Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

Though he had harbored some suspicions, Lord Paxter Redwyne could still scarcely believe his ears when Euron spoke the words aloud.

"You want to give me this dragon?"

"Exactly," Euron said with a grin.

Despite the myriad doubts swirling in his mind, Paxter could not suppress the frantic beating of his heart.

This was a dragon.

Who could resist the allure of such a prize?

Taking several deep breaths to steady himself, Paxter forced his voice to remain calm.

"Why?"

Euron threw back his head and laughed. "Do I need a reason to gift my father-in-law a present?"

Paxter cast another glance at the massive dragon below.

The creature noticed the two figures above it and opened its enormous jaws, releasing a jet of flame that shot upward like a fiery spear.

Paxter instinctively stepped back. In the sudden brightness, he noticed for the first time the thick iron chains shackling the dragon's legs.

"You can't control it," he said, feeling as though he had just uncovered Euron's motive for such an extravagant gift.

"Correct," Euron admitted casually. "But I believe you might have better luck."

How could I possibly control it? Paxter thought bitterly. He was no Targaryen; he had no blood of dragonlords. How could he hope to tame such a beast?

Still, he couldn't bring himself to refuse. His mind began racing, considering what name might befit such a creature. Should he name it Gilbert, after a revered ancestor of House Redwyne? Or perhaps Lunsford, in honor of his late grandfather?

"Very well," Paxter said finally. "I accept your gift."

"Excellent," Euron replied, laughing uproariously.

The next moment, Euron abruptly kicked his father-in-law into the pit.

"No!" Paxter screamed.

He tumbled to the bottom, ash billowing around him. The dragon stretched its serpentine body, its wings cracking like thunder as they unfurled, stirring the air into a sweltering frenzy.

"Enjoy my gift, dear father-in-law," Euron cackled from above.

"Why?" Paxter scrambled desperately to escape the dragon's approach. "We have a common enemy! We could have worked together—ahhh!"

A piercing pain shot through his leg. Paxter looked down and realized that one of his legs was gone.

"Save me! Save me!" he howled, tears streaming down his face. "Name your price! Whatever you want, I'll give it to you!"

"I want the world kneeling at my feet!" Euron's laughter grew louder, echoing off the cavern walls.

"You're mad! The Greyjoys are all mad!"

"Yes, we're all mad," Euron agreed, laughing even harder. "And I am the maddest of them all!"

A torrent of golden-red flames erupted from the dragon's maw, engulfing Paxter. Within seconds, he was reduced to a charred, smoking corpse.

The dragon tore off half of his head, swallowing it in one gulp. As it devoured its feast, it continued to scorch the ground, flames dancing around the remains.

Euron's laughter eventually subsided as the dragon roared, its deafening cry reverberating through the cavern. It spread its wings and tried to take flight, but the chains dragged it back to the pit.

Euron dusted off his coat and walked away without a backward glance.

When he returned to the banquet hall, his expression was as calm and composed as if he had merely stepped out for a brief errand.

Desmera approached him immediately, holding his hand.

"Where's my father?"

"He's enjoying my gift," Euron replied with a smile.

"Oh." Desmera didn't think much of it. "And my gift? What did you prepare for me?"

"Patience," Euron said, pulling her toward the dais. "Your turn is coming soon."

The hall was alive with noise and chaos. Drunken Ironborn lords were dragging Redwyne noblewomen into dances, their reluctance thinly veiled by forced smiles.

The music was atrocious, out of tune and jarring to the ear. The Redwyne contingent silently cursed the Ironborn for their lack of refinement.

Even Asha found the cacophony unbearable.

"Euron!" she shouted. "Get rid of these damned musicians! I need peace!"

Euron ignored her. Leading Desmera up to the dais, he raised his goblet, drinking deeply before offering it to his bride.

Desmera giggled, taking a small sip before Euron snatched the cup back.

The rim clinked against her teeth, causing her to wince. She pouted and shook his arm in protest, but Euron's demeanor had already shifted.

The once-charming man suddenly turned cold and distant.

Without warning, he smashed the goblet to the floor, the sharp sound silencing the hall.

Startled gasps came from several Redwyne noblewomen as wine splashed onto their gowns.

The music stopped abruptly.

Asha watched her uncle warily, sensing that something terrible was about to happen. The tension in the room was palpable, like venomous snakes slithering unseen among the guests.

Before she could react, Aeron grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the wall.

"What are you—" Asha began, but then she saw them: the "musicians" retrieving crossbows from beneath their chairs.

So that's why the music was so terrible. They weren't musicians at all—they were crossbowmen!

Thwip-thwip-thwip!

Arrows rained down like a deadly storm.

Screams erupted as chaos engulfed the hall.

Asha kicked over a table to shield herself and Aeron from the onslaught.

When the first wave of arrows ceased, most of the Redwyne party lay dead or dying.

"Euron! What are you doing?"

"Why are you killing us?"

"Aren't we allies?"

Euron sat on his throne, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Beside him, Desmera cowered, too terrified to speak.

"Allies?" Euron sneered. "The Ironborn need no allies. We need slaves. Kill them all."

Rising to his feet, he declared, "Kill every Redwyne! The Arbor is ours!"

"Kill the Redwynes!" The Ironborn cheered, brandishing hidden daggers and swords as they descended upon the defenseless Arbor guests.

Desmera fell to her knees, clinging to Euron's leg.

"Please!" she sobbed. "I beg you, stop this!"

Her pleas were drowned out by the cacophony of screams, clashing steel, and spilling blood.

Asha gripped a knife she had pulled from a fallen Redwyne knight, her gaze fixed on her uncle atop the dais.

The slaughter continued until the hall was littered with corpses, blood pooling on the floor and mingling with spilled wine.

When the cries of the dying finally faded into silence, Aeron rose to his feet.

"Euron! You have violated the sacred rights of guests!" he shouted. "The Drowned God will curse you!"

"Let Him try," Euron replied with indifference.

Asha tugged on Aeron's sleeve, urging him to stop provoking their volatile relative.

But Aeron ignored her, addressing the Ironborn lords instead.

"Will you continue to follow this man? This blasphemer with no honor, no principles, no limits?"

Euron laughed, rising from his throne. He kicked Desmera aside as she clung to him, sending her sprawling to the floor.

"Honor? Morals? Gods?" Euron bellowed. "All lies meant to shackle the strong! The only truth in this world is gold!

"Westeros is bleeding, its lifeblood flowing freely. The Arbor is but the first wound, and I will lead you to feast upon it!"

"Feast! Feast! Feast!" The Ironborn raised their bloodied weapons, roaring in approval.

Aeron felt a chill seep into his bones as despair gripped him.

The gods, it seemed, were silent.

Euron was leading them to destruction, and no one could stop him.

Who will save the Iron Islands?

The cries and the strong smell of blood in his ears drowned him like a sea water, making it difficult for him to breathe.

(End of Chapter)