Hi Everyone! Dakkaman777 here, been a long time eh? Yeah, I'm not going to lie it's been a hot second since the last chapter and I don't feel proud about how long it's taken to get this chapter done…BUT…a lot of shit has happened in my life since the last chapter.

Long story short, my life has been shaken around and turned inside out. My parents have split up, we've moved to a new house (My mother and I were a step away from being homeless at one point), I'm now supporting my mother and myself, some revealing things about my father have been revealed that have changed the way I look at him, and my life has taken what some might call a Paradigm shift.

Basically, I've been using this time to try and find a new equilibrium in my life. Sort things out, come to terms with certain unsavoury things in my life that I needed to face, basically I've just been trying to regain my sanity.

So yeah, this chapter isn't as long as I may have intended in the past, but hopefully it's enough to let everyone know:

1 – I'm not dead!

2 – this story isn't dead!

3 – I'm not giving up on my stories!

Now without further ado…Enjoy.

Blood in the Water

"Your grace! Please! I didn't mean toAAAAAAGH!" the Minstrel screamed as Ilyn Payne began to work his hot knife along the soft flesh of his tongue.

Cersei sat in her throne, watching with her satisfied smirk as a minstrel, caught in the street signing a song about 'the viscous bastard Joffrey' had his tongue sliced from his mouth.

That was only the beginning of his punishment, as Ilyn was instructed to take his fingers afterwards.

The air of King's Landing had begun to reek of fear since the brutal mutilations of Roland Crakehall and Leo Lefford, both their mangled bodies sent back to their holdfasts after their blood soaked the city streets.

Many of the Lannister men still stationed in the capitol had begun having seconds thoughts; oaths and duty began to lose their appeal as their Queen had begun viscously mutilating anyone that didn't bend to her will.

It only got worse, as Minstrels and small folk were dragged by their hair into the throne room or city square to receive punishment for even saying things the Queen didn't like. The Minstrel in front of her reminded her of the Minstrel Joffrey had mutilated when he sang a song about Robert. Cersei watched coldly as Ser Ilyn further dismembered the man, crimson decorating the floor of the throne room.

"Get him out of my sight" Cersei waved her hand as two of the Goldcloaks hauled the mutilated and still bleeding man onto his feet and dragged him out; probably to toss him onto the streets to die of blood loss or infection, whichever came first.

"Your grace" Qyburn approached from her right.

"What is it Qyburn?" she replied.

"I thought it prudent to inform you that the Silence and another 100 Galleons have pulled into the harbour" Qyburn replied, gaining a smile from his queen.

"Greyjoy must have arrived with the remaining mercenaries; these latest additions will bolster our numbers to match whatever the dragon whore commands" Cersei smiled to herself as one of her fingers traced a sword pommel of the throne.

"What word have you from the North?" Cersei asked; curious as to what events had transpired since the fools had marched to their death.

"The last I heard was of the northern forces preparing to make a 'final stand of sorts' at Winterfell, since then the whispers have ceased" Qyburn replied.

"Do you suppose they are dead? Killed by those…things?" Cersei asked wishfully.

"I honestly do not know your grace; I will inform my other informants to keep their eyes and ears open" he continued.

Cersei smiled to herself as she stroked a sword pommel, the thought of all her enemies killed in one fell swoop appealing to her greatly, even if it meant the arrival of a worse threat.

"Should I inform his grace that you will receive him?" Qyburn asked.

"Please do…but just one thing Qyburn…" Cersei motioned Qyburn to lean closer.

"Never refer to that Louse covered cunt as 'his Grace' in my presence ever again"

The Kraken king sat alone in the quarters of his ship, nothing but the sounds of the rocking of the Silence, the cawing of seagulls and the crashing of waves to fill his ears. As he sat at a mirror in nothing but his leathers he gazed deeply into his reflection; his hair hanging long in front of his face, the strands of grey seemingly becoming more apparent.

The visions had become stronger with every night, ever since that faithful day in the storm where he had glimpsed his ultimate destiny. The wind, rain, thunder, and lightning spoke clearer to him than any holy man ever could.

And ever since that day every night he went to sleep his visions and dreams would become more and more intense.

