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Chapter 26
Galadriel sighed as she relaxed in her bathtub, relishing the soothing warmth and pleasant water. She cherished the comfort of long, steamy baths, where she would simply lay there, closing her eyes and enjoying the silence. It was those moments where Galadriel could put her brain to rest and forget about all those plots and endless schemes. The Game of Thrones was filled with all kinds of conspiracy and just an equal amount of players. Yet, psychologically speaking, what finally wore Galadriel out was managing the Seven Kingdoms. That was an incredibly tiresome endeavour.
It was so much work, and partially Galadriel had the blame for such troublesome times. After all, she wanted to put the Seven Kingdoms in debt to her bank to procure more power for the crown. Theoretically, that was an excellent scheme for Galadriel to centralise Westeros' control in one entity. Yet, on paper, the stream of endless work seems never-ending. Galadriel's hands were filled with many requests for more investment, increasing the credit bureau, and establishing extensive taxation across the Seven Kingdoms with a more capable treasure department. Galadriel was creating a sort of "Federal Bank" to make a solid centralised government with her, the Queen, being the true power behind the wheel.
Everything was going smoothly, yes, but it was so tiresome. Galadriel sighed again, remembering all those nights she spent working in the risk department at her old job.
"Ah, what wonderful memories," Galadriel muttered sarcastically as she recalled those nights when she would sit in front of a screen watching endless numbers going in and out of the company. "Truly nostalgic."
Galadriel was supposed to relax, but she thought about how she could make the Seven Kingdoms into one immense power. Not just economically speaking, that was already on its way. But culturally and in government. The Seven Kingdoms were seven different kingdoms that joined in under one king. But they were still their own nations, and that's a problem in Galadriel's eyes.
If I wish to truly create one kingdom with one ruler and goal, this individualism in Westeros has to end. I must find a way to erase such a mentality.
As she pondered, Galadriel began to contemplate the logistics of how to achieve her goal. In order to gain complete domination over the Great Houses of Westeros, she knew that she must first take control over the common people. The current system of feudalism had to be dismantled and replaced with a more equitable and just social order. However, the task at hand was daunting, and Galadriel knew that it would require careful planning and strategic execution.
I must first find a way to make people stop thinking of themselves as Northerner, Dornish, or whatever. They must begin to see themselves as just one people... as Westerosi, instead of whatever kingdom they were born. But how could I achieve that?
Again, Galadriel sighed before hearing someone knocking on the door.
"Your Grace, the maids are here to help you," Mya whispered softly as Galadriel smiled.
"Thank you," Galadriel said before pulling herself out of the bathtub. Well, I have time to think about it.
After almost an hour of the maids brushing her long wings and helping her get ready, Galadriel was finally prepared to begin yet another day on King's Landing. And it started with a very unusual meeting of the Small Council. And, of course, it was near Tywin's quarters. Because The Old Lion needed to show authority. However, it just amused Galadriel, if she was honest.
Tywin was there already, on the edge of the table, standing with a cold yet smug face. Galadriel was the first to enter the room, nodding to her beloved grandfather.
"Good morning, Grandfather," Galadriel, being her usual self, walked up to the friendly Lord of the Rock and kissed him on the cheek, like a good granddaughter would, before taking her seat at the head of the table.
"Your Grace, good morning," Tywin only replied before sitting next to her. Both were adjusting themselves on their chair. Ser Barristan stood behind Galadriel while the rest of the Kingsguard spread around the room. However, the rest of the Small Council soon arrived, and they all stood still.
Galadriel raised her eyebrows, observing how they all glanced at each other with an amused expression on her face. Baelish glanced at Pycell and Varys and simply darted forward, choosing the chair closest to Tywin and Galadriel.
Of course, you'll try to get close to power. Galadriel mused internally.
Varys rolled his eyes before carefully sitting, on his chair, between Baelish and the old maester. Soon enough, Tyrion arrived, with Cersei behind him. The Queen's mother glanced around and wasted no time taking a chair and bringing it closer to Galadriel.
