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[krakensofpyke]

Dark Wings, Dark Words

Theon receives messages from several ravens and one crow.

Tree! Tree! Tree! Tree!

Theon had not slept in days since he was unchained from the tower wall.  He almost longed for the solace of his perch, a thought which made him want to laugh. Only dry, heaving sobs came out.  A more sound man might have wondered why he was being stowed amongst loud, querulous ravens, but he had not been sound for some time.  Or a man, to be true…  

The birds chattered amongst themselves day and night.  Stannis would visit him from time to time, and a serving man brought him two thin bowls of gruel each day, but they never stayed long.  Theon could not blame them.  Nothing that they did seemed to calm the ravens.  Even when all but one was separated, it would chatter on, croaking, “Snow! Tree! Sword! Blood! Theon! Dead! Dead! Dead!”

He had gleaned what had happened and even guessed at it before he was moved to the tower cellar.  Stannis needed to kill the traitor Theon Greyjoy, he had mused with his black feathered cellmates, but Theon Greyjoy is a broken creature, no different from a battered old man.  

“You owe me your life now, Greyjoy,” the Baratheon king told him one evening.  “Arnolf Karstark took your place before the weirwood, and the Northern lords were none the wiser.”  Theon had seen the man’s hard, taut face enough to espy the ghost of self-satisfaction.  

“My life,” he had repeated, and smiled his hideous smile.  King Stannis grimaced, but did not look away.  A small part of him wanted to believe that the fiery king was austere enough to weather through both the fury of winter and the cruelty of the Boltons, but he knew that it would take more than an unwavering gaze.  

Perhaps Stannis thought that he was making an investment in the Iron Islands by sparing Theon’s life, but it would be long before the truth of it would come to light.  He knew that Asha did not know he was alive, elsewise he would have been told.  He suspected that he would be sent to his childhood home if the patchwork force of mountain clans and stormlanders defeated the Bolton army.  Uncle Euron has an aura about him, he remembered, as if thinking of someone else’s life.  He makes one feel as though they are bound to his will, even while your skin crawls.  It will take more than a wayward son of Balon to unseat him, let alone one without…  

Tonight, the ravens were murmuring at a fever pitch.  They spoke with such speed and intensity that it he might have comprehended one word in five.  “Tree! Snow! Blood! Wolf! Theon! Tree! Bran! Crow! Theon! Cold! Cold! Cold!”  

“SHUT UP!” he screamed at them, which silenced them for only a moment.  

“Tree! Cold! North! Theon! Leaf! Cave! Bird! Theon! Tree! Tree! White tree!”  

He held his head, which was now throbbing fiercely, in his mangled hands.  Suddenly, an idea dawned on him.  Theon stood up, leaned forward, and allowed the entirety of his spare weight to strike the ground.  Blackness enveloped him as warm as a cloak.

He awoke shortly, face down in the basement.  The broken man curled back to sit up, gazing groggily at his surroundings.  The quiet snuck up on him, and he gasped sharply, only to release a relieved sigh.  “It’s done,” he mouthed, careful to preserve the silence.

Theon glanced at the cages, expecting to find them empty.  Instead, one single bird was peering at him curiously from one eye, reddened by the gloomy shine of the cellar’s one brazier.  It was notably smaller than the ravens he had been accustomed to, and appeared almost drab.  A crow, a voice from somewhere inside him informed.

The winged beast hopped calmly to the other side of its cage and showed its other side to Theon.  Its left eye was an ugly, black socket.  He blinked in surprise and saw that he had merely imagined the deformity.  Then it turned to face him and blinked with two eyes on either side of its head, and a third nestled directly above its spade-shaped beak.  He shook his head and looked at the strange bird again.  It’s covered in eyes, he thought in horror and turned his gaze away.

After a collection of tense heartbeats, he gathered enough courage to view the creature once more.  He was almost relieved to see only three curious eyes, peering at him from a cocked head.  

