," Jon whispered, hanging head a bit. "But I still won't."

"This is pointless." Tyrion huffed.

"Come on, we can't let him off this easy," Daario said, turning from Jon. Motioning to the Unsullied. They nodded, brusquely lifting Jon's hands into the air. The Warden of the North letting out a grunt as his shoulders were twisted.

"Look at me," Jon said to the sellsword. When Daario did, "Take every breath you can like it's your last. Because when I get out of this cage, I will slit your damn throat. You hear me? I will kill you."

Laughing, Daario suddenly buried a right hook into Jon's ribs, making him cry in pain. "Gonna kill me now, wolf fucker?" Another punch, this time into his face. Reopening some of Jon's prior wounds, causing Missandei to wince. "Where the fuck is Stannis?!" Now Jon laughed, leaning back a bit, though with a wince from the blows. In response, Daario crouched down and leaned in close to Jon. "Listen, Bastard, tell us where the Stag is going. If you do I promise I'll make it quick."

Slowly, the Stark lowered his head to face Daario, merely cocking his head askew. All went quiet for a moment, then out of nowhere, Jon spat blood onto the sellsword's face.

"Ah! Fuck!" Daario cursed, standing up to wide the crimson out of his eyes. "Bastard!"

"Not a bastard anymore, cunt." That earned Jon an uppercut to the stomach.

"You are if I say you are, Bastard."

As if on cue, three other Second Sons surged through the gate of the cell. They all surrounded Jon. "Hey, what is this?" Tyrion said from behind them.

"Oh, you need all these men?" Jon said, staring each of them in the face. "Just for a little ole me?"

"Daario, what's going on?"

"Don't worry about it, Imp."

Then for Jon, it just became red, the pack of Second Sons drew in and pounded on the Stark. Fists colliding with flesh of his face, and of his stomach. With his hands tied behind his back, he was defenseless against the onslaught. He neared unconsciousness, head flying around after a blow. Bodily fluid hitting the walls nearby, his face became caked in blood.

"Seven Hells, Daario, stop this!" Tyrion yelled out, gripping the bars of the cell ever tighter.

None of the men were hearing it, continuing the barrage of the blood.

"How you like that? Bastard!" Daario yelled at the top of his lungs as he gave Jon a fist to the ribcage. It began to look like an execution, less of an interrogation.

Tyrion turned around, looking down the hall behind him, seeing two Unsullied standing along the way he called out to them. "You two! Come over here and stop this!"

The two guards regarded Tyrion, quizzled expressions covered by their helms. When they immediately move, Missandei stepped up, "Come quick, this prisoner needs help."

Hearing their mother tongue, the Unsullied stomped over. Zooming past Tyrion and Missandei into the cell, a small separate scuffle broke out between the two groups of Daenerys men. Eventually, all the fighting stopped, and Jon was left alone. His body looking a lot more broken than even after leaving the battlefield.

Tyrion entered the cell, slowly approaching the unmoving Stark, "Jon?" When he didn't respond, even with a body movement or grunt, Tyrion bared his teeth. Glaring at Daario, he snarled, "If he's dead, I'll kill you myself."

The Sellsword held his hands up, but laughed, "I hardly think I'll get more than a slap on the wrist. He's an enemy."

"An enemy we need alive, you dolt."

Scoffing, Daario took a rag and wiped off the blood from his knuckles. "Sometimes you need a man who's willing to break a few eggs to make the damn meal. Needed that when fighting the Harpies. Needed that when executing that damn freedman. Needed that when getting the Queen out of Vaes Dothrak, and need it now." Seeing neither the Imp nor Missandei wavering, he sighed - motioning for his men to leave. "That piece of shit is going to be the bane of us, mark my words." Not a second later, he was gone with all of his goonies not far behind.

Tyrion huffed, holding his hands on his hips, looking Jon over. "He's going to need the Maester." Missandei spoke to the Unsullied in Valyrian, telling them to send word for medical attention. The two guards darted off quickly.

