Chapter 23: Addicted To Pain

Victarion

The Kingsmoot had been called, the lords of the Iron Islands had gathered in Old Wyk expecting to hear the boasts of potential kings, the boasts of the glories they would bring to the Ironborn if they were made king. Boasts they heard, boasts from old men and green boys alike. Boasts of how if made king they would make the Greenlanders fear the Ironborn like they did in the days of King Harren, boasts of how the riches and plunder from the Rock and the Reach would be brought back to the Iron Islands, and the islands would become fat with their riches. This all Victarion heard during the kingsmoot, all the while knew that no one of these men who would claim to be king would actually become king. No, for the Damphair had made it so that the two main contenders would be Victarion himself, and their treacherous brother the Crow's Eye.

When it came for his turn to speak, Victarion promised to bring the Ironborn, not the gold nor glory that the other contenders promised, but he promised to bring them respect and fear. He promised that never again would the Greenlanders look upon the Ironborn with derision, no longer would they snort and turn their heads at the Old Way. No, Victarion promised that should he become king, the Ironborn would be as they were during the old days, the Old Way strong and vibrant, the Greenlanders quivering in their boots and castles. This all he promised, and all the while he waited for the Crow's Eye to appear.

The Crow's Eye did eventually appear, though he did not appear in a quiet fashion, for that was not the man's way. No he came on the heels of a horn blast, that cost his horn blower's life, and proclaimed that he could bring the Iron Islands, all that had been promised to them by the other contenders and more. When asked how he would do this, Euron merely smiled an enigmatic smile and replied that he had found a dragon horn in the smoking ruins of Valryia, and this horn would allow him to bind the dragons that the Targaryen boy and Danaerys Targaryen had to his cause. And he would use the horn and the dragons to become King of Westeros, and he would marry the Targaryen girl, and kill the Targaryen boy.

Shouts for Euron to become king echoed round the grounds of Old Wyk, and Victarion could sense his brother- the Damphair- fear that Euron would become king. So deciding to forgo tradition, Victarion raised his voice above the din and challenged Euron to one of the oldest of the Old Ways, the finger dance of Nagga. The finger dance of Nagga was not like other finger dances, this dance required the utmost skill and concentration, for both men were to wield their swords, and would have their hands tied to one another, the aim was to strike at the opponent without allowing them to strike you. The first person to strike blood on their opponent won the duel. Euron had of course with his mocking smile accepted Victarion's challenge.

So that now Victarion found himself removing his armour and helm- they would only encumber his movement during the dance- and found himself drawing his longsword from its sheath, and as he moved forward, he saw that Euron too had removed his armour and helm from his person, and was simply dressed in plain black clothes and that famed black eye patch of his. They both came to stand on either side of the Damphair, and as the priest recited the old prayer of the Drowned God and tied the cloth that would bind their two hands together, Victarion said a quick prayer to the Drowned God to give him the strength to do what had to be done for the good of the Ironborn and his family.

The roar of the crowd stilled as Victarion and Euron circled round each other, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Victarion could feel his heart pounding away in his chest, could feel the nervous tension making his arms rigid and tight. Euron feinted to his left, and pulled Victarion with him, bringing Victarion's sword arm to the left, leaving his right side exposed something that Euron took advantage of as he elbowed Victarion in the stomach, winding him. As Victarion hunched over from the strength of the blow, Euron's supporters began to bellow, chanting "King Euron! Euron King!" Victarion forced himself up, and just managed to avoid receiving yet another blow to the stomach, though Euron still hit his chest.

They circled round each other, both trying to assess where the other man's weakness was. Victarion found a little gap in between Euron's left shoulder and his neck, and lunged forward bringing his sword with him, trying to cut Euron, but because of the band tying them together the lung was awkward and Victarion missed his target by mere inches, though Euron paid him back by giving Victarion a left hook to the face which caused spittle to fly from his mouth. Euron punched Victarion in the jaw, with the butt of his sword, cutting Victarion and causing blood to begin flowing out of the wound. However, as Euron made to move back, Victarion managed to wind his feet so that they caught Euron's and yanking on the rope that tied them together forced Euron closer toward him, at which point Victarion brought his left knee up and brought up to connect with Euron's stomach, winding him.