The visions he had the past few nights being the most vivid and real he had ever experienced. He saw the outstretched hand that led him to his place, his place above and beyond all those that had ever branded him a madman or a betrayer. All those that spat on him for killing Balon, branded him 'kinslayer', mostly the worthless whores that chose to side with his niece and nephew.

The vision showed him a great future forged in the hottest of fires and quenched in the coldest of ice. Those two things always came in his dreams, the Fire and Ice, always hand in hand, as if one could not function without the other.

The Fire was the first needed, the Fire is what allowed the Targaryen Dynasty to last for as long as it did. Their Empire began to die when they lost their dragons, their primeval strength and majesty crushed all thoughts of resistance.

How foolish they were to let such divine power slip through their fingers and be reduced to the status of regular mortals.

Euron Greyjoy had a great destiny and he needed that fire to make it reality.

The Ice however, the Ice had only recently taken the forefront of his mind. The Fire would scorch his enemies, but the Ice would make sure none resisted him after wards. The Ice of the far reaches of the North, in the land where the sun never shines and even the dead do not rest.

He had a glimpse when the Targaryen Girl had brought that walking corpse into the Dragon Pit. He may have said he feared it, and that stupid Lion bitch may have believed it as a simple ploy to go retrieve the Golden Company…but he knew from the presence of the dragons and the dead that the beginning of the end was near.

As Euron stared into the mirror he could only smile at the bloody visage that greeted him back, the useless piece of flesh discarded after the failed attempt on his life. The corpse of his would-be assassin nailed to a nearby support beam.

Euron seemed to get philosophical when faced with his current mortality.

The door to his cabin opened and in walked a very windswept Aeron Blacktyde, his black hair partially clinging to his face. The roar of the ocean tides breaching the silence within Euron's chambers.

Closely beside Blacktyde was the shorter but no less feared Erich Harlaw. His scared face and bald, tattooed head always a striking sight.

"You sent for us?" Erich asked as Aeron eyed the corpse that Euron had left nearby.

"…Not going to feign ignorance, are you? Ask if I'm alright?" Euron asked with his back turned to the Blacktyde.

"No real point is there? You are the king…men want you dead" Aeron replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

Euron smiled and let out a wiry chuckle "That's what I like about you two…no bullshit, straight to the point…unlike those poncy fucking mainlanders"

Aeron walked over to the support beam to see a Braavosi man, in his 30's with black hair, disguised in Ironborn garb, nailed to the support beam by a series of daggers. Aeron knew that this man didn't die quickly; the cuts and bruises littering his face were proof of that, as were many of the smaller daggers piercing non-vital areas.

"Poor fucker" Aeron said as he grabbed a handful of the corpse's hair to inspect his face.

"Must have stowed away when we stopped by for those Braavosi sellswords" Erich commented as he approached Euron.

"No…one of the captains let this cunt aboard" Euron replied.

Erich stopped when he realized that Euron's table, hands and hair were dripping with blood. Euron turned to Harlaw, the Ironborn captain's eyes widening in shock at the state of his leader.

"What's the matter Harlaw?" Euron asked with a simple smirk before running his tongue across his lips, lapping up the dripping blood.

Harlaw was speechless at the single eyed visage of the Greyjoy king; his left eye now missing, in its place naught but a gaping hole that slowly oozed a few drops of blood. Harlaw's eyes were drawn to the knife embedded in the table, the Greyjoy's missing eye nailed to the table.

"Did he?" Erich gestured to the dead assassin.

"His knife grazed me…best to get rid of the tainted flesh" Euron smiled as he wiped some blood from below his left socket.

"…Why?" Aeron asked slack jawed from the fact that Euron didn't seem to be in any pain. Had Euron simply waited, then a Maester could have easily fixed his wounded eye; so why remove it completely?

Euron couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, these two were his favourite captains for a reason; they didn't waste time beating around the bush or kissing his arse like some of the other captains did. Yes, he needed Harlaw and Blacktyde's ships and their men, but it didn't hurt that they could make him chuckle sometimes.

The dream he had last night; the visions that filled his mind mere moments before the attempt on his life. The same voice he had heard that day he had been caught in the storm, the storm that many say he lost his mind in.