"My dear," Cersei said, kissing her daughter's cheek as if she were but a child. An action that honestly amused Galadriel since the white-haired Queen wondered what the lioness was planning now.
Tyrion was the last one standing, and he glanced at his father, Tywin, with a challenging stare as he dragged a chair across the floor, moving it closer to the other edge of the table, staring directly at Galadriel and his father.
Ah, yes, that little chat between Uncle Tyrion and Grandfather didn't end well. Galadriel hummed, remembering her shadows telling her about Tyrion wanting to be claimed heir of Casterly Rock since Jaime was still on the Queensguard.
The outcome was unfavourable for Tyrio, and that's putting it mildly. But it showed how Tyrion felt at the moment by displaying his anger by aggressively dragging that poor chair around before sitting on it with a smirk.
"Intimate. Lovely table. Better chairs than the old small council chamber. Conveniently close to your own quarters. I like it."
Tywin's cold stares represent how he feels about Tyrion's words. Galadriel coughed awkwardly, trying to evade some tension in the room.
"Well, now that we are gathered here. I would like to start with our current predicament with the Greyjoys. Lord Varys, what can you tell me about my Uncle Stannis's fleet?"
"Lord Stannis's fleet has reached the Stepstones, and in a fortnight, perhaps less, they should regroup with some of the Redwyne fleets and prepare their troops for what could be a long siege of Pyke."
"Robert destroyed their walls in a day. I doubt it would take Stannis less," Tywin noted. "But the question remains, after Balon Greyjoy is disposed of, what should we do with the Iron Islands?"
"What house is next in line?" Galadriel asked.
"Hard to say, Your Grace. The Iron Islanders don't see blood like other kingdoms," Varys added as Galadriel hummed. "Who is next to rule is unknown."
"They only respect strenght and glory in battle. Whatever house is next would probably become a problem in the future," Baelish stated with an unbothered voice. Galadriel agreed with him, which was surprising. But Baelish was speaking the truth regarding the Iron Island culture.
"A very problematic culture," Pycell whispered.
"I won't dispose of the Greyjoys so another family could pull another rebellion down the line," Galadriel muttered, a bit annoyed. "Their culture of raping and pillaging has to end."
"How... Your Grace? By forces?" Pycell asked, and now everyone stared at her.
"If it comes to that," Galadriel only replied. "Robb Stark's forces are marching North to take out what's left of the Iron Islanders' forces there. The news of Theon Greyjoy killing his siblings has... shaken him."
When she heard the news that Theon Greyjoy killed Robb's siblings, she couldn't deny feeling a sense of anger. Not necessarily because of what Theon did but because Theon was supposed to be Robb's friend. Betray was the worst sin in Galadriel's eyes. However, curiosity struck Galadriel, wondering why Theon did something like that out of nowhere. So, she ordered her agents to find out if it was true.
And to Galadriel's surprise. Theon did not kill them; still, the action confused her. What was the point of pretending he did that? Galadriel simply shrugged, whatever Theon's intentions were. It was too late for him to take back his decisions.
Still, besides everything going on in the North, Galadriel could see why Robb left Sansa and Arya at King's Landing. The North was still at war and dangerous; Robb didn't want to risk his sisters' lives. However, it seemed the Baelish also had a hand convincing Robb and Catelyn that it was for the best. Catelyn wanted to see Theon and asked him why he did such a thing. Why he betrayed them? So, naive Catelyn trusted Baelish yet again.
When will you learn not to trust people in King's Landing? Galadriel sighed deeply. She'll keep an eye open and see what Baelish does next.
"Sansa and Arya Stark are here for the time being. Sadly, they can go home, but I hope they understand," Galadriel said, observing Baelish's smirk.
"Lady Stark is a dear friend of mine; I'll make sure that her daughters are cared for," Baelish added, smiling pleasantly. Varys only glanced at him but said nothing. However, Galadriel had other plans in mind.
Oh, I will not let you get closer to dear Sansa. Galadriel smiled internally.