“I mean you no harm.”

The crow held its beak open when it spoke, making it seem as if it was emitting the words from deep within.  Theon knew that he should be disturbed by the fluency of the sentence, but the feeling was queerly estranged from him.

“What do you want?” he asked.  It was not meant rudely, nor uttered out of fear.  After the vision of the thousand eyes had faded, the Greyjoy actually felt calmer than he had in years.

“To explain,” the crow replied.  “To make sense.  To show you.” 

“I don’t deserve-”  The response passed Theon’s lips before he knew what he was saying.

“All is well,” the bird interrupted.  “Some responses are deeper than thought.  Think not of deserving.  Think not of anything.  Only listen.”

He bit his lip to stop himself, and then a wave of passive acceptance washed over him.  He was surprised to notice that his missing fingers had stopped itching.  The crow hopped on its perch and flapped slowly.  The currents of air felt warm on his face. 

“He is learning,” it continued.  “It is not easy, even for him.  He needs you.  Only you can listen.  Only you know.”  The crow’s three eyes all blinked, reddening again.  

“Do not try to find quiet.  He will learn.  Now, I think, we are done.”  

The crow shrank in its cage then, receding until it was able to slip through the black iron bars.  Then it glided out, landing on the bridge of Theon’s nose.  Ruffling its feathers, the black bird reared back and laid its beak between his eyes, then again.  He squinted in discomfort, but not pain, as the odd creature tapped his skull.  Finally, as he felt the bone start to crack, the world was flooded with shades of midnight and crimson.  

Theon opened his eyes to a savage tapping on his forehead.  He flailed his hand in response, batting away the hand of the man who had been bringing his meals.  Stannis was standing several paces behind the servant, glowering dispassionately.

“I would have lopped off your head in place of Arnolf, had I known you planned to dash it upon the ground,” the king grumbled, stepping aside to allow the other man to exit the cellar.  The ravens were present once more, shifting restively in their confinements.  They occasionally quorked, but the sounds were gentle, almost sympathetic.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” Theon replied, wincing through the myriad pains that were returning to him.  “It was… an accident.”  Stannis grimaced, but said nothing. 

“Sorry. King.”  Only one of the ravens had spoken up this time, yet the others nodded in agreement.  “Sorry.  Theon”

“Sorry, Theon,” he repeated under his breath.  He was listening now, and he knew.  

[krakensofpyke]

dragonofnowhere:

‘So they’re Ironborn?’ she thought to herself. ‘Well, that certainly explains why they stand out as they do.’

Viserya didn’t know much about the Ironborn besides the common tales passed around, but she’d heard enough to know that they were nothing like mere sailors. She wasn’t sure if that should comfort her or not. The naval prowess of the Ironborn was impressive, but she knew their boldness was bound to lead to trouble at some point; if the stories were to be believed, that is.

However, the Targaryen was not deterred by the dangers she knew would come.

“I only ask for a skilled captain and crew, and that seems to be what I’ve found. I care not for hospitality or safety. I’m not some childish girl who needs to be pampered like glass lest she fall apart,” Viserya shook her head slightly. “I’ve dealt with all manners of criminals, vagabonds, and strangers with foul intent. I’ve lived among pirates. I’ve taken lives to save my own or that of another. I’ve worked until my hands have bled in order to survive. I think I can handle cutthroats and corsairs, Captain Greyjoy.”

Gesturing to the sword tucked away at her hip, she added,”I know how to handle handsy men as well. Though out of respect for their captain, I’ll see to it that your men keep their fingers.”

“No one can say you want for confidence,” Asha remarked with a chuckle.  She was beginning to like this serendipitous stranger, despite herself.  She has given her mother and father many a grey hair, I am sure, she mused.  Just as I have.  