Flesh was merely flesh, and an eye was a worthy sacrifice for the vision that Euron gained in return.

"I have a vision for this world boys…simple eyes like these can't contain it" Euron smiled a bloody smile.

"Now fetch the Captains and bring them aboard; I want to speak to them" Euron stated as he stood up and walked over to his washbowl.

Harlaw and Blacktyde could only exchange a look of confusion and fear, they always knew that Euron Greyjoy was not a man that you crossed and lived; but this was a new revelation to them, the look in his remaining eye spoke more than any million words spoken by any flowering mainland lord.

The Greyjoy king didn't let anything stand in his way. Morality, family, faith, loyalty, not even his own flesh, all were just restrictions.

"But what about Lannister? She'll want you to attend as soon as we've made port" Aeron asked as the two reached the door.

"She can wait, I'm the one bringing her reinforcements; if she has a grievance she can come aboard and tell me" Euron replied calmly before splashing water into his face; the bowl turning red as he did.

"Of course, my king" Erich chuckled; the sight of the Lannister Queen onboard the deck of a Greyjoy ship an unlikely but humorous sight to grace his mind.

Lion ruled the Land; but Krakens ruled the seas.

The cold ocean winds of Dragonstone were a far cry from the warm climate of Lys, but Varys could barely remember the warm air of his homeland, much like how his accent had completely disappeared from his voice.

Still, things like the wind and humidity were not things one would associate with strategy or intelligence.

However, in the mind of a man like Varys, things like the patterns of the weather could make the difference between a fatal mistake and a great victory. The colder wind meant that winter was here, just like Lord Stark always said.

The snows had already began to fall in the south, that meant slower ground troop movements, resources had become more vital.

The strength of the winds was very much the same. The winds affected troop movements as much as the ground beneath their feet, they affected the speed of ships, both warships and supply ships.

But most of all, the wind and snow affected the moods and the temperaments of the people that inhabited Westeros' towns and cities, it affected the rate their crops would grow, it would affect their food stores and most of all their ability to travel in search of food and warmer climates. This was a very vital detail to consider when planning the shift of a nation's power dynamic.

Varys always tended to ponder these things in the solace of his chambers, left to his own thoughts with his quill and parchment laid out before him; the Targaryen seal of Daenerys and wax to make it at the ready.

For the past few days, he had been gathering as much information as he could from his network of little birds. With the bulk of Queen Daenerys' forces in the North it was up to Varys to do whatever he could down in the south.

That included gauging whatever forces Cersei had remaining in King's Landing, what forces remained amongst whatever lords had survived the constant war that followed Ned Stark's death. Any enemies of Cersei would be potential allies for their side.

The Martells down in Dorne, whilst Ellaria and the sand snakes were missing and assumed dead, had crowned a new princess, the daughter of Prince Dora, Arianne Martel. From what Varys had heard she was quite the beauty and commanded a fresh army of 30,000 spears. However, Varys had also heard that after the disaster of the rule of the Sands had left Dorne wary of tampering with the affairs of the other kingdoms.

It would certainly be a task to get them back on board.

The Riverlands still marshalled a grand total of 20,000 troops between them, but after the destruction of house Frey and the near destruction of house Tully there was little in terms of authority. The current 'leader' of the Riverlands was the last surviving child of Hoster Tully, Catelyn Stark's younger brother Edmure.

Varys knew of his escape from the Twins; it taking place shortly after the slaughter of all the Frey men, Tully Loyalists made sure he was returned to his birthplace of Riverun. However, his capture at the hands of the Freys had left him fearful of war and not in any mind to rush toward it anytime soon.

Perhaps his Niece Sansa could influence his joining into the fold?

The splintered houses of the Stormlands were another possibility, after the destruction of Stannis' forces in the north there was a power vacuum. The Stormlanders were strong and proud, and though their armies had taken a beating in the past few years, they were still valuable assets and could prove to be useful. 3000 men these days was nothing to be scoffed at, especially when every man counted.

There was no chance in hell that the Stormlands would bow to Cersei, not after the deaths of all with the name Baratheon.