"That reminds me of something, Lord Baelish. The title of Lord of Harrenhal should be enough for you to find a suitor who has been widowed for quite some time."
"Oh...?" Baelish pondered as Galadriel smiled at him.
Tywin glanced at Galadriel and immediately understood what she was referring to, and so did Baelish.
"The Lord of Harrenhal will make a worthy suitor for the Widow Arryn," Tywin noted, as Baelish's eyes seemed to be holding a sort of deep conversation with himself.
"And from what I understand, you're very... close with Lady Arryn," Galadriel spoke, almost gagging at the mental image of both Baelish and Lysa together.
"Of course, Your Grace," Baelish replied, smiling. "Lady Arryn and I have known each other since we were children. She has always been positively predisposed towards me."
It appeared that Galadriel was not the only one who felt disgusted. Varys seemed uneasy upon hearing it, while Tyrion appeared to find it amusing.
"A successful courtship would make Lord Baelish acting Lord of the Vale," Pycell added with a smirk of his own.
"Titles do seem to breed titles."
Tywin nodded. "You'll leave for the Eyrie as soon as possible. And bring Lysa Arryn back to the fold. The Vale has been isolated for far too long. It's time they understand they are alone in this world."
"Far be it from me to hinder... true love, but Lord Baelish's absence would present certain problems. The increasing rebuilding of King's Landing, the lack of crops, and summer have ended; hard days lie ahead. Just like the Starks say, winter is coming. And I doubt my niece could keep doing all the work herself. Not a good time to leave the crown's finances unattended."
Galadriel could see an annoyed look on Baelish's face. It was true that in the last weeks, Galadriel had made Baelish work from dusk till dawn, a childish vengeance of her. Although, she hated admitting that Baelish wasn't that bad at finances. He did what he was told to and was competent in his job. However, since Baelish would be disposed of his job, she may find someone she could trust and who was intelligent enough to do the work.
And she knew who that person could be.
"Oh, that's true! So, Uncle Tyrion, would you like to be the next master of a coin?" Galadriel asked happily, making Tyrion freeze in his spot.
"Niece, that's..."
"Fully agree. It would appear to be a position that best suits your talents," Tywin added as Cersei snorted, enjoying the look on Tyrion's face.
"I'm quite good at spending money, but a lifetime of outrageous wealth hasn't taught me much about managing it."
"I have no doubt you will prove equal to this challenge," Cersei added, smirking widely.
"Hear, hear..."
In the city of Tyrosh, one of the daughters of Ancient Valyria, a large fleet was preparing for a short and speedy journey across the Narrow Sea, and boarding the ships, was a large army, mercenaries of the Golden Company, with many other mercenaries groups, and elephants. It's been ages since the Golden Company would set foot on Westeros once again. Those exiled lords who remembered their land were old and weary. Still, their sons were beside them, who breathed the hope of finally returning to their motherland. Yet that has to be decided still.
As Lord Connington observed the fleet, his gaze remained steady and unflinching despite the impending battle ahead. He was aware that defeating Tywin Lannister and his family would be a challenging feat. Still, he was determined to emerge victorious this time. Connington learned a hard lesson during the Rebellion. He would not be as merciful nor naive as before.
However, there was something else that worried him. "Dragons... they'd come at last," he whispered, remembering the news about the Queen's dragons. At first, he didn't believe such claims. However, the reports of so many merchants and people who had travelled to King's Landing and seen those dragons were too much to ignore.
"If dragons soar the sky, then our opportunity may be over soon," Connington's dark expression reflected his thoughts. If Rhaegar's son desires to sit on the Iron Throne, he must strike now before it's too late. They have no luxury of waiting more or seeking a potential alliance with Rhaegar's sister, who was across the world still shrouded in mystery.
"Lord Connington," As Aegon, also known as Young Griff, spoke up, Connington immediately pivoted to face him. Was it Rhaegar's resemblance that caught him off guard, or was it a memory from days gone by that had him confused? It was hard to say, but for Connington, Aegon was truly Rhaegar's son.
