Three days later, the Dragonqueen's entourage had made landfall on the eastern coast of Blackwater Bay, the Iron Fleet having made no appearance to the Wolf's visible disappointment and the relief of all others. Once Danaerys had found them, the diplomatic party had set out for one last parley. The Dothraki had been assigned to guard the ship along with its crew, while the Wolf accompanied the court under the pretext of having been hired to ensure Tyrion's security. Danaerys, more concerned about the upcoming meeting, said nothing about the barbarian's presence.

On the battlements of King's Landing stood Cersei, flanked by Euron and Ser Gregor. The Mountain's silhouette being easily distinguishable on the approach to the city, Tyrion stopped, cursing himself for an idiot for not having foreseen the difficulty in reuniting a murderer and his victim.

"Ser Wolf, wait. You'll have to stay out of sight."

The Wolf looked down.

"You want me to protect you from your sister while on the island, and shake off that protection when you're going to speak with her? You're a braver man than I expected."

Tyrion was momentarily struck dumb by what appeared to be a sincere compliment.

"Look, the Mountain's there, we can't have him recognize you, just... stay in hiding."

The Wolf peered out to the walls.

"You sure? That one looks like he still has a head on him."

Tyrion looked in disbelief, but the Wolf shrugged.

"Very well. Although if you get yourself killed, I'll charge your kin for what you owe me."

The Wolf peeled off from the crowd, and headed for a small knoll that masked him from the view of the city walls. Tyrion hurried over to Grey Worm, exchanging a few words with him.

Finally the diplomats stopped.

The Hands of both queens stepped forward and exchanged the wills of their respective queens. Then Tyrion pushed Qyburn aside, determined to give his sister one last chance at surrender. Grey Worm followed him, shooting the disgraced Maester a look of pure contempt.

At the foot of the walls, Tyrion tried every argument he could think of, not bothering with the idea of alleviating the people's suffering, but the sake of Cersei's unborn child. This one had hit home, he could see it, but still she refused to see sense. Tyrion shook his head in despair. How could she be so blind? How could she be so sure of her victory in spite of the odds?

An uncomfortable thought came in his head that he knew someone equally certain of her rightful victory regardless of finances or men, even if she did have a dragon. As much to clear the treacherous idea away as out of genuine concern, he looked up again.

"What did you do with Missandei?"

Cersei looked down, but kept silent for a few moments.

"Oh... her."

Tyrion waited. Why was Cersei hesitating?

"Ser Gregor isn't done with her yet."

Tyrion had to grab the wall to avoid falling over, while Grey Worm's hand squeezed his sword's hilt until it hurt.

The Lioness looked at the Dragonqueen, gazes locked on each other, contempt meeting hatred. Cersei opened her mouth to speak, preparing a carefully-rehearsed insult that would show the Dragon-bitch her place.

"SHOW US YER TITS!"

The queen started as though bitten by a snake, Danaerys' eyes opened wide, Tyrion closed his own with a grimace of defeat. The thunderous obscenity seemed to come from nowhere, although Danaerys' court recognized the voice all too well.

"What, only the Seveners get a free show? Let's see the goods, slut-queen!"

"You'll be thrown to the soldiers soon enough, it makes things simpler for everyone if every man, dog and horse can pick which hole he'll fill ahead of time!"

Cersei's expression was murderous. Behind her, Euron was snickering audibly. Still the voice pursued relentlessly.

"Or maybe you forgot to wear your cunt-wig? Come off it, you balding old whore, it'll be cold but I'm sure we'll find something we can do to warm you up! We'll even let a cousin or three watch if that's the only way for you to get off!"

Cersei screeched at the closest soldier, who ran down the steps. The taunting voice fell silent, as if waiting to see her reaction.

A dozen captives, their clothes unchanged since their capture from the massacre at Dragonstone harbor, their heads covered in sackcloths, were prodded up the battlements by the spears of the Kingsguard.

Still trembling with rage, Cersei nodded. The Mountain extended an arm and wrapped his hand around the first prisoner's head, turning like a harbor crane to dangle the man over empty air. The sackcloth did little to muffle his screaming or the snapping of bone as the Mountain's hand closed into a fist, gore squeezing through the sack and between his fingers.