The Crownlands were out of the question; even if they wanted to turn from Cersei their lands were too close to King's Landing to risk retaliation from the Kraken and his fleet. A Shame, as many of those houses would welcome a Targaryen restoration, House Velaryon in particular.

The Hightowers and the Redwynes had taken collective control of the Reach after Daenerys' attack on the Lannister army, it was apparent they could not keep a firm hold on the Reach with such an emaciated army. Between all the Houses of the reach was an army of 60,000, but with no single figurehead in charge there was little they could do, this 60,000 also included 8000 Tarly bannermen left without a leader. Varys did hear rumours of a Tyrell survivor; Olenna's grandson Garlan, who had narrowly escaped Highgarden with his life.

Varys would have to keep a few ears out for news like that, a Tyrell alive could easily hand the bulk of the Reach to Daenerys' hands.

Most of the army of the Vale remained untouched, aside from the few thousand knights sent to Winterfell to assist in the defence. The bulk of the Vale's knights and men at arms numbered 40,000; all remaining in the Vale to protect their young lord Robyn.

Varys hoped that fighting closely with Queen Daenerys and the Northerners would soften them to the Targaryen cause. If not then he would need to dwell harder on the subject, the Vale were virtually untouched by the war of the five kings.

The situation surrounding Cersei had not improved; after the execution of Roland Crakehall, Leo Lefford and several other Westerland lords, the Westerlands had pulled their support and returned home away from King's Landing.

The only Westerosi forces still loyal to Cersei aside from Euron's Ironborn, were her remaining 3000 Lannister bannermen; whose loyalty was wavering by a thread and the 2000 Gold Cloaks of the city guard, who were nought but thugs in fancy armour.

The bulk of Cersei's forces lay in the many scores of Mercenaries she had paid for. The Golden Company making up the bulk of their number, the 20,000 ground troops, 5000 mounted horsemen and 100 war elephants, alone this force would be enough to make taking King's Landing an arduous task.

Speaking of Lannisters, the situation of the Westerlands was a very peculiar one; Ever since the execution of so many lords at the steps of the Red Keep, it seemed the remaining lords of the Westerlands had abandoned any loyalty to the Crown and retreated their forces to protect their home. This included 3000 of the remaining Lannister bannermen, who shed their loyalty to Cersei and had since pledged it to the new Warden of the West, Tywin's cousin and Brother-in-law; Daven Lannister.

From what Varys had heard, Ser Jaime and the late Brynden Tully held Daven in high regard, one could be forgiven for thinking that the blood ties between Daven and Cersei would make him turn his back on her difficult; but after the dismembered and mutilated remains of the lords and knights he knew as friends were delivered to their families in the West, it was obvious that to keep his seat as de-facto leader of the West he would have to sever ties with the Queen.

Between all the remaining houses of the Westerlands, excluding the 3000 Crakehall men taken North, a force of 10,000 remained; less than a mere third of the host of 35,000 Tywin had gathered for the war of the Five Kings. Nevertheless, an army of 10,000 Westerlanders could be swayed to join the forces of Queen Daenerys, especially with how badly Cersei had scorned them.

After Lyle Crakehall took so many of his bannermen into the North to fight beside the united Stark and Targaryen forces, the Chief powers in the West besides Daven Lannister were Damon Marbrand and Tytos Brax. Ever since Tywin's death, there had been a power vacuum in the Westerlands; and Tywin's were large shoes to fill.

Varys was sure that Tyrion would make a good fit for those shoes, size withstanding of course.

The Master of Whispers had taken all of these numbers into account; their reasons for either wanting to join Daenerys or not, their relationships with the crown, everything of consequence.

This also included the Queen herself.

Varys furrowed his brow as he flicked the pages of the Houses of Westeros, their Lords, lineages, and heirs. He flicked the book until it came to a specific page he had been dwelling on for some time.

House Tarly of Hornhill. A strong, powerful, and very influential house with a remaining force of 8000 well trained men at arms.

Lord Randyll Tarly of Hornhill, Targaryen Loyalist during Robert's Rebellion, defeated Robert Baratheon at the Battle of Ashford, father of two sons: Samwell, and Dickon.

Samwell now a sworn brother of the Night's Watch and Dickon burned to death beside his father.