She could hear her men murmuring to one another as they leaned over the railing.  She could guess at what they thought of this proposition.  Men of the Iron Islands were ever hesitant to take part in activities outside the norm, and though the crew of Black Wind were a more progressive sort, it did not mean that they were always amenable to new experience.  If they can sail with me then they can sail with her, the captain decided.  From the sound of it, she might be singing the old songs and dancing the Finger Dance before they made it south of the Mander.  

“Very well,” the Greyjoy decided, “a place on a ship you shall have.”  Then, to Qarl and Grimtongue, “You two, with me.  You’ll be helping us with the casks.  We leave as soon as we take on the fresh water.”  

As the oarsmen made their way to the gangplank, a thought struck Asha.  “Tell me true, my lady, are you running from someone?  Your passage is acceptable as it stands, but my father would be quite cross with me if I started a war by stealing some lord’s wayward bride.”

[krakensofpyke]

longmayshereign-cersei:

She smirked at his laugh, even though she was hardly someone who enjoyed being laughed at. “Oh, I can be quite afraid. But only when I am faced with someone who is genuinely frightful.”

The man’s words set her on edge, she had been tricked before and she would not be tricked again. Although she could not deny that some of them did tempt her slightly.

She reached out and took the goblet he offered, taking a sniff of the ink coloured liquid. The smell of rotting meat assaulted her senses and it took all she had not to gag. “What is this foulness!?”

The king bore the rebuke with silent amusement, but he found himself unaccustomed to the woman’s apparent lack of unease in his presence.  He was certain that it was a facade, but it was a strong and well-kept one nonetheless.  He entertained himself with the thought of making a gift of her to his brother.  I wonder who Victarion would kill first, Cersei or himself...  

The reaction was expected, desired even.  Euron offered her a smarmy grin.  “That, my lady, is truth,” he replied, raising his own cup to his lips.  “Those who are not used to it find the taste unsavory.  After enough draughts, however, truth takes on the sweetest flavors.”  For emphasis, he quaffed his serving in a single gulp.

“The drink itself is not terribly important,” he obfuscated, “merely a gift from me to you.  Let us return to the matter at hand: your foes.  So many of them, yet they are so small on their own, so petty.  Do you think they know precisely how small they are?”  His expression overflowed with secret knowledge.”

[krakensofpyke]

//Dat Greyjoy cuisine tho

[krakensofpyke]

Truth Serum!: your muses can now ask mine anything and they will be forced to answer honestly!

Or you can send anons!

[krakensofpyke]

Too Shy To Reach Out?

Send A Symbol To Explain Why We’re Not RPing Yet

♔- I can’t think of a plot for us and I want to figure that out first! ☃ - I’m not sure how our characters would meet. ☁- I’m worried you only RP with a certain group of people. ♛ - I wrote you a starter and you haven’t replied yet… ★ - I’m intimidated by how much you write ☂ - I’m intimdated by how often you post ☾ - I don’t know how to approach you ☄ - I’m super anxious about EVERYTHING ☀ - I keep hoping you’ll message me first…

[krakensofpyke]

The End

Euron’s sibling rivalry with Victarion finally comes to a head.

“Bring him up from the brig.”  The king’s smile was glistening from the fresh shade-stains.  The day was going especially well, despite the insistent pains pulsing from behind his eyes.  You can stop with your warnings, he thought pointedly, the victory you promised me is in hand.

He had dressed in his finest that day.  On his head was the crown of black iron and shark’s teeth, and he had bound his hair using a golden ring graven with Valyrian glyphs.  He had chosen an eyepatch that he had never worn before: one dyed a deep violet and branded with the image of an eye.  His dragonsteel armor looked like smoke and blood in the waning light of the sun reflected from the Blackwater.  A fine, paired falchion and dagger hung on either hip.  As a finishing touch, he wore a fine satin cape emblazoned with the crows, crown and eye of his sigil.  He had a brother to kill and a queen to make his own; he was not going to dress casually for it. His mutes came up shortly, carrying his brothers from under the arms.  They dragged him before Euron, groaning raspily from the effort of lifting such a dense man.  “Ah, Victarion,” he cooed, “so good to see that you returned successfully.”  The other did not answer.