Door to Jon Stark's cell - a dank, wet one with many leaks and an unbearable draft - shutting with a bang, Tyrion winced as he made his exit. Side by side with the Queen's translator. "A rather distasteful business, my Lady. I'm sorry you had to witness it."

Missandei didn't look at him, but there was no real hostility in her tone. "'Distasteful' would be a quite… muted word to describe what I witnessed. Many slavemasters were fond of such conduct." By her words, she seemed to speak with personal experience.

"I know people with similar tastes. Some are dead, while others are still of the living." The Imp frowned. "While there is a sort of satisfaction at seeing someone you despise in that position, though I am rather fond of Jon Stark. Personally, not professionally mind you. In any event, this whole exercise was one in futility."

"On the contrary, Lord Tyrion. I found the interrogation to be greatly enlightening."

Tyrion glanced up at her with a curious look - brow raised. "Did you witness a different interrogation than I did?" He didn't mean to sound so biting, so he softened his voice. "Jon will never give up Stannis."

She nodded. "Of course not. I can read people, and would advise her Grace not to keep interrogating him about it."

"Then what did you find enlightening?"

Turning to face the Imp, Missandei pursed her lips - finding the right words. "I was stolen from home when I was young. Impressed into slavery immediately in Volantis, sold from master to master till finally being bought by Kraznys mo Nakloz only a year before Daenerys arrived in Astapor. They were all men of a certain type. Kind, cruel, it didn't matter, they all had the same… lust about them."

"All men have lust, Lady Missandei. I should know." Chuckling at his own jape, one look at the translator found her in no mood for humor. "Forgive me. Please continue."

"Plenty had the lust of the flesh, but this was different. A lust for power, for wealth. Just for more and more of what they had or what they wished to have. The Harpies and Slaver's Alliance, they held this same lust. By the way you describe your sister and the Stag King, they share this. A lust for the chair of swords that overcomes all reason."

Such was not unfamiliar to Tyrion. "The Iron Throne ought to be at the bottom of a sea of blood that has been spilled by those trying to seek it." He always wondered if King Aegon I ever intended for his creation to cause so much death.

"It was so common that I didn't even think twice when I saw it, but Daenerys Stormborn was different. From the beginning, I knew the Queen was… genuine. That she sought her power not out of a desire for it, but truly to do great things. I saw no malevolent lust in them, only a true determination." A sigh left her lips. "Daenerys has done many questionable things, and I'd lie if I said that burning men alive - even those that deserved it - sat well with me, but I continue to serve Daenerys with all my heart and soul because she is not like those greedy men and women. Because she is truly a just woman with a good heart."

"What does this have to do with Jon Stark?"

She chuckled humorlessly. "How he never gave up the usurper - even though every single factor indicates that he should…" Missandei pushed herself off the wall. "Jon Stark is my enemy until he bends the knee to her Grace, but in the entire time, I watched him I never saw one flicker of that same greed. He is as genuine as the Queen." With that, she left Tyrion behind to ponder her statement.

With a booming crash that echoed across the placid water, the corvus gangplank slammed into the wooden hull of the ship. Planks ripped apart with splinters shooting off every which way. The ship shuddered, crew of Ironborn and Dornish bracing themselves for the utter fury about to descend upon them from the massive Silence. Theon trembled, Yara pursed her lips, and the Sand Snakes readied their weapons.

There, right at the front of the Ironborn horde was Euron. Eyes wide and a smirk curled on his lips. The scorching wind from the mainland blew his raven locks behind him like a demonic flame, grinning like a madman as the sight of the great castle Sunspear burned in the distance. "Niece, nephew," he said mockingly. "Not gonna give your dear uncle a hug?" Replying with a snarling battlecry, the two Ironborn led their host in a wild countercharge, Euron's laughter roaring as his men erupted onto the deck of the stricken ship.