Varys could do nought but look at the page and sigh. He had no clue as to why Randyll, a staunch Targaryen Loyalist, willing to stand with a king that burned innocents alive, would stand with Cersei against said King's only living child.

Then again, from what Varys knew; Randyll was not what you would call a man of honour in the same way one would describe a Ned Stark.

But nevertheless, the world could not continue to spin if you simply immolated all the Randyll Tarlys of the world. Like it or not, men like Randyll Tarly were necessary, so were men like Robert Baratheon, Tywin Lannister and yes…even the Aerys Targaryens.

The wheel, as Daenerys put it was the natural way of things, the constant cycle of power that had existed since the dawn of men. The First Men took their rule from the Children and the Giants, the Andals seized power from the First Men, the Targaryens took their power from the Andals, the constant shift was an eb and flow much like the seasons themselves.

Some seasons lasted longer than others, but for each long Winter came a beautiful and bountiful spring made longer by the chaos and destruction.

Varys had to be honest, when he heard the tales of the Targaryen girl in Essos that had gained an army, 3 dragons and had brought slavery in the east to a sudden halt, he thought he had found the perfect ruler to put his stock in.

To Varys the perfect ruler had to be loved…Daenerys was certainly loved in Essos.

The perfect ruler had to be strong…Daenerys was certainly strong.

The perfect ruler had to have a birth right to the throne…Daenerys had royal blood flowing through her veins.

The perfect ruler had to inspire loyalty…any of the Dothraki or Unsullied would give their lives for her.

But the most important factor for a ruler in Varys' book…the perfect ruler had to be open to counsel…that way they could be much easier to control.

Daenerys was not Varys' perfect ruler, her constant ignoring of her counsel was proof of that. The way she disregarded Tyrion's advice concerning the Tarlys, and instead opted to immolate the father and son when they could have been useful down the line was a red mark on her ledger.

Varys meant what he said when the realm was his first and only priority.

Daenerys was a good conqueror; but when it came to conquerors, very rarely did they make good long-term rulers in Varys' book.

Varys admired Daenerys in many ways, her strong will, her determination, her lack in a belief in any god or gods, her hatred of slavery, her ability to inspire strength within her followers and most of all her honestly.

Ned Stark was honest too…and look where it got him. If only he had listened to Varys' many warnings and taken his advice, then perhaps the realm would be in a different state than it was in now.

Varys held up a sealed scroll and rolled it back and forth in his fingers, gazing at the wax seal before letting out what could be a disappointed sigh.

'Does the game continue?' Varys pondered as he looked deeply at the wax seal.

The Spider broke the seal and read the scroll quickly as he could, memorizing its contents before holding it over a lit candle, the fire quickly destroying the contents and whatever incriminating message it held.

Varys placed the burning parchment into a dish and interlocked his fingers as he watched it burn. The last few words of the message being the last to be reduced to cinder, the name of the sender.

'…loyal servant to House Targaryen, Jon Connington, Lord of Griffon's Roost'

Varys let out a weary sigh before rubbing bridge of his nose; he had been up till all hours gathering every scrap of information that he could, he felt a good night's sleep would do him a world of good.

After all, one could not play the game if they slipped up.

It was days like this that he missed the witty back and forth with Baelish.

The sails of the Silence billowed in the strong sea winds; the ship now stationary as it had laid anchor near the bay of King's Landing. The Captains and Lords of the Iron Islands loyal to Euron had gathered on the deck as per his orders.

Aeron and Erich were both stood nearby, Aeron leaning on the railing of the ship with a sack in his hands whilst Erich sat on a nearby barrel. The two were the closest things to Second and Third in commands that Euron had to his rule, made sense considering that they had the most ships and men between them and they didn't have wives that Euron had slept with.

The only crew that was present were Euron's tongueless crewmates; those that were loyal to him to a fault. Funny how much loyalty there was between the man and the men whose speech he took with the business end of a blade.

Euron always thought that whenever Lords of the mainland would gather an entire room would smell of perfume and roses, more like women than men. But whenever Iron Islanders would gather you could scarcely smell anything but salt, sweat and fish oil.

None of them looked particularly lordly either, all wearing leather longcoats, breastplates and the basic combat dress of ironborn raiders. Euron remembered in his youth when he would dress and present himself lordlier than either of his brothers or his fellow Ironborn lords.