"You've been watching the ships for hours now. Having second thoughts?" Aegon joked gently, trying to ease the worries of the man he had known for almost all his life. Connington simply looked back at the ships again.
"This is it. This is our last chance to get back to Westeros. Are you ready?"
Aegon's demeanour shifted, knowing full well that his goal now had new challenges. "I've been taught how to rule all my life. To lead armies and to be a king. I'll make sure that the Targaryen family sit on the Iron Throne once again."
Although Connington's facial expression remained stoic, the unwavering resolve in his eyes was unmistakable. It was clear that he was driven by an unshakeable determination to place Aegon on the throne and see him rule with strength and justice. Or it was just to let that fantasise of him run wild in his mind. A world where Rhaegar would welcome him with open arms. Whatever it was, a man like Jon Connington has learned not to let dreams cloud his judgment. And his judgment would be swift and cruel.
"The Greyjoys have successfully pulled the North and Riverlands forces back North. The Lannisters, Baratheon and Reach's armies are exhausted and returning home, trying to farm the fields before the crops turn. The only problem is going to be those dragons and the Queen."
Aegon nodded slowly, remembering those majestic beasts. Could he tame one? He was a Targaryen, after all. The dragon's blood runs in him, perhaps more potent than Queen Galadriel herself.
"How can we take three dragons...? What army can?" Aegon pondered as Connington scoffed and pointed at the ships below. Aegon peered with curiosity and saw how the ships were being prepared and armed with giant scorpions.
"A Scorpio took a dragon in the past. They can be killed. It would not be easy, but it is possible. If we point all of those scorpions at one of them, it only takes one to take them out."
Connington's words carried the weight of a man who would stop at nothing, and Aegon could feel it, yet the young dragon wasn't sure of where all of that determination came from. Was it for him or something else?
"Still, it's not going to be an easy fight. Dragons ruled the world for centuries and for thousands of years before Aegon the Conqueror. Now the Queen has three of them," Aegon said, watching Connington's stares. The exiled Lord simply let a loud scoff at the idea of them being unable to win. But more importantly, at the idea of the Baratheon Queen having more rights to the dragons than Rhaegar's son.
"I do know that those who ruled over us were true dragons. The Queen, this Galadriel Baratheon, is no Targaryen. It doesn't matter if she looks like one. She is a false dragon."
Connington's disdain was palpable as he uttered the name of the Queen. To him, Galadriel Baratheon was nothing more than a lucky usurper who had managed to seize the Iron Throne without any rightful claim to it. In his eyes, she had no business wielding such unfettered power, especially when dragons were the symbol of the power of the Targaryen family, not the Baratheons. Connington saw her reign as a blight on the world, a symbol of everything that was wrong and unjust.
"She's a pretender, and when dragons see a true Targaryen, they'll bow to you."
Despite his uncertainty, Aegon felt empowered by the thought. However, he knew much was still to be done, and he began preparing. "Nevertheless, we shall be swift and use this moment of weakness to attack. But, I do hope that blood would not be unnecessarily spilt."
"You're too gentle. The enemies that await you in Westeros would not share such sentiments," Connington warned as Aegon chuckled softly.
"I'm not soft, Lord Connington. You taught me to be decisive and ruthless when the time demands it. And I'll be so. But innocent blood wasn't one I liked spilling."
Aegon said, earning a disappointed sigh from Connington, who only nodded.
You're still green. You haven't seen what I have. But don't worry. I shall be your mad dog if it comes to it. Connington thought as he stared at the fleet. Soon, Westeros would know what Fire and Blood mean.
The way Sansa sighed as she gazed at the mirror before her. The days were becoming longer, especially since the war ended. Although, the truth was that the North was still at war. And the news of what had happened made Sansa's heart smaller and colder than before.
"They are dead..." Sansa whispered while hearing Arya sitting on the chair, using a knife to simply stab the table with great anger. Before, Sansa would've told her to stop. But that was a long time ago. Now, Sansa has grown. She has experience things and has become aware that the world wasn't the place she once thought.