His younger brother had always been too hard and brooding to quite be considered comely, but he was far from even that now.  His face was awash in cuts and bruises, one eye swollen shut from the blows of the king’s thralls.  As he breathed heavily, it was easy to tell that he had broken teeth as well as a few broken ribs.  He was bound by hand and foot, stripped of his fine armor, and left unkempt and thoroughly undignified.  He had never seen a prettier sight.  

“I really do owe much to you,” the Crow’s Eye continued.  “No man among the Iron Islands is capable enough to carry out my will so persistently, and dull enough to think that he has thwarted me.  From the bottom of my heart, dear brother, I thank you.”  

Victarion spat a bloody gob at his feet.  “The captains of the Iron Fleet will never follow you,” he shot back.  “Ralf the Limper, the Vole; they know you for the false king that you are.”  He looked so certain of the loyalty of his men, even after the voyage he had been through.  It was almost tragic.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Euron sighed, shaking his head in a mummer’s show of exasperation.  “Your words are too true, Lord Captain.  They would never trust me.  However, if Red Ralf relayed orders from their beloved admiral...”

The fettered man bristled.  “Ralf Stonehouse was lost at sea!  He has been missing from the Fleet since the storm battered us.  Even if he lived, he would never have forsaken me for you, Crow’s Eye!”  Still so confident, the elder Greyjoy mused, how blissful it must be to believe so fiercely in others.  

”Do you truly believe that all of those ships you sent toward the Basilisk Isles were simply swallowed by the sea?”  He tsked disappointedly at his brother.  “The price for Red Ralf was far cheaper than the one I paid for the Barber, though neither had a particularly expensive cloak to turn.  Your loyal men have been sent south, where they will unwittingly run afoul of corsairs and sellswords.  Such a terrible waste...”

Victarion seemed only minorly dismayed by that.  A stubborn fire still burned behind his flinty eyes.  “They will know something is amiss when they do not see my sails among theirs.  The men of the Iron Fleet are not so foolish as you would have me believe.” 

“Nay,” he scoffed, “they are even more foolish.  Ralf simply told them that you had business with the dragon queen and that you would be joining them on the way to Pyke.”  Euron shook his head, showing teeth with his newest grin.  “They left without question, Lord Captain.  You have trained your men well.”

Stop with this folly, you need to tend to Daenerys.  The command rumbled inside his head like an approaching storm.  If he were alone, he might have thrown the crown from his brow and clutched at his temples from the agony, but he simply turned from his brother and winced.

She is here, he thought angrily at the other, she is with her soldiers and advisors at present.  She can wait a moment longer.  This must happen.  

“Now,” Euron said as he turned back to the Iron Captain, “about those sails of yours.”  He gestured for his thralls to drag Victarion toward the starboard bow.  “Look out toward the rocky outcrop, just beyond the pier.  Does that blackened hull bring anything to mind?”

In truth, the burnt vessel was hardly even identifiable as a ship, but his little brother was quite capable in such matters.  Recognition hit the captive with the force of a tidal wave.  “No,” he whispered, voice trembling.  He looked far more vulnerable than Euron had ever seen him.  He could hear the sound of chains clinking while the shipless captain quivered, and two thin trickles of saltwater ran down his face.  

“It is true what they say, then,” he gloated, staring out at his handiwork.  “You truly do love your ship more than you loved any of your wives.  Why, I doubt you cried this much when you killed your-”

Crr-k.

Euron’s words were cut short by the sudden and unmistakable sound of bones breaking.  He faced his brother and watched as one of the mutes slumped to the floor, head turned grotesquely.  Victarion stood over him, brow furrowed so heavily that one could hardly see his eyes.  The other crewmen pulled out dagger and sword, but he waved them down.  “Put it away,” he ordered with a bored wave of his hand.  “I think he should kill you all as punishment for making his bonds so loose.  