Victarion could hear his own supporters yelling their encouragement, though they were quickly silenced when Euron gave him a quick left hook to the face, which cause even more spittle to fly from his mouth, then quickly followed that with a jab with the butt of his sword that caused the wound on Victarion's right cheek to open up even more. Euron's supporters began howling with delight at the sight of their chosen King's progress. Both men were panting with the exertion at this point, though Victarion was the only one who bore any signs of their struggle. Something he meant to change.

He yanked on the rope tying them together and quickly brought up his sword as he saw Euron bring up his as well, their swords met in the gap between them, screeching. Sparks could be seen flying between them as both men kept their swords pressed firmly against each other, both using the strength in their arms to try and force the other man to break first. When it became likely that neither man was going to break, Victarion jerked his right hand slightly, causing their swords to move apart, and then quickly brought his right knee up to connect with Euron's exposed chest, winding him.

Euron replied by head butting Victarion, causing both men to move back and put a strain on the rope, as both men tried to clear their heads of the pain that had engulfed them. They came together again in a clash of steel, still an arm's width apart, their swords clashed and sang , and sparks flew between them as both men once again tried to force other man to break, or for their sword to fly from their hands. As before the result was the same, neither man was willing to give, though this time, it was Euron and not Victarion who took advantage of the stalemate, first by moving back slowly with his sword still struggling against Victarion's, then by keeping his right hand on his sword he took his left hand of off the blade and curled his fingers into a fist and then brought the fist swinging up and struck Victarion's chin twice, causing blood to fly all over the two fighters. Dazed and wounded, Victarion staggered back from his brother, only to feel a sharp stinging pain in his chest. He glanced down to find that Euron had buried his sword into his chest. He hissed with pain as he felt the sword being withdrawn and felt rather than saw the blood gushing out from the wound.

Euron moved backward, pulling Victarion with him. Staggering, Victarion tried to raise his sword, but found that he was struggling to lift his arms. By the time he had managed to raise his sword up, Euron had already plunged his sword into him twice more, each time opening a wound bigger than the last. Victarion staggered toward Euron with his sword raised, but before he could so much as swing it at his brother, Euron had ducked his head and plunged his sword in for a fourth time, this time though he kept his sword buried in Victarion's stomach as he let go of the sword.

Victarion felt the strength leaving his body, and felt his arms begin to shake with the effort of having to keep his sword aloft, trying to relieve the tension building inside him he dropped his sword, and winced at the clattering sound it made. The crowd was deathly silent around them, the shouts from before completely gone now as all the assembled watched with horrified fascination as Victarion Greyjoy sank to his knees, blood pouring out of the wounds his brother had made in his skin. He felt his head bow as Euron moved closer toward him, and as Euron bent down to whisper in his ear Victarion shivered, for what Euron said sent a chill down his body right down to his very core.

"Such a shame brother, that I had to win my crown by becoming a kinslayer. You know if you had been able to put aside your hatred of me, I would have let you rule the Iron Islands once I had taken the Iron Throne. Oh well, you have paid for your foolishness, and allowed me to control all of Westeros with no bindings. Nagga shall reign again in these halls, forever." With that Euron Crow's Eye pulled his sword out of his brother's stomach, cut the rope holding them together and walked backwards all the while keeping his eyes on his brother, and he watched as his brother fell down to the ground dead. Then he shouted, "What is Dead May Never Die! Let the Greenlanders learn the truth of that!"

Varys

King's Landing had become infinitely more boring since Tywin Lannister and the Tyrells had left the city. For Varys this was mainly because the Old Lion provided more of an interesting player in the game of thrones than his daughter did. True Cersei did have a certain sense of cunning about her, but she seemed completely useless at actually putting that cunning to full use, she had managed to use her powers of persuasion to plan for her brother Tyrion to be thrown in the black cells at some point before her son, King Joffrey's wedding. Though whether or not that wedding would ever take place now remained to be seen. Since news had come on ravens wings to King's Landing of the defeat and death of Lord Rowan and his men, Cersei had become distraught and even more paranoid. She had even had several ravens sent out to her father ordering him to come back and defend the city, all of those ravens had gone unanswered much to her chagrin.

Then news had come from Tywin Lannister, write on parchment of a battle between the Lannister- Tyrell forces he commanded and the forces of the riverlords and Valemen commanded by Lord Edmure Tully and Lord Yohn Royce at Rushing Falls. Lord Lannister wrote of how the battle had fluctuated between either of the two sides holding the advantage though of course Lord Lannister had not committed his full strength to the fight, keeping some of his men camped in Sow's Horn. Cersei had of course ranted and raged about that, questioning her father's judgement and why would he be so foolish to keep some of his strength back. King Joffrey who had been present in the small council meeting when the raven was read had exclaimed that his grandfather had become a coward in his old age, and that he had been stupid not to commit his full force to the battle at Rushing Falls. Where according to King Joffrey if he had then they could have wiped out the combined Riverlord and Vale forces and left Riverrun ripe for the taken.