He remembered how Balon and Victarion would scoff and sneer at him, Balon the ever-superior older brother, Victarion the stupid and brutish youngest. If only either one of them could see him now; Balon's body given to the seas after Euron had flung him from Pyke; Victarion probably rotting at the bottom of the ocean somewhere.

Still, none of that mattered now, all that mattered was gaining more power, like that voice that came to him in the night had told him to.

The footsteps of the Kraken king were loud as he walked along the wooden deck, his missing eye now covered by a leather eyepatch. His long black hair hanging down his face; flecks of grey running through his head hair and his goatee.

The Ironborn lords seemed surprised by their King's lack of two functioning eyes. But nevertheless, they kept their mouths shut, lest they lose their tongues like Euron's crew.

On the Silence it was bets to keep your mouth shut unless told to by its Captain.

"Such loyal lords…such loyal Ironborn…Is that right Harlaw?" Euron asked out loud.

"Seems like it at first" Erich said as he toyed with the pommel of Nightfall, his family's Valyrian steel sword.

Euron smiled as he looked each other lords in the eyes; trying to see how they would react to the news he was about to give.

"Last night, a Braavosi assassin crept into my quarters and tried to kill me, he didn't succeed and instead found himself meeting his red god" Euron explained as relaxed as someone explaining the weather.

"…I suppose you are wondering if said Assassin lived long enough to spill his guts, metaphorically speaking of course" Euron smiled.

"Mi Lord, you aren't suggesting one of us paid to have you killed?" an Ironborn lord asked, a rough looking man with short grey hair and a handlebar moustache, a lord whose name Euron couldn't recall.

So many Pykes, bastards and pretenders had rose through the ranks since his return to Westeros. It made sense that with Ironborn that a low born bastard could rise and become a Lord through paying the Iron price; Euron took the Iron Price to heart like no other, so he could appreciate a no name rising to become Captain.

That or this lord simply didn't appear on Euron's list of priorities.

"Am I? ever since my Niece escaped, I've been wondering if any of you are spineless turncoats playing kiss arse. You all certainly excel at kissing arse, that's why I'm curious which one of you was bold enough to send a Braavosi rat into my quarters" Euron continued as he walked down the line, making eye contact with each of the lords.

Euron stopped in front of one Lord, a man whose was almost a full foot shorter than him, with short brown hair and a handlebar moustache.

Said lord was, Denys of House Drumm, now the leader of his house after his father left with Victarion on his last voyage and his younger brother had joined Euron's niece Yara. His house's ancestral sword, Red Rain, sheathed at his hip. Denys had a few missing teeth and a very nasty looking scar on his left eye after a viscous brawl with Aeron Blacktyde.

A dispute on their position in the foodchain, one that Blacktyde had won. Euron found it funny how Blacktyde hadn't decided to take Red Rain for himself, to be on equal ground with Harlaw. A Valyrian steel blade did wonders for rank even amongst Ironborn.

"Drumm…have anything to say?" Euron asked.

"I don't know what you mean my King" Denys replied.

Euron smiled before raising a hand and signalling to Blacktyde; not taking his eyes from Drumm.

Blacktyde reached into the burlap sack and pulled out the severed head of the Braavosi assassin by his hair. It wasn't a pleasant sight to see for even Ironborn, especially the way that the tongue and eyes had been removed.

"A little bit worse for wear but…I believe you recognise this rat" Euron said calmy, still smiling at Drumm.

"My Lord, you can't be suggesting that…"

"…That you are a gutless, treacherous coward? Oh, but I am, you've been wanting me out of the way for quite some time now, haven't you?" Euron asked as his smile slowly faded.

Euron looked to Blacktyde and nodded, the hulking Ironborn dropping the sack and dropping the severed head over the side of the ship before gesturing to a couple of Deckhands holding buckets. The two crewhands walked over and began emptying the buckets over the side, the contents of the buckets; chum, rotten fish guts, scales, and oil, specially made to draw in sea Predators.

Drumm saw this and his eyes widened in fear.

Euron's smile returned, more sinister this time.