Barely seconds beyond first contact and the deck had already descended into a slaughterhouse of confused, vicious fighting. Swords hacked into bodies, axes clashing against spears as the archers and crossbowmen fired at anything that moved. The Ironborn siblings waded directly into the fray, killing all in their path, while Euron fought more than one at a time… always winning. Nymeria and Obara made a proper team, the former immobilizing reavers with her whip for the latter to spear them through. The younger Sand Snake hissed as an arrow cut her, whip lashing out to wrap around the neck of the Ironborn bowmen. "Obara, now!" Her sister raised her spear...

In a flash, Euron buried his ax in the head of Obara, splitting the brain wide open. Flesh and gray matter all over Euron and his blade, caking his face. The Sand Snake simply fell backward, unmoving. Nymeria screamed at the sight, quickly drawing a knife to finish her captive before turning fully to face Euron. Seeing her sibling fall dead, skull split open like a melon.

Euron barred his bloody teeth, grinning, "That was too easy." Then he snapped his head toward Nymeria, witnessing her face contort, "Ooh… I'm sorry, doesn't that make you wanna cry?" He grabbed the dead Sand Snake what's left of her skull, "Don't worry, you'll be with her soon."

Nymeria charged, screaming, "Bastard! I'll kill you!"

In response, The Greyjoy Lord tossed the sister's dead corpse in the girl's direction. The body took Nymeria to the deck, covering her in her sister's crimson. The weight of the corpse held Nymeria down, unable to get up. Only able to whine quietly as Euron rose up over her, towering, laughing.

"You dumb bitch! You fell for the dead body throw?!" He belly laughed, resting his boot on Obara's back, forcing more and more weight onto Nymeria. "What a stupid cunt." Many of his men gathered around, having dealt with many of the crewmates - the fleet had been ambushed as they were in port, the battle trained reavers of Euron's forces butchering them rather quickly. They made what noises they could, unable to laugh without tongues. Euron leaned down, "You see, Sand Bitch, I don't care either way if you cry. I don't care if you laugh, smile, or plead. Because darling, you dying either way."

"Fuck you," Nymeria spat, growling. "You'll die soon enough."

"Me? Die? No, you must have me confused with someone else," Euron smirked. He didn't give Nymeria a second to reply. Raising his boot high, he stomped on her face with all his might, Crushing her nose and cracking her jaw. He started to laugh again as he stepped on her again, and again, and again. Until there was nothing left of her head but brain and mush. Even going as far to kick through the leftover plasma like playing in the rain.

Resting his hands on his hips, he admired his work. Looking around, he saw his crew with bright countenances. "What are you all smiling about? Go find the other two, they must be hiding somewhere." Five Greyjoy shipmates scurried off quickly to search below deck.

Next, Euron gazed around to the other side of the bow. Smiling, he rested his palms on his axe. Seeing what he was truly looking for, his stuck up niece, and pussycat nephew. The two of them fought on top of the bow, near the wheel.

Euron twirled his axe, raising his arms into the air as the fighting continued around him. Raising his voice over the chaos, calling out to Yara, "You dumb bitch, it was too easy. How'd you not see me coming? I knew you were going to Sunspear, you knew I wanted to kill you. Only makes sense I'd cut you off before you got to Dorne."

Yara gripped Theon by the collar, pulling him close to whisper something to him. She rested her forehead against his.

"Stop hiding up there, come to face me!" Euron bellowed. "Niece and Nephew, come to die."

Yara growled, raising her blade above her head, what little men she had left gathered around her. All Euron had to do was lift his arms and his men did the same. Mere moments later, a brawl broke out on the deck. Yara leaped down from the bow, Theon close behind.

"Ah, there you are!" Sword in one hand and axe in the other. "Don't ya want to give your uncle a hug?" They charged at each other simultaneously, steel clanging together as Euron gave ground - letting them come at him. "That the best you can do?" A short sword swing was blocked by the curved axe, screeching as Euron nearly wrenched the blade in two. "Dear brother didn't teach ya well… oh, right, Theon. Your daddy tossed ya aside like a rotting carcass."

Theon snarled, charging hard… only for a parry to knock his sword back and a punch to stagger him. Breaking his nose. He pitched back just as Euron nearly leapt on Yara, full fury unleashed.