“He is only a danger to you, in any case,” the Crow’s Eye continued.  “Noble Victarion would never go against Balon’s words.  ‘No man is as accursed as the kinslayer.’  I could have your chains removed and you would still be of no threat to me.”  He could feel the ire emanating from his brother, white-hot, yet impotent. 

You vainglorious imbecile, enough of this.  That is an O R D E R.

Euron had been prepared for the admonition this time.  “I know,” he responded aloud, taking his attention away from the fuming giant for a moment.  “I shall only waste one small fraction more of your valuable- unf.” 

Victarion was a mountain of a man, rippling with muscle, and as subtle as a battering ram, but it was easy to forget how quick he could move when not hindered by six stone of steel plate.  The man had charged shoulder-first into his chest, knocking him clean off of his feet despite his heavier garb.  The crown on his head and the breath in his lungs flew from him as he fell to the deck.  

“No curse could ever be worse than having you as a brother,” the Iron Captain growled.  

Half a dozen tongueless men came down upon his brother, who thrashed against them in berserk rage.  His strength ultimately proved futile as his arms were locked and his throat ringed by jagged blades.  Euron got to his feet, resituating his grim circlet and drawing his curved sword while the raiders took turns jabbing at Victarion’s face and gut with brutal fists.  

“Enough,” he ordered lazily, “do not beat him senseless.”  He approached the hulking reaver and gripped his chin with a gloved hand.  Victarion shook his head wildly, until a mute held him firmly by the hair. 

“I cannot decide if that was your wisest act, or your most foolish.  In any case, you know that it is your time to die.  Take solace in the fact that you will not be met with disappointed ancestors in the Watery Hall.  You see, dear brother, when death comes, naught else but darkness follows.”

Before Euron could savor the look of glazed resignation in Victarion’s eyes, a furnace wind swept over the Silence, hot and razor-sharp.  The sweltering air shook with the booming roar, and a black titan descended to occlude the swollen, crimson sun.  

The dragon queen is here.  

It was difficult to espy Daenerys Targaryen as Euron turned to face the dragon.  The sanguine glare of sunset caused the black-and-red of her riding garb to melt into the tenebrous hide of the beast, but pale arms and platinum hair revealed her presence.  The clothing she had donned was strikingly similar to his own: proud crown, scaled armor, and dark cloak.  It brought a sincere smile to the Crow’s Eye’s blue lips.  

Victarion was smiling, too.  Knowing his brother, he likely saw her arrival as some long-awaited comeuppance that he had designed since he left Oakenshield’s harbor.  More fool him, the Iron King thought with macabre delight as her massive steed landed with surprising grace at the stern of his ship.

“Queen Daenerys, I have waited many moons to gaze-”

“No,” she interrupted.  “Not a word from you.  Nor from you.”  She glared at Euron and Victarion both with twin violet infernos that burned hotter than the Fourteen Flames.  “I will hear nothing from the lying mouths of Greyjoys.”  

“Whatever the Lord Captain might have told-”

“Did I not say, ‘not a word’?!”  The Valyrian woman chastised him with the swiftness and severity of a cracked whip.  “You will listen to me, Euron Crow’s Eye, False King.”

Have a care, the Great Other warned him redundantly, and say nothing until I tell you to.  

Euron’s mood darkened as he chafed from both of their commands.  I am king, he thought bitterly, and matters will shortly fall under my control once more.  

“You, your brother and your people saw me safely to King’s Landing,” the Mother of Dragons continued, “but if I had known what you truly were, I might have set your fleet aflame at Meereen.”

She directed her rage once more at Euron’s confused sibling.  “I knew some of the nature of the Ironborn before you came crawling to my city, but what your Red Priest told me of you and your brother might even have sickened your Black King of old.”

