Mathis
King Aegon's host was still two days march from Highgarden when Lord Willas Tyrell arrived at the head of a thousand knights. The crippled Lord of Highgarden rode a tame pale brown mare with a specially made saddle for his leg. Mathis shifted slightly, his leg pained him still. I don't think the bone is healing quite right, he thought, I might need to ask about a saddle of my own.
The King met the Lord of Highgarden in a meadow strewn with wildflowers, the sky was pale grey with distant clouds, and a mild north wind gently played with the cloaks, and hair of everyone present. In King Aegon's company were Mathis, Varys, Littlefinger, Ser Harry, Lord Jon, Princess Arianne, and Prince Oberyn, who greeted Lord Willas with a smile and a question about his stables.
"Your Grace," Willas said once the pleasantries were done. He began to dismount.
"Please my lord," the king interrupted. "Stay seated if that's more comfortable for you."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Willas bowed in his saddle. "Your Grace, Highgarden is, as it always has been, at the service of House Targaryen."
"I never had any doubts," King Aegon smiled.
Lord Willas rose from his bow. "Your Grace is too kind." He shifted slightly in his saddle.
King Aegon smiled. "Please my lord, this is a time of war, may we skip the further niceties, I'm sure you came this far not only to greet me."
"I'm afraid Your Grace is correct, I come with ill news. The enemy is on our doorstep, not Stannis, but the Ironmen. Their fleet captured the Shield Islands and has since raided up and down the Mander. All the way to the gates of Highgarden itself."
"You haven't stopped them?" Jon Connington asked.
"Most of the fighting men have already gone to war, they're either dead, fled, or," Willas shrugged. "In this army or Stannis' by this point. The men left to Highgarden have, led by my brother Ser Garlan, been patrolling the river. They've beaten back raiders, yes, but for every one driven off another two slip past, and leave nothing but ruins and fire in their wake."
"Who leads these Ironmen?" Petyr Baelish asked. "Balon is dead is he not, and his only son has disappeared somewhere in the North last I'd heard."
"Balon is dead," Lord Willas confirmed. "And as for his son I cannot say, but the man leading the Ironmen is Euron Greyjoy, Balon's brother. King Euron so he calls himself."
Jon Connington shrugged. "It makes no matter, one Ironman is much the same as another."
"They must have a base," Ser Harry spoke up. "Somewhere they can rest and store their plunder."
Lord Willas nodded. "The crossing at Waxley, an island splits the Mander there. The river can be crossed by a ford on the south side and a bridge on the north, but I have not the men to make an assault alone."
"You do now my lord," Aegon said with a smile.
"Your Grace is that wise?" Mathis asked. "Stannis is only a few days march behind us, should he force a march, he could fall upon our rear."
"And let it be said that the last Targaryen ran from a gang of pirates and reavers?" Jon Connington interrupted.
"They bloodied many a nose during the Greyjoy Rebellion," Mathis said. "It might be wiser to regroup at Highgarden and prepare to fight Stannis. Then finish off the Ironmen. They can raid and pillage all they like but never threaten Highgarden or even half the other castles in the Reach."
"My lords," King Aegon said. "I think Lord Jon has the right of it. How can I claim the Iron Throne if I ignore the titles that come with it? I am the Protector of the Realm, so let me protect it and the people in it."
That decided things, in the hour that followed, the plan was hatched. Lord Willas would return to Highgarden and muster his men, of which Lord Willas claimed to have near ten thousand. They were knights, petty lords, and men at arms who had remained loyal to House Tyrell after the many battles and turnings of cloaks that had drained the Reach of its manpower. From there Lord Willas would travel from Highgarden along the Mander's northern bank to the northern bank of Waxley, while, King Aegon's army would march to the southern bank of the Waxley crossing. The only escape for the Ironmen would be to return to their ships and flee downriver. There was some risk to this, the Tyrell host would be small enough that the Ironmen might win a pitched battle, and coordination between the two armies would be difficult with the river and Ironmen longships preventing messengers from making contact.
"Bonfires," Ser Harry Strickland suggested. "Are the answer. One at dawn and one at sunset, that way we'll know each other's progress. Then one each for when we're ready to attack at Waxley."
"And signal the attack with dragonfire." Mathis suggested.
"Won't the bonfires let the Ironmen know where we are?" Princess Arianne questioned.
"They'll already know, their ships and scouts will see us coming," Mathis said, and the other veteran commanders nodded in agreement.