Before the headless corpse had dropped to the ground below, the Mountain had grabbed another prisoner, bursting her skull between his palms. Another limp body dropped, barely missing Tyrion as he and Grey Worm scurried back to the Dragonqueen's side.

Danaerys stared in silence. The first man's screams had set off the other unfortunates, and each interrupted cry of "Please!", "Save me!", or "Mhysa!" was another icy dagger stabbing her heart.

The Mountain continued his grisly work, executing each prisoner in a different manner, strangling, crushing, ripping and tearing. Finally he finished, removing his sword from the belly of an Unsullied, wiping it clean on the eunuch's clothes before pushing the body off the rampart.

Cersei's expression was of absolute triumph. Without a word, Danaerys turned on her heel, her bodyguard and courtiers following. Cersei had sealed her city's fate.

As the diplomats returned past the knoll, the Wolf got up, looking particularly pleased with himself. Danaerys went straight to him.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't have you incinerated for treason right now."

"I can think of several, but the biggest one would be that I have committed no act of treason."

"You-"

The sheer insolence of it left her stunned.

"Other reasons involve the safety of your court here, who would have difficulty in returning to Dragonstone without me to helm my ship, and the absence of your dragon, without which you'd have difficulty incinerating a pile of dry straw."

Danaerys had recovered her breath, ignoring the last jibe.

"And sabotaging a diplomatic meeting isn't enough? Do you take gold from both sides?"

The Wolf's eyes narrowed. Grey Worm drew his blade, ready to strike at a single word from his queen.

"There's one or two people who've called me traitor before. They were very sorry to have made baseless accusations by the time I was through with them. As for sabotaging it... You can't tell me you truly expected her to back down, open the gates, and hand you the keys to the throne room?"

"She had those prisoners murdered because of you!"

"They were dead anyway. There's a siege on, better they died fast today than of starvation in two months or to make you hesitate to attack, assuming they wouldn't have ended up as food either. The whore-queen strikes me as being more interested in being obeyed than being competent."

Danaerys fell silent. Part of her- the same part of her that had cried out on hearing the pathetic screams of her people wanted the Wolf's head disappearing down Drogon's gullet. But the other part of her, the part that knew it was her destiny and her birthright to sit on the Iron Throne, heard the Wolf's words and saw only sense in them.

"Let's go. The sooner we're back at Dragonstone the better."

Not one of the courtiers thought it wise to argue, and even the Wolf made no comment as he returned to his position next to Tyrion. Half a day's march saw the envoys return to the secluded cove where the Seafang had been concealed. The Dragonqueen took off, the Seafang pushing off and following without seeing a single Ironborn ship for a day. Tyrion nearly relaxed as the danger seemed past.

Two days later, the Seafang skirted the southern coast of the island of Driftmark, rowers having relayed themselves through the night in their effort to return to Dragonstone swiftly, when the lookout gave an alarmed shout, pointing towards the horizon. A short while later, the Wolf was at the prow, looking out to the east. Tyrion soon made his way past the rowers.

"What is it?"

"Ulfnarr says there's an Ironborn ship off the island's coast. Big one, too."

Tyrion cursed.

"They cut us off? Can't we outrun them?"

"If they left harbor as soon as we left the walls, another half-day to get back to the Seafang... They probably could have done it. As for outrunning them..."

The Wolf seemed to think hard, looking back towards the west as he did, and pulling out a seachart showing the coasts of Blackwater Bay.

"If I was to prevent a ship from escaping this bay, and had a lead on them, and had an entire fleet to do so, I'd string the ships out on either side of the island so any two ships can intercept the prize, while signalling the others to close in. They wouldn't be worried about being caught from behind, given the state they left your fleet in."

Tyrion cursed again.

"Then how do we get past them? They didn't see which ship we took to get to King's Landing, did they?"

"Probably not, but if they have enough ships for it, which they likely do, they're going to be searching every westward-bound ship that goes through them."

Tyrion's fist clenched on his dagger.

"Then there's nothing to do but fight our way through."

"On the contrary."

Tyrion looked up. The Wolf called out orders to his crew and the ship's course turned towards the island.

"I'll drop you all ashore and then go to the one Ulfnarr spotted. They'll probably board and search the ship for you, and once they don't find anyone, either let us go, or try to sink us for the gold we carry. When that happens..."

The Wolf grinned savagely. Tyrion did not need to ask what would happen then.