"What's the matter? I thought you were innocent…if that's the case you have nothing to worry about" Erich chimed in as he approached closely behind Euron.

Euron watched Drumm closely, he could see clearer with his one eye than most men could see with two. the way his eyes kept darting from between Euron, Harlaw and BlackTyde, the way tiny droplets of perspiration dripped down his brow and most of all the way his hand seemed to twitch towards his sheathed Valyrian steel.

Euron could read men like Drumm like an open book, he may as well have been wearing a fucking sign.

Ironborn seldom made good deceivers, its why Robert crushed them, why Euron's brothers couldn't replicate his victory at Lannisport, why the Boltons drove them from the North like rats in no time at all. Deceit and tact were almost foreign concepts to Iron Islanders, they were dumb, brutish, made great brawlers but poor soldiers.

It's what made Euron so dangerous. He was Unorthadox.

"Go ahead…try it…It could be quick…" Euron whispered so quietly that only Denys Drumm could hear.

"…Just one swing…take off my head and claim the Salt Throne…it would be easy, like how I did in my brother…go ahead…" Euron whispered again; Drumm's fingers twitching as he was tempted to try.

Drumm's hand shot to Red Rain and tried to unsheathe it; but before the Blade could even make it halfway out of its sheath, one of Euron's hands grabbed the hilt and drove it back into its sheath. Drumm looked up the wide grin of Euron Greyjoy as he drew a blade from his belt and drove it deep between his ribs.

Crimson red splashed on the deck of the Silence, Drumm letting out a grunt of pain as his hands went straight to the wound after Euron pulled his knife back.

"GAHGGGGGHH!" Drumm grunted loudly in pain as the other lords recoiled.

Euron walked over to the nearest Ironborn lord and used his coat to wipe the blood from his knife before sheathing it.

"Stop your belly aching; that wound won't kill you, the space between the fifth and sixth rib is a body cavity" Euron explained as he walked over to Drumm who was now knelt, clutching his wound.

"You fucking madman!" Drumm yelled in pain as his hands went slick with red.

"Oh please, come up with something original. I have done nothing but raise the Ironborn since taking charge, I created this fleet, I brought us back from the verge of defeat created by my brother and now…I'm going to get rid of a traitor and send a message at the same time" Euron leaned down to Drumm's level.

"You don't deserve this prize" Euron reached forward and unsheathed Red Rain from its sheath. The Ironborn king admired the red Valyrian steel blade before turning his attention back to Drumm.

"I'll be sure to send my niece to you soon. Please, give my brothers my regards" Euron stood up and nodded to Blacktyde.

"String him up!" the Hulking Ironborn raider called to a few mute deckhands.

Before Drumm knew it; he found his arms tied to his sides and his back against the railing of the ship. The plan wasn't to hang him or keelhaul him, the plan was to dangle him over the side and dip in up to waist in the water.

The Chum had begun to draw in the Sharks and work them into a frenzy.

"Greyjoy! Please! Forgive me! I'll be Loyal I swear! I swear to the Drowned God" Drumm screamed as he saw the thrashing shapes of hungry sharks below him.

Euron had stopped listening and had instead ascended to the wheel. The mute Helmsman standing at the ready as the Kraken King sheathed Red Rain into his own scabbard.

"Take us into Port" Euron ordered, the Helmsman nodding in response.

Euron only smiled as he heard the rapid splashing of water and the gargled screams of Denys Drumm. The twisting and tearing of flesh followed by the laughing of Aeron Blacktyde was music to Euron's ears.

"There is a Lioness that wants her reinforcements" Euron smiled.

YEAH, I KNOW, where is Jon? where is Dany? where is the aftermath of the Battle of Winterfell? Simple, I didn't want to extend the wait on this chapter for too long, so hopefully this little update on how Cersei, Euron, Varys and the south of Westeros are doing will be enough to hold you over.

Like always support my fellow authors doing what they can to keep the fandom alive! Please check out my other fics (They aren't dead, I just have awful time management skills) and please let me know what you think!

As Always everyone, stay cool, stay safe, stay healthy and tell your loved ones you love them.

This is Dakkaman777 saying HAPPY NEW YEAR! Yeah I know its late…sue me :D