"The plan is set then." King Aegon said. "Lord Willas, I look forward to meeting you again in victory."
The march that brought them to the crossing at Waxley took four long days. They'd marched with haste, ever wary of the threat Stannis and his army posed, though of late the outriders reported that Stannis had slowed his march and was lingering in the foothills of the Red Mountains, near Horn Hill for some reason. Each night the bonfire was lit and signalled the Tyrell host on the other bank and each day brought them closer together. The crossing was a common path, oft travelled by highborn knights and smallfolk peddlers alike. The Mander split in two around a rocky island here. Mathis couldn't see the northern channel from this angle but he had ridden this road before so he knew that it was wider, deeper, and was crossed by a narrow wooden bridge, it was there that the bulk of the Ironman fleet seemed to be assembled. Hundreds of ships, large and small, were anchored downstream of the bridge, ready to take off with the current.
"Fuck me," Harry Strickland swore as he looked through the Myrish Eye.
His interest peaked Mathis reached for the eye once Ser Harry was done with it. Mathis' brought the Myrish Eye's gaze back the island, it was narrow, tall, rocky, and was home to a small town normally, but the Ironmen had sacked it. At least none of the houses seemed to be aflame at the moment, though the charred remains of a few dotted the island. The Ironmen were mustered on the southern bank, ready for battle. There they had lashed their ships together to make a wall. Armoured warriors with axes, spears, and swords stood along the wooden rampart ready to cut down any unfortunate soul that tried to clamber over the sides. The southern channel was shallower and slightly narrower than the northern, a natural ford, and so there was no bridge. Men would be forced to clamber through the water, over rocks and sand, and only the promise of what amounted to attacking a small wall on the other side.
Mathis smiled. Or that's what would happen if we hadn't any dragons to smash their fleet to kindling. He brought the eye back up to take a closer look at the wall of ships, and his blood froze. He let the Myrish Eye fall for a moment before bringing it back up. Children had been tied up around the mainmast of every ship, with more tied up at the fore and aft ends. "Seven Hells." Boys, girls, and even babies in their sibling's arms were on the ships.
King Aegon looked pale and sick, even veteran warriors like Prince Oberyn and Ser Harry Stickland seemed hesitant to say anything.
"As much as it may hurt Your Grace," Jon Connington said. "The military necessity is to use the dragons to blast their ships apart, and then charge through."
King Aegon flinched at the thought.
Mathis felt his stomach turn sour at the thought of killing those children, Elinor's laugh was suddenly at the forefront of his mind. "We're talking about children…"
"Sacrifices must be made," Jon Connington said. "A king must be able to make the hard decisions."
"Lord Jon has the right of it," Varys added quietly.
A few of the Golden Company nodded silently as well.
Seven Hells, Mathis thought, his stomach churning
"I'm sure Tywin Lannister thought something similar when he ordered Amory Lorch and the Mountain to kill Princess Elia and her children," Princess Arianne said quickly, raising her chin high, defiant of the others. Prince Oberyn seemed suddenly thoughtful.
To everyone's surprise, King Aegon straightened in his saddle. "I shall not rule the Seven Kingdoms with the blood of children on my hands. I am the Protector of the Realm, I'd like to think that that includes all the Realm."
His tone was kingly, and brooked no argument, though for a moment it seemed like Jon Connington would try, but he bowed his head and said. "As Your Grace commands."
Ser Harry Strickland seemed nonplussed and merely asked. "Who goes first?"
"The Golden Company I would think," Mathis said. "Are you not the best soldiers in the world?"
Lord Jon Connington couldn't help but chuckle. Ser Harry gave the King's Hand a cool look and turned back to Mathis. "You're quite right. I think it's time we earned our pay."
Arianne
Like the Battle of the Red Mountains Arianne had little intention of diving into the heart of the fighting, unlike the Battle of the Red Mountains she probably wasn't going to be dragged into a fight by a sudden attack from the flanks. The enemy could hardly attack at all, holed up as they were across the ford on their ships and their island.
The first companies were forming into a great column on the river bank. They were all on foot, horses couldn't climb ships and walls, and in any case, they wouldn't do well in the river. The first ranks carried makeshift pavises and ladders made from disassembled carts or wagons. Rising high into the sky were the twin pillars of smoke that marked the bonfire signals. The wind blew the smoke northwest, where it began to mingle with the thin grey-white clouds.