"And then we'll come back to pick you up."

"And if you don't?"

The Wolf looked at Tyrion, as if affronted at the perceived insult to his crew's fighting ability.

"It's not that big an island, and it seems there's a port. If we're not back by morning you can send word to the Dragonqueen from there."

Tyrion explained the Wolf's plan to the other passengers, who reluctantly agreed that possible capture on land was a better option than to face battle on the seas. The Seafang sailed as close to the beach as it could, allowing the courtiers to walk ashore, Tyrion being carried by one of the Dothraki. They watched the longship head back out to sea, then made themselves as comfortable as they could to wait, the Dragonqueen's bodyguards spreading out to watch the perimeter.

Off the eastern tip of Driftmark, at the very entrance of Blackwater Bay, the Silence waited. Euron stood at its prow, scanning the horizon when he saw the colossal longship rapidly approaching. The ships were rapidly side by side, the Wolf leaping over the row of shields to land heavily on the Silence's deck.

"Bring him up, it's time."

"Yes, yarrl."

Dishevelled and in chains, Euron Greyjoy was dragged from the Silence's hold, followed by the androgyne and two of the mutes, whose guard duties had evidently been the envy of the entire crew. The former captain of the Iron Fleet's flagship stared at his double, who grinned back in turn.

"Wha- what happened? What'd he do wi-"

"Nothing that will besmirch your good name, rust-born, don't worry."

"Who is- How did-"

"Are your wits as slow as your arms? This is Euron Greyjoy. One-time king of the Iron Islands, one-time holder of the Salt Throne before he was booted off by his niece, admiral of the Iron Fleet, currently allied with the lady of... what's the place called again? Castrated Rock?"

"Casterly Rock."

Euron started. The other had responded in his own voice.

"Right, Casterly Rock. Said lady, who is currently holding on to the Iron Throne as best she can, last saw her ally and lover, one Euron Greyjoy, has sallied out to devastate what was left of the Dragonqueen's fleet after sinking the ship that carried her closest advisers. A shame he won't return anytime soon, she must be sick with worry, and who knows, maybe even grief."

Something in the Wolf's dismissive tone pushed Euron to respond, to say anything to contradict him.

"My line will live!"

"Your line?"

"The child of the lion and the kraken!"

The Wolf looked nonplussed.

"I'll admit I've spent more time killing lions than watch them rutting, but it seems to me you'd have better luck getting something from a lion and a lion. Of course, there is evidence that a woman and a mange-eaten dog can produce offspring, I'm looking at him right now."

"I think he means the Lannister queen, yarrl. And if she didn't have one in her before, well, she certainly does now, thank slonish!"

The true Euron looked at his sniggering double. He had often had cause to see his own face in mirrors, but never before the urge to punch himself to wipe the smug expression off his own face.

Before Euron could react, the Wolf had cut in, sarcastically faking an expression of dawning comprehension.

"Oh, you were being metaphorical! Of course."

The Wolf laughed.

"The Lannister queen. Quite the explorer you are, rust-born, to boldly go where so many have gone before. And from what I hear, she prefers the company of her brother to any man. Whatever you shot into her- hopefully in the right hole, I've seen how well you aim- will have quite a few rivals to deal with before coming back out in a few months."

"But I have plans for her, don't you fret. In fact, if she gives birth, I will personally inform your ghost of the little whelp's hair color. Or at least, yell it near the place your corpse was last seen."

Without waiting for Euron to process the threat, the Wolf turned to the androgyne.

"Dispel it."

The dancer made complicated motions with its hands, and the healthy Euron seemed to swell up and grow, his face changing back into one the true Euron knew all too well.

"Thanks to Akkarulf here acting in your name, the Lannister queen will have her elephants for the coming battle."

Euron's eyes went back and forth, but he recovered.

"And now I suppose you're going to kill me? Some fighter you are, to kill a man who's chained up. I called you a coward before, and it wasn't strong enough!"

The Wolf sighed, as if in regret.

"Unfortunately, the time for taunting and fighting is over. You had your chance to defeat me, and failed. A shame your god did not see fit to help you, but you can complain about that once you meet him."

Euron looked defiantly at the Wolf, who pulled him up by his chains and held him before the Seafang's prow. Akkarulf tied him securely to the figurehead, below the dragon's head, which snarled and attempted to snap at him. The Wolf gave the wood a sharp slap before returning amidships to yell out orders. Behind the longship, the Silence's prow was roped to the Seafang's stern.