The ensuing bolt of frigid torment nearly left Euron deranged.

YOU LET HER SPEAK TO THE RED PRIEST?!  

“How was I to know?”  He was muttering feverishly, unaware of the tirade that the Emancipator Queen was still unleashing.  “The mute woman never sent any ravens, and the Black Shepherd stopped reporting after they reached Meereen.  I could not have told them to kill the man, they were to far.  Why did you not warn-”  

Silence, the voice demanded.  Speak out, stop her, tell her that the man is a lying warlock. Now. Now! NOW!  

“...murdered innocent boys and girls and named it chain-breaking!”  She had clearly worked herself into a righteous fury, and she was about to direct it at him. 

“And you.”  Euron had tasted scorn from many in his life, but never had it been as bitter as from the mouth of Daenerys.  “Somehow, you are worse.  Deceiver. Slaver. Torturer. Kinslayer.  Warlock.  Your appearance makes it impossible to mistake your for anything other than evil.”  She touched the mighty beast beneath her with her heels and it took wing above the vessel.  

“You cannot trust the words of a Red Priest,” Euron quickly informed.  His voice, normally so slick and deliberate, was raised to be heard over the black dragon’s wingbeats, and strained by the urgency that squeezed him like a vise.  “Their actions never serve other people, but rather only their order and their false god.  This servant to R’hllor, whoever he may be, has only told you what he wants you to know, and he would have you trust that all his words are truth.  Allow me-”

“-to tell me the whole story?” she completed.  “You would correct all of the lies that Moqorro has whispered into my ear, and then tell me why I should join my cause to yours, to take the throne together, to be the queen of your kingdom.  Is that the sum of it?

“Well, I can see the truth of the priest's words.  At least one part of it: the blueness of your lips.  A warlock’s lips, from which only lies and poison escape.  Spare me your filth, Euron Greyjoy: there is but one thing I can offer you.”

You failed me, you miserable wretch, the dark presence spat.  Then, nothing.  The void in Euron’s mind was blacker and emptier than any future he had designed for the world.  

The King of the Iron Islands fell to his knees as Daenerys whispered a Valyrian word to her dragon.  The last thing he saw before his eyes burst was the plume of flame that consumed him and his brother.  Together.  As equals.

No tongue of fire could hurt worse than that.  

[krakensofpyke]

longmayshereign-cersei:

She couldn’t stop the smirk from spreading on her face when she saw the ironborn blanch, who knew that such a fierce man would be as green as a boy asking a maid for her favour.

It would almost be too easy. Almost.

Who knew that Robert would play a part in saving her life one day, the thought made her want to retch. Still, she swallowed the feeling and covered her disgust with a sweet smile.

“My sweet husband was a good man who saw the wisdom of mercy.” Robert was a fool, if it had been her then she would have put the lot of them to the touch. It would save them all some trouble.

“Please, follow me.” She gestured for him to follow, leading him to her chambers. A girl was waiting for them who went wide eyed at the sight of him but Cersei glared at her and she poured them both a cup of wine before she fled.

“Surely, there is an understanding that we can come too?”

 Victarion misliked smiles; a woman’s smiles, most of all.  Behind every upturned lip and honeyed word is poison, he brooded.  He was certain that the queen was harboring fell thoughts, but he could not guess at what they might be.  No sense in wasting a thought on such things...  

”He was not afraid to fight his own battles, to be sure,” he added.  Despite what the dead stag had done to his homeland, he would have jumped at the chance to meet him in a melee.  Before he turned to fat, that is...

As he accompanied Queen Cersei further into the castle, he caught the stares of many of the attendants.  Between their fearful reproach and the oppressive heat of the capital, Victarion was already longing for the grey shores of Pyke.  A few bandied words with this spiteful woman, an agonizing wait for Balon to arrive, and then I can leave this wretched place.  