The ranks assembling to attack were Golden Company men, acknowledged by all to be the best infantry among the various contingents. The seven thousand or so infantrymen were divided into three battalions for the attack, the first and largest battalion had approached the water's edge. There were no archers or crossbowmen on foot among the formation, the river itself precluded the use of crossbows and longbows. The water would soak the strings and make the weapons weak, the current would ruin aim, and in any case, the risk of hitting one's comrades, or the children, made it too risky to deploy them in numbers.
Lord Mathis and Prince Oberyn were organizing the Reachmen and Dornishmen further back. They'd only advance if it looked like the Golden Company was already beating the Ironmen. Elsewise they'd get their legs wet for nothing.
Aside from their infantry, the Golden Company's elephants were also lining up for the attack. Each one carried a driver and a trio of Summer Islander archers armed with goldenheart longbows in their howdahs. Their skilled hands and terrific bows would outrage the Ironmen and from the height of the elephants they could even shoot down into the ships.
Horns and drums and trumpets shouted signals and directions at the mass of men as they slowly moved into position. Though she couldn't see them, Arianne imagined that Lord Willas and Ser Garlan were doing the same with their men as they readied to cross the bridge between the north bank and the island. Lord Mathis, and others who'd made this crossing before described the bridge as fairly new, thirty years old and made from heavy oak from the Red Mountains and wide enough for two wagons to cross at once. It had replaced the ferry that had existed there previously. It wasn't fortified thankfully, thirty years ago with the last of the Blackfyres dead and the realm at peace under King Aerys and his Hand Lord Tywin, it seemed that there would be peace for decades to come. Foolish thinking Lord Jon Connington had said. But how could they have known what was yet to come? Arianne thought, the madness of Aerys, the Rebellion, and now this War of Five Kings.
At last, the dragon roared, sending flames and smoke over the water, and startling horses and livestock. She might have imagined it, but Arianne thought she saw the Ironmen on their ships flinch like the animals on her side of the bank. In the silence that followed, the drumbeat began, urging the men of the Golden Company onward as they began their advance into the water and toward the enemy. Rank upon armoured rank, in mail or plate or scale, their march like the hundred legged crawl of a centipede. Horns and trumpets blared, and the elephants responded with trumpets of their own, their trunks raised high above the heads of the soldiers surrounding them as they bellowed.
Arianne sat ahorse near the riverbank as she watched them advance before they were halfway across the ford the arrows began to fall. Most fell harmlessly upon shields and pavises, but a few found their mark in flesh and bones instead, and soon crimson blood was flowing freely in the crystal clear water of the Mander. Despite the hail of steel, the attackers marched on. The archers on the elephants quickly began sending arrows in return. The goldenheart longbows sent the shafts flashing over the water faster than the eye could follow. Arianne lacked a Myrish Eye, and it was too far to see the results, but she'd seen Summer Islanders perform feats of archery for coin in Dorne from time to time, and she had little doubt that each arrow was finding its mark. But there were barely forty archers on the elephants, so despite their skills, they couldn't stop the fury raining down on their comrades.
The steel centipede marched slowly onward. Blood swirled down the river in small but steady crimson streams. Arrows flew back and forth, and when the attackers drew close enough, javelins and axes began to fly from the sides of the lashed together longships. Not long after that, the first ladders slammed down on the sides of the ships. The longships weren't tall, it would have been easy enough to clamber over the sides had there not been a gang of axe wielding, and hungry for blood Ironmen waiting. The ladders would help with that, as wet, slippery, and unstable as they were, it was still far better than clambering over the sides. Soon the battle was locked, and the cries of men and the hammer and anvil ring of blades on armour echoed over the water.
It was hard to tell exactly what was happening, but the Golden Company looked to be doing well. As she watched she saw a red banner with a horn fall from the mast of one ship, and a gold banner take its place.
"They're pushing the Ironmen back," Arianne said excitedly as her uncle rode up next to her.
"Aye," he said. "Ser Raymond Redding will lead his Reachmen into the fray soon."
Arianne craned her head to get a glance at the knight once sworn to House Crane. "A year ago he'd be lucky to have a hundred men now he commands nearly three thousand."
"War is a fickle thing," Prince Oberyn said. "It makes princes as easily as it makes paupers," he shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about him, all he has to do is keep them marching in the right direction, and then the warriors will do all the rest. Even a Reachman should be able to manage that."