Euron was left with Akkarulf, who was tightening his captive's bonds.

"You vicious little whoreson. You're siding with this heap of filth now? Haven't stabbed enough backs in your lifetime?"

Akkarulf took the insult in stride.

"Given what he's done for me, I'd be very ungrateful, and very stupid, not to do so, Euron. And I'll be the first to admit I was a fool before, for most of my life even, blind and desperate to please. But now I'm finally on the winning side."

The Wolf yelled, and the marauders went to their oars. Akkarulf gave the chained Ironborn a friendly pat on the cheek, and took up position at the mast, stringing a longbow and nocking an arrow.

Unable to see behind him, Euron shook and raged as the air split open before the ship. As they entered a swirling fog, he struggled still, fighting off the wave of nausea that struck him, but soon stopped as he stared in horror at the sights within.

Things whispered in his ears, threatening, jeering and cajoling, he even thought he heard the mocking laughter of his brothers calling to him. A tendril of fog caressed his cheek, and the face it was attached to turned into a young maiden's before an arrow struck through it. The thing screamed, became a grinning skull and faded away, replaced by what looked like a dog with the horns of a ram and the teeth of a shark. Another arrow dispersed it as its jaws were about to close on Euron's throat.

"You're welcome, Euron!"

An eternity passed for Euron as the longship sailed the phantom realm, each new nightmare more horrid than the last, deliberately dispelled at the very last second by Akkarulf's arrows. The thought of the unseen deathblow kept the Ironborn's eyelids forced open.

His clothes soaked with sweat, tears and worse, Euron was only aware of the ship returning to the world by the smell of brine and the sudden splash of seawater in his mouth. Still trembling, he managed to twist himself around despite the chains biting into his skin, seeing the mass of the Silence behind the longship.

Behind him, the Wolf's mocking tone rang out, the ropes binding Euron to the ship snapping loose. Grabbing him by the hair, the Wolf lifted Euron in one hand, dangling him over the water.

"Ahhhh, nothing like the sea air to warm a man's heart. Tastes finer than wine, smells better than flowers."

There was an exaggerated sniff.

"Or at least it usually does. Been a while since you had a bath, I take it."

"Know where we are, rust-born?"

Euron looked around him. The seas were a dark gray, the clouds the colour of iron, as were the islands in swimming distance of the ships. As the ship rowed closer, he started as he recognized the beach where the Drowned Men held their ceremonies.

"Here you were made king... and here you will die. Powerless, broken, alone... A fitting end to so inept a sailor, so weak a warrior, and so gutless a raider."

Euron squirmed, but there was no escaping the chains binding his arms. The Wolf dropped him on the deck.

"Believe me, I wish I could keep you alive long enough to show you how much I appreciate the hard work you've done in King's Landing, my triumph and those of my gods wouldn't be nearly as complete without the efforts you put into it. But I have spent long enough refusing their will, and paid too high a price to do so again."

"The Drowned God rules here!"

"The Drowned God."

There was a world of contempt in the Wolf's voice as he spat in Euron's face.

"There's more power of the gods in my spit than your puny god has in all this world's oceans."

"Or do you still hope he will save you? Do you think the half-dozen priests you murdered in your life grant you greater favor with him than I have with my gods, in whose name I have sacrificed thousands, over more lifetimes than you've had days, I who have brought them the skulls, the hearts, the very souls of men and daemons, of Chosen and of snakefolk, of beasts and beastkin, of dragons and kings?"

Euron saw from the Wolf's face that this was no idle boast, even if he had no idea what the giant was talking about.

"What the fuck are you?"

"I am the Wolf, the High Executioner of Chaos. I will open the path to bring the true gods into this world, and it shall belong to them forever and always. You are the closest thing to a pale shadow of myself that your weakling gods saw fit to create, and see what heroic resistance you opposed me."

"In fact, let us put it to the test, here and now."

The Wolf stood at the prow of the Seafang, drawing in a deep breath, as a tidal wave before the crash.