The Ironborn took the offered drink and quaffed it impatiently.  “Sour,” he commented, and set the goblet aside.  “You should know that I am not some diplomat,” Victarion continued.  “I did not come here to speak gently or write out a long list of terms.  You have been defeated here, and we are discussing your unhindered retreat to Casterly Rock.  As quickly as possible, I shall add.”

[krakensofpyke]

(ADWD spoilers) Victarion flowchart

[krakensofpyke]

\dragonofnowhere: 

“I’m sure no one will care if it puts a bit of coin in their pockets,” Viserya shrugged, the grin still spread on her lips. “Coin is loyal to no banner.”

Viserya’s eyes followed the woman’s own as she studied her. She did not mind; it was a good sign to her. It at least showed that the captain was actually considering her offer. She seemed a careful woman, if not bold. ‘She’d have to be to captain a ship full of men,’ Viserya remarked in her mind. She could only wonder what the woman was thinking as she looked her over, but inwardly she pleaded that her thoughts were mostly positive.

“My name is Viserya,” she tipped her head politely. “I’d like passage on your ship.” The ivory-haired woman paused, looking down at the stone beneath her feet. Passage to where? Where did she want to go? She didn’t really know. After a swift moment, she decided she didn’t care, either. “I do not ask that you alter your course. I don’t care for a specific destination. I just need to be somewhere that isn’t here.”

“‘Tis true of most places,” Asha concurred.  The ports of her homeland were a touch less receptive to bribery, but she had no doubt that the working men of Harlaw had few scruples.  No wonder the island has more wealth than Pyke.  Her men might look down upon such things, but they were not the captain, and thus had no say.

“Hail, Viserya,” the Greyjoy responded with the concise courtesy of Ironborn nobility.  The name tasted of Old Valyria as it passed over her tongue.  Between that and the opulent, almost draconic, apparel the woman had on, she seemed to have walked straight out of one of the Reader’s old history tomes.  Queerer and queerer, she pondered, some wayward daughter of Volantis or Lys, I suppose.  

The request only added to the mystery.  “You have an interesting taste in traveling company,” she chuckled, “if not ill-considered.  I am Asha Greyjoy, and the ship you would board is Black Wind.  Myself, my ship, and my crew are all children of the Iron Islands, and we are not known for our hospitality, I fear.  If you secure water for my voyage, I can guarantee you food and board, but not a safe voyage.  Our final destination is one of corsairs and cutthroats, and the journey itself can bode ill for one such as you.  You see, my men follow my command at the helm and in battle, but they are still only men, and we will be quite long at sea...”

[krakensofpyke]

Sentence Starters: Loneliness and Distrust

“I don’t belong anywhere.”

“I can’t take the loneliness anymore.”

“It feels like everyone just forgot I exist.”

“Maybe I’m meant to be alone.”

“I probably won’t be coming back.”

“I have no one to go to.”

“How can I trust you?”

“You betrayed my trust!”

“I can’t trust anyone, not anymore.”

“I wonder how I could rely on people back then.”

“I feel like there’s no one for me.”

“Loneliness is cold, and I’m freezing.”

“Why don’t you leave just like everyone else?”

“You say that, but how can I tell you’ll keep your word?”

“I did all those things… Why do you still trust me?”

“You expect me to trust you after what you did?

“After everything you said, how could you?!”

“I gave you your chance, and you used it to stab me in the back.”

“I’ve been alone for so long…”

“I just want someone to lean on.”

[krakensofpyke]

What is dead may never die: Terrific Artwork of Ritualistic Drowning of an Ironborn man by Aeron Greyjoy, the Damphair by Matt Perlot

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[krakensofpyke]

dragonofnowhere:

Water? They need water? Viserya could feel the thoughts of strategy begin to waft through her head. Looking further at the crew, she could see the parchedness on some of their faces. I can use this to my advantage.