"I never liked him," Arya hissed, frustrated and angry. "He was so...!" Arya smalled her knife hard on the table.
"Rickon... Bran... are they truly dead?" Arya whispered slowly, glancing at Sansa, who wished to believe otherwise.
"According to what they said, their remains were displayed on the walls of Winterfell after being slaughtered in a fit of rage."
Arya stared at Sansa and her harsh tone of voice, almost sounding disconnected because it was their brothers who were killed.
"Since when you're so gloom?" Arya asked in astonishment as she saw Sansa do nothing more than glance out the window of their chamber.
"I lived here for almost a year," Sansa only replied. "I've become accustomed to feeling pain."
Arya was about to speak before noticing someone entering their room. Robb's wife, their sister-in-law, seemed quite nervous about being there and anxious about his safety since he was riding North to war again.
"Hello," Jeyne Westerling spoke softly, trying to get to know Robb's sisters, which seemed welcoming. "Sorry for interrupting. I don't know where my room is still."
Jeyne joked awkwardly, earning a few chuckles from Sansa and Arya, who seemed, for a moment, to be just young girls.
"You'll get used to it," Arya stated. "I memorised all the passages after the first months."
"And I did, with all the halls, although they are being rebuilt. And I must admit, the Throne Hall looks so much better now," Sansa remarked, her mind wandering back to the past. She couldn't help but feel relieved knowing that Joffrey's delusions of grandeur were cut short. His attempts to portray himself as a brave conqueror made him seem more insane to her. But what he did to the throne room just proved it. Thankfully, the Queen has better taste than her brother.
"I've seen it... they are still building new halls and changing the carpets. However, the murals are... quite amazing," Jeyne added, still wondering how much the Queen would add to the Throne Hall. They would have to wait and see. Soon enough, the three girls let a slight squeal when they heard a loud roar flying across the Red Keep. It was a dragon that cast a long shadow on King's Landing. Arya quickly jumped out of her seat and glanced out of the window.
"Look! That's Ancalagon!" Arya exclaimed, fascinated by watching the magnificent beast dive into the ocean to get its mouth filled with fish. It was a sight to behold, no doubt.
And while Arya was utterly fascinated by the scene, many others were still quite nervous. Nevertheless, dragons were once again roaming the skies of Westeros, for good or bad, and they must get used to it. Sansa hoped that, at least, the Queen would be kinder to her. Of course, she knew that Galadriel wasn't Joffrey. But Sansa still feels fear at the sight of King's Landing and the red walls. Perhaps, the Queen would offer her a new look on life. Sansa truly needed it.
Galadriel remained motionless as several ladies meticulously measured her waist, bust, and hips. Though she couldn't help but feel a sense of weariness at the prolonged process, she knew that the creation of such beautiful gowns required skilled artisans and a significant amount of time and effort. Despite her inner impatience, she couldn't deny the breathtaking beauty of the dresses that had been crafted for her. Each stitch and every detail was meticulously executed, resulting in a garment that truly embodied the elegance and grace fit for a Queen.
"Make it tighter here," Galadriel stated, watching how her waist was causing quite some problems for the gown.
"Of course, Your Grace," one of the ladies replied.
Cersei had an odd smile on her face as she closely observed everything. She chuckled and whispered softly, "Your waist resembles mine."
"How so?" Galadriel asked as she was moved around, trying to help the seamstress with their work. "Did you have this... how do they call it?"
"Child-bearing waist," Cersei replied with a proud look on her face. "Men love them. However, they don't know that it can cause a few problems for us women. Especially when it comes down to making our gowns."
"Well, I think it's obvious what they'll like, some wide hips, but I think some women like them as well."