Oh how Varys had wanted to laugh then. The boy clearly had no idea of the ramifications that could have had for his reign on the throne. Of course Varys had remained silent, but Lord Tyrion had proceeded to explain to his nephew why Lord Tywin had kept some of his men back in Sow's Horn. It made more strategic sense, for if the full force was committed then, even if they did manage to completely annihilate the forces under Lords Tully and Royce's command, they would not be able to do so without suffering heavy casualties themselves, which could leave them open to significant damages should King Jon decide to take flight on his dragon. As it was, Lannister- Tyrell casualties though numerous were not as big as the casualties as the riverlords and the Valemen, though Ser Loras Tyrell had died of his wounds, causing Mace Tyrell all sorts of grief and also making the man insist that once King Jon was dealt with a wedding would be held immediately. When Varys had heard that, he had held back a titter, Mace Tyrell was many things but smart he was not. Even Cersei was not smart enough, disappointingly to realise that the Lannister cause was all but done. Especially with Danaerys Targaryen having allied with King Jon, giving them three dragons and an extra few thousand of men.

Tywin Lannister had retreated back to Sow's Horn, and then had marched his men alongside Mace Tyrell north to the banks of the Trident where they had set up camp. Varys' spies in King Jon's camp reported that the king was finally mustering himself out of the stupor he had been in since Queen Sansa's kidnapping. According to what his little birds had told him- though he had not told the small council this, not yet at least- King Jon and Danaerys would be mobilising their full strength including their dragons and marching on the Trident, in a few days time. Full out battle promised to ensue, at the end of which Varys was confident Tywin Lannister would be dead, and the Lannister- Tyrell alliance finished, leaving King's Landing ripe for the taking.

Prince Oberyn's men had been dispatched to the Vale to bring Queen Sansa safely back to Riverrun a few weeks ago. As of yet there had been no news from them, but then Varys thought that was unlikely given the level of snow and the war ravaging the kingdoms, as well as the fact that the Vale itself was quite a fair distance from the capital. He was confident though that they would succeed in getting Queen Sansa out of Littlefinger's grasping hands, and back to Riverrun before King Jon marched on King's Landing. There was only one slight worry Varys had, and that was that if his sources were correct Queen Sansa was heavily pregnant and this could therefore make her escape much more difficult, something that Littlefinger would undoubtedly try and take advantage of. In fact Varys was convinced Littlefinger would wait until Queen Sansa had given birth, and then he would kill the child in the cradle, and fit himself into her life when she was vulnerable and hurting, and then he would spew all kinds of poison in her ears, that was something Varys could not, would not allow.

Another concern- albeit a little one- that he had was that King Jon did not have a suitable sword to fight the encroaching darkness, for Varys had read the letters that had come from Castle Black asking for help, had been present when Ser Allister Thorne had come and presented the dead man's hand to the court. Varys had grown up in the east where the red god held sway and so of course had heard all the tales about the darkness and what created it, he had even seen it that one time when his manhood had been taken from him, he was convinced now, the darkness and its creators had taken that from him. He knew that King Jon would need to deal with the problems at the Wall, and so had spoke with Illyrio and had him bring back the sword that had not been seen in Westeros for decades. Blackfyre would return to its rightful owners, and King Jon would become the king who bore the sword and the king of dragons, Westeros's most powerful and true king.

Benjen

Dark Words usually came on Dark Wings that was the saying the people of Westeros had, Benjen had grown up hearing it. But the news that the ranging party led by the Halfhand had brought back with them had been dire indeed, but it had come not on ravens' wings but from black brothers, his own sworn brothers. They reported that they had seen the bodies of the dead scouts Benjen had sent out some time ago, their carcasses torn to shreds by the cold and the crows, some had risen up in the night and tried to attack them but had been repelled by the fires, lit by torch or on sticks that they had created. Once or twice White Walkers had been spotted, but they had never come close to the party, but their wights had, attacking and killing many of the Halfhand's men, those that had escaped- including the Halfhand himself- spoke of how the wights seemed to be getting more and more confident and almost human in the way they attacked, it was as if their attacks were no longer random but were planned well beforehand and carried out with a precision that would have made Lord Rickard proud.