She thought back to when she passed the port master a day ago. He was rife with anger, grumbling on about how a ship that was supposed to pick up 120 casks of beer was three weeks late. As she recalled, there was a public water well just down the road from the docks as well.

“I can get you water, if that’s what you need. Won’t cost you anything, either,” Viserya raised her brow, flashing a smile as she brought her hands to her hips. “The port master has 120 casks of beer that are far overdue for shipment. I don’t doubt that I can get him to sell them to me; just the portion you need, at the least. There’s a well not too far away, so your crew can take the casks there and replace the contents with water. Though, in exchange, I must ask a favor in return.”

“The well?” Asha had considered the option, but not seriously.  “Is the water of Lannisport freely available to those who fly the golden Kraken on their banners?”  The captain had her doubts on the matter, but perhaps this woman could use a soft word and her well-bred looks to sway the officials of the city.  This coin she hints at would likely not hurt as well, she considered.

There was something a touch strange and convenient about the young lady’s presence.  Asha gave her a more thorough inspection, caring not how obvious she was being.  Such a fine girl ought not to travel this part of a port town without her entourage.  It was, however, hard to be so critical of the situation when she herself had wandered the streets of Oldtown without company.  Despite herself, her curiosity in the stranger was piqued.

“Nothing is free,” she agreed.  “What might this favor be?  I hope it does not involve the transportation of goods, either honestly or illicitly.  My crew and I... do not work in that sort of trade.”  She glanced up at Grimtongue and Qarl, who were now watching the scene with mute intensity.  “I would also have your name, ere I strike a bargain with you.” 

[krakensofpyke]

@longmayshereign-cersei

From here:

Euron loosed a hearty laugh at the woman’s words.  She reminded him a lot of his niece, with a dash more of the gravity that comes from age.  “You’re a fearless woman, aren’t you?” he responded, clapping his hands in amusement.

“I am sorry to bore you, Lioness,” he continued, placing sardonic emphasis on the title, “but I have no designs on your immediate death.”  He walked over to a table where a decanter of wine and two glasses were left.  The king sniffed at its contents, wrinkled his nose, and spilled them onto the floor.  Reaching into a hidden pocket of his shirt, he produced a silver flask and poured the ink liquid into the empty cups.

“Have you ever considered that your foes and mine are the same?”  He offered the Lannister regent one of the goblets.  “Stannis Baratheon, your false friends of Tyrell, the scheming cravens of Dorne; I’ve as little use for them as you, I’d wager.  What if they all simply vanished?  Pray, drink with me a while.”

[krakensofpyke]

killthebxy:

i’ll take good care of the Seastone Chair, nuncle. enjoy your early retirement at the greenlands.

also tagging @mybigfatcock​ so he can be proud 

By all means, you can keep the ghosts in the Bloody Keep, the rickety rope bridges and the visits from Hotho Harlaw that you can expect every other moon, wherein he tries to offer his daughter’s hand to you and everyone you know.  They’re all yours now.

[krakensofpyke]

saltveined replied to your post

Why did you leave me with them

mybigfatcock replied to your post

If you say mean things to my son, I will spend an entire day cutting you with razor blades and make you take a bath in lemon juice. Don't fucks with us and don't fucks with the baby boy

killthebxy reblogged your post

allow me to point out that, if you ask @mybigfatcock , he will tell you i am Jon Greyjoy, future King of the Isles and the North, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Sea Wind, and Lord Reaper of Pyke.

..........

*gathers Aeron, Victarion and Asha and travels to the Lonely Light*

“Hello, yes, Lord Farwynd, let’s go to those lands out west.  The Isles are lost to us.”

Also, Ned Stark took you from me, boy; you belong to them now.  Have fun, best of luck, goodbyyyyyyyye.

[krakensofpyke]

"You northmen are all cut from the same strange cloth, it seems." *eyes @ofthewhitehands, @killthebxy and @dreadlcrd*