Arianne chuckled as her uncle rode off, and she watched Ser Raymond's men march into the river. Before long they were halfway across, the Reachmen passed around the elephants, giving the unfamiliar beasts a wide berth, and raised their shields against the arrows that flashed from the longships. A few arrows found their marks, bodies sank with the weight of their armour, and crimson plumes stained the sparkling water.
The wind rose up for a moment, spreading dust and the scent of blood. Her sandsteed snorted and stepped sideways, causing a little water to splash upward and tickle Arianne's shins. Water? Arianne looked down, a few inches of water was flowing over the grass and was quickly growing deeper. Suddenly she was back in her dreams from weeks ago, knee deep in a river with water rushing all around, facing a great wall of wood, steel, and flames that spat death, and then… then the waters would rise. She looked up to see the rushing water had already broken the banks on both sides of the river.
"Oh, gods. The river!" She shouted. "It floods! Get back, men! Back to the bank! The river!"
Her words effect was immediate, the men who could hear her began to turn and run, in seconds their comrades followed them and all at once the great mass of men in the river, and on the river bank began to flee. Arianne and her guard were quickly caught up in the flight.
At the top of the bank, Arianne wheeled her sandsteed around to see what was happening. The river looked to have risen slightly more than a foot and looked to be running twice as fast. The effect was more than enough to make the men still in the river struggle against the current. The centre of the passage was now more than chest deep, and she saw some men trying to get back to the bank have their feet swept out from under them and be washed away. The lucky ones might break free of the current further down, and against the weight of steel and waterlogged padding, struggle to shore, the unlucky might never resurface and could end up feeding crabs and fish in the Sunset Sea.
The hooves of Arianne's horse pounded the water that was steadily rushing over the banks sending droplets into the air, caught in the sunlight they looked like diamonds for a moment. A destrier charged past her, carrying a knight with black swirls on his surcoat, and splashing Arianne. Men up to their knees struggled through the formerly grassy, now flooded, field, desperately striving for the higher ground not far away.
When Arianne at last reached ground that was both high and dry, she pulled her sandsteed around to watch the river. The Mander had fully broken its banks now, and its waters spread a hundred feet inland, with only a few small patches of grass above the surface of the water. The southern bank of the ford was almost empty of men only a few stragglers were still struggling against the current. In the centre of the ford, half a dozen elephants and their riders had stayed behind. They were using harnesses, lances, cloaks, banners, and tabards as ropes for the infantrymen to hold onto as they slowly ferried men across the ford, and back to safety. Perhaps a thousand or more were still trapped fighting the Ironmen, though perhaps fighting was the wrong word. They were holding onto the sides of the longships for dear life. Many must have offered their surrender because rather than killing them, the Ironmen were hauling them aboard. The longships themselves had been lifted by the rising water and had begun to drift with the current, pulling against the anchors and ropes that held them fast together.
Arianne took a few deep breaths as the last men stumbled out of the water. "I dreamed this," she whispered. "How did I dream this?"
Sansa
The armoured host of the Targaryen army was massed on the southern bank. Sansa's eyes were inevitably drawn to the great black and red dragon banners that rippled in the breeze. This was a sight Sansa thought she'd never see, the old royal house returned. A part deep inside her was giggling in childish glee, as fragments of half-remember stories fluttered around inside her head. "Who is he?"
Euron sniffed. "He calls himself Aegon the Sixth, and his puppet masters have rallied this army for him."
"So he's a false Targaryen?"
"Does it matter? He won't live to sit the Iron Throne in any case." Euron smiled cruelly. "I will break him."
Euron had said that over an hour ago, and as the battle progressed, his smile had only grown wider. Just as he'd foreseen the Targaryens had balked at the idea of using their new weapon on children. From their vantage atop the town of Waxley's solitary keep, Sansa could see both the northern and southern banks. Euron's eyes were fixed south but Sansa allowed hers to wander north. A smaller army had gathered there, all colourful with heraldry, great silk banners rose high above them. Many with the banners of House Tyrell, a golden rose on green, but there were others as well. She saw House Crane, the green apple Fossoways, House Beesbury, and more. They had readied themselves beyond the bridge, but when the dragon roared and the Targaryen army on the southern bank began to advance, the Tyrells weren't quite ready.