Totally paralyzed, Theon watched as Euron grabbed his sister by the head and drew her up. Laughing, his Uncle lifted Yara's chin up, "Theon, I want you to see this." Not a second later, Euron's jagged blade lifted up to draw across Yara's throat. Skin absolutely ripped open, blood flowed out continuously. The Greyjoy girl was helpless, trying to hold her neck wound closed, gurgling as her mouth filled with crimson.

Theon couldn't speak, couldn't move. Euron belly laughed as his niece died in his arms. Next, he tossed her lifeless body forward, crashing against the wooden deck, further flinging blood. Theon caught a brisk mist of his sister's plasma across his face. Her form came to rest below his feet, dead eyes looking up at him.

"Oh, little Theon," Euron grinned, surging forward. "You're weak. Now come on, fight me and die like a man."

The presence of immediate danger allowed Theon's body to move. Before Euron got close, he ran and leaped off the side of the boat.

Euron spat in his direction. "Fuckin' coward." Grabbing one of his tongueless reavers, he pointed to the shore. "Get word to all the forces on land. My useless nephew has to wash ashore sometime. Find him or you're meat for the sharks." A quick nod and the man was gone. Cracking his neck, Euron raised his hands. "Anyone else want to fuckin' come at me? Huh? Anyone?!" There was silence.

"All dead, my Lord," came one of his… tounged underlings. "Cept for the two Dornish sluts."

A grin spread upon the Ironborn's face. "Bring em to me." Such was done rather quickly, the frazzled and trembling Ellaria and Tyene tossed before him. Stepping aside, Euron laughed as they recoiled in horror at Obara and Nymeria's bodies. "Enjoying the sight."

"Fuck you!" Tyene shrieked.

"Ah, with your pretty skin, I'd prefer to do that to you." Tyene suddenly erupted, surprising enough to butt her head into Euron's stomach before the guards dragged her down. Ellaria screaming as the fists flew. Coughing, hacking up his stomach almost, Euron began to laugh once he regained his composure. "Feisty. The will to live, I like that." He grinned like a hyena. "I'm gonna have fun with you."

Blood dripping from her daughter's many cuts, Ellaria stared daggers at Euron. "The Dornish army is still out there. My niece Arianne is still out there. They'll fucking kill you."

"Don't intend to be around for them to do." Kneeling right in front of her pretty face, he moved to caress it. "Cersei wants you alive. Avenge the death of her brat herself… eh, I'll say you killed yourself." Without letting her say another word, Euron plunged his clawed fingers into her throat. Ripping out the windpipe with a single grip and yank.

"Mother!" Tyene screamed, only for another fist to land in her face.

Blood all over his hands, Euron laughed. "They pay the Iron Price!" Cheers from his men cackled over the thousand fires burning in the distance.

A/N: BRuh4: The reality of this chapter is pretty deep. There's a lot going on and more events to come. I imagine there will be lots to talk about in the comments section this time. As there has been for the last few chapters, we will try to answer questions.

But, let me go ahead an address Euron, because I feel like that's gonna be a big talking point. Both of us really like Euron and we believed he was sorely underused in the show. I think our version is a bit more book like. He's a crazy person and we've portrayed him that way. He wasn't supposed to kill everyone, but he did anyway.

Longclaw: For the North, Maester Aemon is basically their ace in the hole. Sansa here is not the same bitch as Dumb and Dumber made her out to be. She's loyal, but still crafty. Dany won't hurt her own family, and Thorne would probably be fine with sending an emissary to the Targaryen Queen given his love of the Targaryens.

The thing about Missandei... she is not of westeros and probably the only person here who cares about Dany as a person rather than as a Queen. That gives her the ability to cut through the bullshit and see Jon for what he truly is. He's not out of the woods, not by a longshot, but we're getting close to an accord. Daario is probably in hot water for going against Dany's orders, but fundamentally he's the bad cop.

BRuh and I are happy to answer comments, but we ask that y'all be respectful in them :)

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