Galadriel replied, teasingly smiling and glancing at Mya, who was the only Queensguard inside the room, for obvious reasons. The rest couldn't be there and watch their Queen with so few clothes covering her body. Mya coughed a bit but blushed, trying to look away. Cersei noticed the interaction but surprisingly said nothing about it. Galadriel knew about Cersei and Jaime and their little nights together. And in return, Cersei also knew about Mya and Galadriel's nights. There was no reason for them to speak about it. But oddly enough, Cersei was happy for her daughter. The Queen's mother might never say it aloud or show it. But she knew that Mya adored Galadriel, loved her unconditionally, and that was all Cersei needed to know.
"Yes, but still," Cersei stood up, watching her daughter's body. "You're a woman now. Men of all types would love to see you in many forms... with or without a gown."
Galadriel cringed internally, not wanting to hear those talks about how all men were lustful creatures and couldn't think without their inner beast taking control. "Do we have to talk about that? Again...?"
Cersei smiled. "You're smart. You know what is expected of you. Father may not say it aloud, but he doesn't trust anyone else outside the family. You're expected to marry and have children, and that's a challenge. The true problem is who to marry?"
"Mm, who indeed," Galadriel hummed. "I have heard about the Tyrell trying to bring their eldest. Willas, I think he's called."
Cersei's face darkened, and it seemed like she was about to lash out at the mere mention of the Tyrells. "Too old for you and a cripple. No fit to marry the Divine Queen," she hissed protectively.
Galadriel just snorted, amused about how angry her mother seemed to be. "That's just one. There's Quentyn Martell, the second son of Prince Doran Martell."
Again, Cersei just scoffed loudly. "Dornishmen. Give them a shaved goat and a bottle of Olive oil."
Galadriel couldn't help but feel as if her mother would never accept any men at all. It could be a dream one, perfect in every sense of the word, and she'll still consider him worthless to her. Truly, Galadriel found it amusing. Not that it would ever happen, but the whole thing was quite funny to see.
"Well, it's not like it's a race," Galadriel replied, smiling. "It's too soon to say who shall be."
"Of course..." Cersei only replied. However, Galadriel recognised those eyes of her mother. It was the same ones who held a plot, a malicious scheme. It was only a matter of what Cersei was thinking of doing now. Which, regardless of what it was. It was to be quite amusing, no doubt.
The sound of waves crashing, the utter screeching of the winds slamming themselves on the rocks, would be enough for any to run away. But not for the Iron Islander. Not for those who claimed that any storm was a good storm.
There, on the Kingsmoot, Asha Greyjoy stared at the lard group of Lords and captains of the Iron Island. All those who were worth something were there, ready to declare their next king. However, closed doors, none dared to speak about their forces still on land. Without help, support, or sea to claim them or ships to sail. Asha remembered her brother, Theon, who was still in Winterfell. The only person in her family who she still cared about. But now, the only thing she could do was to try to become the next leader of the Iron Islanders. The Queen of the Isles and the North. But that name means little now.
"Asha, you have great ambitions, but you truly think you could win against those who wish you a sudden death?" Victarion muttered, watching her closely.
"I have the right, uncle. None of these sailors who claim to be a captain know what is expected on land."
Asha's words carried some weight, yet for the men there, that weight was meaningless. The action made a true Iron Born selected to become the next king.
"My father was king, and I am his kin, share his blood. I'll lead the Kraken sails towards the world edge."
"That's not for you to decide," Aeron Greyjoy stated, dragging his feet from the ocean after a long prayer. "The Kingsmoot should decide who shall be the next one to sit on the salt throne, nor you, not the blood."
Asha frowned deeply, watching her uncle's gaze. "I am Balon Greyjoy's daughter and true heir."
"That works on the land, with those weak-minded, but we aren't them. Here, the seas choose who shall lead. Not birth."
Asha was about to reply before, coming from the sea, a large ship appeared. Asha, just like Victorion and Aeron, recognised it immediately. Fear was a good word to express what Aeron sensed at that moment. A feeling, even the ones like Victarion felt.