So the fight on the bridge started close to half an hour after the first blades began to flash beneath the sun in the southern branch of the river. The knights of House Tyrell had dismounted as they rushed across the bridge, meeting the Ironborn warriors locked in a shield wall in a crescendo of bloodshed. Archers on rooftops shot over the shield wall into the Reachmen struggling against the Ironborn. Andrik the Unsmiling and Ser Harras Harlaw had command there, but Euron paid the north bank little mind, his focus was entirely bent towards the south, where the column of Golden Company sellswords had struck the line of longships. Red water was just beginning to flow downriver when Euron clapped his hands together, and without a word of warning began the walk to the downstream point of the island, where Silence and the other larger warships were anchored. Sansa hurried after him, glancing nervously at both battles raging on the banks of the island. They passed by the reserves waiting in relative silence in the town, all of them waiting their moment to join the fight against the far more numerous enemy.
She followed Euron onto the deck of Silence, there were no Ironborn warriors here, only queer tattooed mutes. A stone goblet carved with runes rested on the deck. Without a wasted moment, Euron strode up to the goblet and cut his hand. He held his hand above it, letting the blood flow inside. Sansa followed him, only now getting a good look at the goblet. The goblet was made from marbled grey and black stone, but strangely oily, carvings in the shape of turtles, crabs, boats, and rushing water twisted their way around the goblet, from the rim to the base. Sapphires and lapis lazuli were used to make the water truly sparkle. Sansa leaned forward slightly and watched Euron's blood mingle with the water already inside.
A muffled grunt drew Sansa's attention. She watched two of Euron's mutes drag the chained and gagged Joffrey out of Silence's hold. Cersei started to scream, everyone ignored her. Sansa's heart was beating like a drum in anticipation. She drew her dagger and stepped forward only to have Euron push her aside. Goblet in hand he quickly stepped toward Joffrey, who began to struggle and scream through his gag. One of the mutes pulled the gag out, while the other shoved a funnel down Joffrey's throat. Euron lifted the goblet high and poured it's contents down Joffrey's throat. The boy-king spluttered and choked, and small spurts of water splashed up around the funnel, but the majority went down his throat nonetheless.
Euron tossed the goblet to the side and stepped back, a smile on his face. The mutes held Joffrey still for a little longer before removing the funnel and letting him fall forward. Joffrey coughed and heaved, water and blood spilled out of his throat, far more than he'd swallowed, he was crying.
"Please," he begged. "Please…" Blood dribbled down his chin. Euron said nothing as he continued the grisly sorcery. Cersei began to beg as well, but Euron ignored them both.
It took ten minutes but by the end of it, Cersei had screamed herself hoarse, and Joffrey hung lifelessly over the side of Silence. His neck had been cut from ear to ear, and his royal blood was draining into the Mander. Cersei was moaning, her throat raw from screaming and crying, and unable to continue wailing at the sight of her son. The rune-covered bronze knife in Euron's dripped blood onto the already bloodstained deck.
He promised me that I would kill him, Sansa thought. She trembled in anger, he was my life to take, but she said nothing. Euron's glee at the murder and the sorcery had faded, he was quiet now, as silent as the calm before the storm.
Sansa bit her lip, waiting for the blood sorcery to unleash a terrible flood of water that would wash the Targaryen army away. She waited. Waited some more. Across the river, she could see the sunlight sparkle off the water, was it? Yes, it was higher, the river was breaking its banks, but slowly. Where is the great flood? Euron had explained little of this spell to her only that it was of the same make as the spells that the Rhoynar had used a thousand years ago in their wars against Old Valyria. That it was powerful enough to wash armies away, but this wasn't what Euron has described, this was no deadly torrent.
It was working in a fashion though, Sansa's ears pricked as she heard shouts and screams rise from the mass of men in the ford. Knee-deep water was now thigh deep and rising quickly. The Targaryen host was fleeing back to the bank, and those on the bans were running for higher ground as the slow flood continued. The celebrating Ironborn sent jeers chasing after them. They had just beaten nearly thrice their numbers a reason to celebrate if there ever was one.
Euron stepped away from the edge of Silence, his face blank as he turned things over in his mind. Sansa stepped away, fearful that he would explode in rage. Instead, Euron shook his head slowly. "What is this?" He asked himself, he sounded strangely puzzled. "Kingsblood… there's power in kingsblood… What is this? King Robert's son…" He threw his hands into the air. "Where is my flood?" His tone was as sharp as Valyrian steel.
Sudden understanding flashed in Sansa. "He's nothing like that old fat king," she murmured.
"What?" Euron rounded on her. "What did you say?"
"He's nothing like that old fat king," she repeated.
Cersei began to make a kind of demented chuckle somewhere between humour and horror.