"DROWNED GOD! Hear me and tremble, you sad puddle of abyss-mud! I, Wulfrik World-Walker, defy you, here on the sea, in the heart of your domain, and you are as powerless as your mewling servant! You call yourself the god of the sea, I say you are not fit to call yourself the god of a chamberpot! Your waters are worthy only to house muck-feeders and whalebones, a thousand elephants could shit in them for a century and only improve the taste of its fish!"

"Prove yourself, god of trickles and outhouses, send the biggest wave you can piss! Here stands a man unafraid of you or the biggest minnow you call sharks, a man who has braved the mightiest tempests of Mermedus, who has sailed the seas of the Warp without fear, a man before whom daemons quake, who serves and obeys the true gods! End me here and now, before I knock down the sandcastles you call temples, your priests left to die of thirst, your murkiest depths plumbed and explored like a dockside whore's!"

Nothing but the sound of the waves was heard after the Wolf's tirade ended. He turned to Euron.

"Would you perhaps like to try? Go on, looter of brothels and taverns, defy the gods of the Norsca, the true masters of the world, and of all worlds. They are far away, and yet they have but to reach out to take your worthless life from you."

Euron had recovered, and was able to put on a sneer as he responded in kind.

"Defy them? I don't see what there is to defy."

"I see only a delusional madman, an oversized idiot who thinks he has won a battle with a god by shouting at the air, and whose satisfaction increases tenfold when nothing happens! I spit on your gods, you rat-fucking cunt!"

Euron panted, but the Wolf merely smiled.

"Good! Your last words were of defiance and bravery. A shame you couldn't muster up the same fury in life, of course, but I'll take what I can get. Which is also why I'm a better pirate than you ever were."

"And now I realize I have kept you from your god for far too long."

Hoisting Euron in one hand, grabbing a rope in the other, the Wolf stepped over the gunwale and let himself slide down the prow of the Silence until he was standing on the submerged ram. He threw Euron a short distance into the air, just enough to catch him by the ankle, rotating his wrist so his victim hung upside down.

"Now, will you make it fast, like a coward, or will you make it last, like a fool?"

The Wolf lowered his arm, dunking Euron's head underwater.

As he shook and kicked, Euron realized he had not been dropped, still feeling the Wolf's iron grip on his leg, and only his head was under the waves. Continuing to thrash a moment more, he fell still, drooping limply, waiting for the Wolf to pull him up, and then play the corpse until the lunatic's interest faded.

"A fool, then. Are you not anxious to meet your god? You weren't much of a fighter in life, you could at least try to make a good messenger boy in death."

The Wolf's mocking voice entered Euron's mind as if they were both on dry land. Now spots were beginning to appear in front of his vision, his lungs screaming.

"I'm not in any hurry, you know. It's a fine day for sailing."

Now Euron thrashed and wriggled in earnest, his head smashing repeatedly against the Silence's ram, his nose broken and bleeding, and through it all the Wolf's sarcasm dripping like venom.

"Now, now, take better care of your skull, you wouldn't want me to present a damaged sacrifice, would you?"

Euron's struggles only intensified, but there was no escape.

"The ingratitude of some people. I learn that your kind do not fear drowning but do fear storms, I take the time and effort to give you the death any true Ironborn would gladly take instead of nailing you to the top of the mast and sailing through tempests until lightning strikes, and this is how I'm thanked."

Euron could no longer fight the impulse to breathe in, eclipsing even his hate for the barbarian.

"You want to what?"

Euron struggled to make sense of the words despite the burning of his chest. The Wolf was now speaking like a man annoyed by a minor interruption rather than a smug tormentor relishing in his power over his helpless captive.

"And why would I let you do so?"

There was a pause.

Euron suddenly felt himself pulled up, coughing and sucking in air greedily. Behind the Wolf stood Akkarulf, an expression of sinister joy on a face Euron had always seen cringing and fearful.

"Right, rust-born. Akkarulf here says he wants your manhood for himself, for reasons I'd rather not dwell on. Since he's shown himself more obedient than some of my own crew and skilled enough to carry out what I ask of him, I'm inclined to let him."

"Unless you can you think of a good reason why I shouldn't."

Euron blinked repeatedly, his mouth agape.

"Will your god mind if you present yourself before him missing a tentacle?"

Euron could now only shake, repeating "No!" in a panicked voice. Akkarulf advanced, his eyes blazing. The Wolf held up his free hand.

"And what do you intend to do with it? You're not nailing it to the mast or keeping it for luck, I hope."