That though was not the direst of the tidings they brought with them. No they reported that they had seen the Weeper and the host he had gathered near the skirling pass. All that had been left of them had been their bodies and the ashes of the fires they had made to ward of the wights and White Walkers. The men had tried to build enough cairns to burn the bodies on before they could rise from the dead, but they had not been able to do so quick enough, for as they were about to set light to the first cairn, the dead on that cairn rose up and began attacking the men. It had been a complete butchery, only Qhorin and a few of his men had managed to escape. And on their way back to Castle Black they had hidden in the haunted forest, only to see mist and fog preventing their way back, and when the mist had eventually cleared they had been greeted by the sight of rows upon rows of thousands of wights and the hundreds of White Walkers marching... south. Qhorin reported that they were perhaps ten days away from Castle Black when they had seen them, by now they were likely on passed White Tree.

That report had come three days ago, yesterday a raven had come from Eastwatch. White Walkers had been spotted a mile from the wall on that side; their wights had marched down and attacked in the night. The words on the letter had been written in a hurried manner, but read in Cotter Pyke's gruff tone, it was proving to be utter carnage, relentless attacks at night, hardly any sleep during the day. Shadow Tower reported much the same, and some of the castles along the wall that Benjen had decided to re garrison wrote of Wight attacks at intervals so random that they were on watch all the time. Then sentinels on the Wall at Castle Black had seen the wights and the White Walkers approaching, and chaos had ensued. Benjen had had the men ready for some time now waiting for the sounding of horns, for darkness to come, for then the wights would attack.

He was stood atop the wall watching the sun begin to set in the sky, when he heard the Halfhand say. "The darkness comes, but what will be here when the light returns?"

Benjen was silent for a moment. Then replied. "That is for us to decide my friend."

The Halfhand laughed. "Aye so it is, but it is also up to those buggers over there," he pointed to where the white walkers and wights stood shrouded in shadow and mist. "If they attack throughout the night and the next night and all the nights that follow, we will run out of supplies and then who knows what will happen."

Benjen was about respond when he saw the sun disappear behind the mist and heard from far away on the other side of the Wall the sounding of a horn being blown. He took a deep breath and then in a loud voice said. "Sound the horns, ready the men. We have a battle to win." This was followed by the sound of men running up and down the steps of the wall and Castle Black preparing them for the upcoming night. Once all was ready Benjen and the men stood atop the wall waiting, for what he knew not, but from what the letters from Eastwatch and Shadow Tower said, the wights always attacked first, it was simply a case of waiting.

They waited for what seemed like hours, but perhaps were no longer than a few minutes, when a bone chilling howl was unleashed from the wights and the white walkers. It seemed like the hounds of hell were approaching when the whole army of death seemed to take up the howl, and Benjen felt the hairs on the back of his arms stand up with nerves. The howling stopped, and then there was just silence. Silence and then the wights charged at the wall. "Hold," Benjen shouted, and heard the command repeated down the line of command. The wights drew closer. "Hold," he shouted. They drew closer; death drew closer on pale wings. "Hold," They were almost at the gates now, he could hear the clacking of their feet against the snow. "Hold," They were almost within sight of the charred ashes of Mance Rayder's host, death ever closer. "Fire!" he yelled. And he watched as hundreds of torches, catapults, dragonglass weapons were lit or fired into the oncoming horde of death, and he saw transfixed as the wights died once more, burnt to smithereens. They kept coming though, wights stepping over the ashes of their fallen comrades, and they too fell to the flame or to the arrows.

This continued for the next few hours until the sun rose, and like magic the White Walkers disappeared. The next night and the night after, and the night after, they came again. In greater numbers, and each night the wights were thrown back and reduced to ash. But never did the White Walkers come, nor did they try and cross the wall themselves, and yet Benjen could not shake of the feeling that something was missing, something important. On the fifth night something changed, the wights did not come as usual, nothing came for hours and then as the mist was clearing and the sun was peeking through, they heard it. The death call, the sound of the White Walkers. Ice Spiders and pale horses, and giants, and legends long forgotten. They all were heard in the roar that echoed through the valley and the wall shook with the force of the roar.