Euron looked blankly between them.
"Stannis," Sansa began.
Euron interrupted her with a roar of rage, and he began to pace back and forth across Silence. "Damn you! Damn! You!" He screamed at Cersei trapped in her cage. "Damn you! You stupid whore! Stupid brotherfucking slut! How many uncles have lied and killed to cheat their nephews of their due?" He screamed and threw the dagger at Cersei but it clattered harmlessly off the bars of her cage. "Thousands! Tens of thousands! And now! Only now! At my moment of triumph does it come to light that for the first time in the history of mankind an uncle told the truth?" The disbelief in Euron's voice could have been cut with a knife. "That a queen fucked her brother in secret for years and got away with it! That that queen bore three bastards and raised them as princes! That this fucking bastard!" Euron hefted Joffrey's body over the side of Silence and tossed him in the river. "Has as much kingsblood as a fucking pig herder!" Euron held his head in his hands and roared.
"It's," Sansa said, taking a moment to glance at the enemy soldiers stranded by the longships or fleeing across the river. "It's still working, you've won."
"Working?" Euron asked quietly. "Of course it's working! But I wanted something more than for it to merely work!" Euron stood quickly, crossed the distance between them in three quick steps, grabbed Sansa by the hair, and forced her over the side of Silence to watch the rising river. "This is nothing! A few hundred washed away when there should be thousands! Today was the day I killed an army!" He slammed Sansa's chin against the rail and tossed her away. "I not we, never we."
Euron stepped away from where Sansa laid on the ground and picked up the dagger lying on the deck by Cersei's cage. Sansa took a shuddering breath and tasted the blood in her mouth. Dagger in hand, Euron continued to stalk back and forth across the deck, muttering to himself.
"Lord King!" A warrior shouted for Euron's attention. "Lord King!"
Euron paused his muttering to look at him, and Sansa cautiously raised her head as well, wiping the blood from her chin. It was Ser Harras Harlaw, fresh from the fighting at the bridge on the northern bank of the isle. A rocky outcropping blocked Sansa's view of the fighting there, but she could still hear it, and see the Reachmen on the bridge, waiting for their turn to fight.
"What?" Euron asked mid-step.
Ser Harras stepped forward. "The Greenlanders are pushing us back, Lord King."
"So get the reserves."
"They've already joined the fighting."
Euron growled and stormed without a word, off the deck, and into his cabin. Sansa slowly rose to her feet, as Ser Harras looked around in confusion as he waited for Euron. A minute later Euron stormed back onto the deck, his bow in hand, and an arrow in his fingers. As he passed Sansa she got a good look at the arrow. The arrowhead was made of old bronze, the shaft was layered with runes and symbols she didn't recognize, and the flights were made with blue and red feathers. Euron wasted no time as he quickly ascended Silence's rigging to the crow's nest. He stood staring at the southern bank for a moment before running the razor-sharp arrowhead down his arm. Euron aimed at the bridge, closer than either bank but still very far away, clearly out of bow shot. "Die." He loosed the arrow and turned away not bothering to watch it rise and fall.
Sansa closed her eyes to better focus her senses and feel the magic in the arrow. Wind and air shifted slightly, propelling the arrow further, higher, faster. It began to fall, racing toward its target. It hit, of course, it hit, how could it not? Sansa opened the eyes of a raven just in time to watch panic erupt among the ranks as the Lord of Highgarden fell with an arrow just above his breastplate.
Euron threw the bow back down to the deck of Silence, unsatisfied with the death of but one man. "Drive the Greenlanders back then put the ships out, we're leaving, as soon as we're able, back to the sea."
"The men will want to loot the dead," Ser Harras Harlaw said.
Euron rounded on him, his black eye blazing with such dread fury, that Ser Harras Harlaw and Sansa both fell back a step. "I don't give a fuck what the men want! Do as I command!" Euron went below the deck of Silence, leaving Sansa alone with Ser Harras Harlaw.
Ser Harras Harlaw took a half step to follow Euron but quickly thought better of it. "And the children?" Ser Harras Harlaw asked Sansa.
She glanced at Euron's descending back. She knew what Euron would say, what he'd expect her to say. Do what you will, kill them, leave them, or keep them. I don't care. She could almost hear him shouting the words at Ser Harras, or perhaps tossing them over his shoulder with utter disdain. Now Ser Harras was looking to her for command. Sansa ran her fingers through her hair. "Leave them," she said. "Just leave them."