"No, S- yarrl. I'm going to throw it in the sea, as far away as possible, on the other side of the world if I can, and may his ghost be forever looking for it in the bellies of crabs!"

Drawing a short knife, Akkarulf ripped open Euron's trousers, and before the Ironborn could make any sense of what was happening, was brutally hacking and sawing away.

Euron's screams ended suddenly as the Wolf plunged him underwater, holding him as securely as if his ankle had been nailed to the ship. Still he struggled like a worm on a hook, even managing to free his arms of the chain, but it was too late.

Even as he felt the darkness entering his mind, the fire in his chest spreading, the unspeakable pain pulsing through his groin, fear in every fiber of his being, the very last thoughts in his head were the mocking words of the Wolf.

"When you see your... "god". Tell him that though he may hide in the deepest crevices he can find, he will not escape the Ruinous Powers."

The last few bubbles broke the surface, watched carefully by the Wolf, who whispered something no one could hear.

Pulling the corpse back up, he dropped it spread-eagle on the bow, pulling out a knife and stabbing deeply into Euron's guts, his hand moving up through the rib cage and pulling out Euron's still-throbbing heart, then stabbing through the throat and spine to rip off his head.

"Right! That's done with."

"Akkarulf, get to the coast, round up however many you need to properly crew this tub, get them ready to board in a week."

"But yarrl, it'll take us at least two weeks to reach King's-"

The Wolf looked at Akkarulf, his expression studiously neutral.

"Oh. Yes, yarrl!"

Akkarulf turned and hauled himself onto the Silence's deck, yelling out orders to the crew.

"Drop the rowboat! Harr, Odon, Seron and Olv, with me!"

The Wolf's voice came from the prow. There was no trace of menace in his voice, and yet it was clearly audible to the Ironborn.

"Be back before sunset. You don't want to keep me waiting."

As the rowboat headed for shore, rowed by the skilled mutes of the Silence, Akkarulf turned to see his captain remove the limbs from Euron's corpse and toss them onto the deck before disdainfully kicking the maimed body in the water.

Night had fallen before the stranded courtiers saw the Seafang's lights approaching the shore. As they were brought onboard, they saw that the ship had clearly been the site of a fierce battle: blood had spattered everywhere on the ship, with several severed limbs lying fore and aft before being tossed overboard.

Tyrion went to the Wolf as the ship turned eastward, trying to avoid stepping in the puddles of gore, keeping his voice as neutral as he could.

"I take it the encounter went to your satisfaction, Ser Wolf?"

"Completely. Very reasonable people, these Iron Islanders. Had it been one of the Norsca, I'd have had to slaughter all but one of them to reach any kind of arrangement."

The lights sprang up on another ship an arrow's flight away, as it sailed southeast. Tyrion started.

"That's the Silence!"

"What is?"

"Euron's flagship! You- you negotiated with him?"

"Is that what his name was? I just found the one who yelled the most and... explained the difficulty of his situation."

The Wolf seemed thoughtful.

"Now that you mention it, he was the only one to speak words during the battle. A well-named ship, this Silence."

Tyrion returned to what he felt was the important subject. Looking at the retreating ship, he could make out a figure at its stern, giving them a mocking salute.

"What difficulty?"

"Well, he'd lost a quarter of his crew by the time I got to him. I showed him how difficult it would be for his crew to sail a ship with only half their number breathing and a captain with only half a leg and no hands."

Grey Worm, seeing Tyrion's agitation, had approached, his face wearing its usual scowl.

"The Queen did not tell you to do this!"

The Wolf turned his head.

"No, but she did tell me to bring you all back without exposing you to danger. That part I think you'll agree went perfectly well."

Tyrion spoke up, managing to keep the dread out of his voice.

"And what did you negotiate with him?"

The Wolf smiled.

"I'll tell you and your queen once we reach the island in the morning. It'll save me from telling it twice."

The Wolf turned back to the prow, leaving Grey Worm to give Tyrion a questioning look, his hand on his sword, and Tyrion to respond with a shake of his head. Close as they were to Dragonstone, they were still at sea, and the rest of the crew might not take kindly to the death of their captain.

He had to hope the dawn would bring less dramatic events, and that the Wolf's initiatives would not cause Danaerys to embrace the execution-happy tyrant she was getting dangerously close to becoming.