"The Silence," Asha muttered as she watched Euron Greyjoy jumping out of his ship, carrying sacks of gold and statues of beautiful gems. They were different. All of the coins were different. Proving that Euron raided the Far East, where no other had sailed before. Yet, that face of Euron showed something else. A smirk of pure evil lingered on his face as one of the poor, mute men carried a strange large horn with Valyrian inscriptions.
All the other lords stared at him, some in fear, others intrigued, but Euron had his plans.
"The Kingsmoot has reunited one again. Balon, my brother, has died. No other man can claim that as sailed to where no man has before but me. And I brought the proof of it!"
Balon distributed the gold to anyone who wanted it, but Asha did not desire it. Despite her uncle's speech, she maintained a stoic expression and pondered about his intentions.
"You came here for something, Euron, not to give your gold away," Aeron stated, whispering each word, shivering at the sight of Euron's eye.
"I am Euron Greyjoy. The Crow's Eye, the Lord Reaper of Pyke!" Euron yelled, looking at all those who claimed to be captains of the sea. "I came here to claim a right not to sit on the Salt Throne. But to wedge war across not Westeros but the world."
"We are at war," Asha stated, putting herself before Euron. "You may not know it. Since you weren't here."
Euron glanced at his niece and smiled at her in a twisted way that even someone like Asha couldn't help but feel a cold sensation surrounding her body. Soon enough, the horn being carried was blown, and an eerie sound came out of it. Making Asha and everyone else cringe at the sound.
"You heard that, my dear niece. That's the power of old. A power lost to the world. Aye, you talk about war... but tell me, how is that war going?"
Asha couldn't reply as Euron then smirked and glanced around.
"You fought two wars that couldn't win. What has Iron Island won from those failed wars? Nothing but the scorn and humiliation of the Greenlands. I came here to bring back the times of old when we ruled from Bear Island to God's Eye. Times when the name ruled half of Westeros and terrorised the other half."
Everyone stared at him, lost in past memories because the present was too painful.
"How?" One asked him as Euron pointed at the horn again.
"First, I shall lead everyone to victory... then, with this, I shall control the Dragons born out of the magic of the so-called Divine Queen. I shall marry her and use that beast to bring chaos to Westeros and the World. To let our sails bring souls to the cold halls of the Drowned God."
Victarion's expression became shocked, but it was directed to the horn itself. There's another queen with dragons across the world. One who would like to have the ability to take back what is her. Victarion kept his plans to himself, but a strong desire for revenge burned within him. He intended to lead his men and ships, offering his axe to the Targaryen Queen. And once he does, Euron's pain would be eternal.
Amidst the group, Asha remained stationary, perplexed by the unfamiliar sensation brewing inside of her. She struggled to put a name on it - was it guilt? Fear? Anxiety? Regardless, she couldn't ignore the fact that Euron's dreams seemed to hold more weight than she initially thought. But also lies, or perhaps Euron's true intentions, were something no one else knew, and that was what worried her.
Yet, for the rest of the Iron Born, Euron was just what they wanted, what they needed.
I don't like this... Theon, I'll come for you. Asha's decided to put forward a plan to find a way to save her little brother and, hopefully, avoid whatever Euron was planning on doing. But she'll need to sail quickly and avoid being executed by the Queen's soldiers.
However, none of the people there sensed a shadow, watching everything in detail before vanishing away. The Queen would be ready for whatever Euron throws at her. But would be the rest? That was hard to say.
Authors note.
-About the Dragons, they are... hybrid. Since they are linked to Galadriel's essence, so to speak, she used an item on them. They are different from the Dragons (Or Wyverns, whatever you wanted to call them.) of Westeros. They are stronger and smarter and are capable of using magic. So, yeah, they are powerful in their own right, and with Galadriel being paranoid, she'll use spells on them to protect them.
-About using Galadriel in a Middle-Earth, or The War of Wrath time, is a bit too hard. It's been a while since I have read the books, and it's quite challenging for me to do it. But it is a good idea.
-Also, please check my Tumblr. I'll post some art soon!
-Next chapters are as follows! The Mysterious Lord from Far Away- A Bittersweet Defeat.