Sansa

She was a reluctant viewer in the great hall as she watched her aunt and Lord Baelish listen to the people of the Vale put forth their worries and problems. She had not wished to come to the session today, she had been feeling ill with sickness, and yet when her maid had told her that Lord Baelish would come find her if she did not come now, Sansa had gotten up and walked as fast as she possibly could to the great hall. She did not want to do anything that would anger either her aunt or Lord Baelish. Sansa had quickly realised that her aunt was deeply in love with Lord Baelish and would never, ever find fault with him, though she did appear to be quite mad, for on more than one occasion she had mistaken Sansa for her mother, and had began ranting and raving at her, for some long ago crime that her mother had supposedly committed that involved Lord Baelish, and usually it would take Lord Baelish's presence and his "soothing" words before her aunt would calm down and remember where she was and who she was with.

Of course Lord Baelish would then lead her back to her room, where he would then kiss her and when she kept her lips closed he would frown at her and tell her that that was no way to thank the person who had taken her away from the Lannisters and from the Targaryens. What he did not seem to understand was that she did not like him, she was not grateful for whatever help he had given her, he had taken her away from Jon, from her mother, from her family, and why? So that he could use her however he saw fit, for him to take advantage of her whenever she felt lonely and scared and could no more reject him not if she did not wish to invoke her aunt's wrath. No, she thought, she could only hold on for so much longer, she would wait until her and Jon's babe was born and then she would try and flee. She knew Serrax had gone back to Jon at Riverrun, because she had had a dream of it, like she had once been wont to do with Lady, but before Serrax had left she had fled to the godswood one day and attached a little note she had written for Jon, to Serrax and hoped against hope that he would find it and read it, and come for her.

She was brought back to reality though when she heard the herald announce the names of the prisoners who had been caught just the other day trying to break into the Eyrie. They had killed three of the guards and that had caused her aunt to go into a frenzy of mad panic, fearing that the Lannisters were trying to have her or her son killed for her rebellious bannermen and their part in fighting for Jon. Lord Baelish had soothed her, and had promised to deal with them as soon as he was able. So here they were in chains, looking worse for wear, with cuts and bruises aplenty on their faces, their cloths torn and tattered.

Sansa heard her aunt speak then. "You are here as prisoners. You tried to break into the Eyrie, and by trying to, you killed three of our guards. You shall state why you tried to break in, and who sent you."

Sansa saw the man in the middle of the group, a big muscular man with dark brown hair and browner eyes, stare defiantly at her aunt Lysa, the rest of the group remained silent and Sansa could feel the tension beginning to build up in the room, as she heard many of the viewers begin to mutter amongst themselves. Her aunt Lysa was about to say something more, when Lord Baelish spoke. "The Lady of the Vale has asked you a question. You are prisoners here, for crimes committed against the Vale. It would be in your best interests to answer her questions."

They were silent again, the muttering in the hall grew louder, more insistent, Sansa shifted uncomfortably in her chair wishing for nothing more than to be back home in Winterfell, with her family. Lord Baelish sighed then and said. "Very well then. Since you refuse to co-operate, we have no choice but to use other methods to get you to speak. Ser Lothor, take these men back to the sky cells."

Just as the men were near the exit, Sansa heard one of the men- a small man with wiry blonde hair- shout. "Wait! The King sent us! We were sent by the King!"

Lord Baelish shouted over the din, "Stop. What did you say?"

Ser Lothor Brune turned the man around, he was sweating and shaking, his eyes skating around the room nervously until they stopped at Sansa. He said in a more confident tone. "We were sent by his grace King Jon, to take her grace Queen Sansa back to Riverrun. Back to her family."

The hall erupted into muttering and whispers as each of the people in the hall turned to look at her, Sansa felt herself shrink inside her chair, she had not know Jon would send immediately, she didn't even know if he had found her note or not.

Lord Baelish laughed then, and said in his most mocking voice, "Lady Sansa is safe here. Away from the war, away from grasping hands. And besides King Jon is dead, he died fighting, so your master must be the Lannisters. Ser Lothor take them away, see them hanged, I will not have such filth desecrating the walls of the Vale."

Ser Lothor nodded and pulled the man away and back toward the exit, the hall was still muttering around her, the man who had spoke screaming that what he had said was true. Sansa though paid no heed to that, was what Lord Baelish said true? Had her Jon really been killed? Or was it some lie? Surely it had to be a lie, she would have felt it if Jon had been killed, wouldn't she?

She was so preoccupied with worrying over whether or not what Lord Baelish had said was true or not, that she did not notice the small puddle of water building up at her feet.