The Thu'um and the Seven Kingdoms (Rehost)

[brian boru]

Visenya watched the forest from the safety of the village wondering when Tom would be coming back and whether or not he would be bringing that little redhead with him.

Despite the cold fury she'd shown that morning, and how she'd goaded Tom to turn on her, she had no real dislike of the girl. She was simply a young woman who'd been in a bad situation and had been smitten with her hero.

The problem was that from what she'd observed of the man, he had an overdeveloped sense of honor and moral compass that made him almost pathetically easy to manipulate. If he made a promise then she was reasonably sure that he'd do whatever it took to keep it, a fact that was both dangerous and useful. Visenya had feared that if the girl had gotten her legs around the young man that he'd be guilt ridden into staying in this tiny little village blasting away at the occasional brigand, pirate, or Ironborn.

That was such a terrible shame when she knew that he could be so much more, set to much greater things. Her mind went back to the day before as he stormed into the village, not caring a bent copper that he was outnumbered at least thirty to one, and with blasts of pure force and balls of fire had decimated the attackers and had scattered the survivors screaming to the four winds. Power had always been attractive to Visenya, force of will, strength of arms, wealth, or any other form that it came in she found intriguing. Aegon had been such a man, he was tall, strong, intelligent, he had burned with ambition, and he had the fire and the force will to achieve what he set out.

When Aegon, she, and their younger sister Rhaenys had approached adulthood, it had become apparent that aside from the traditions of Valyria, the two sisters also desired Aegon on a personal level, and being Targaryens, both sisters competed fiercely for his affections. She was still a little embarrassed at how much their competition had escalated. When Aegon had finally put his foot down and ended their feud by marrying the both of them, Visenya had been in the process of girding on her armor, while Rhaenys was quickly slathering the deadliest poisons in the world to her knives.

At first glance, this young man, did not have any of the qualities that Aegon seemed to possess. But when she had dealt with him longer she saw that at least compared to the men she had lived with for most of her life, Tom was an honestly good man, and thus a predictable one. He had saved her when there was little to gain for him, he had sworn to bring her home because of a promise he'd given a dying man. When they had found the village under attack, he'd foolishly jumped in to save them and had done so nearly single handedly, against odds that he had no business surviving. He had accomplished this by harnessing powers she'd never seen before, and she had the feeling that he was only showing a fraction of what he could do. More than anything in the world right now she wanted, no craved to know what he could to and also learn how to bend that power to her own purposes. The possibilities that she saw were endless.

She was brought out of her reverie when she spotted Tom walking out of the forest his head high in the air. Visenya made a very unladylike snort of contempt when she saw that moon-eyed peasant girl, Mya, was hovering by his side like an over-eager puppy, all but lost in her adoration of the man.

IT was then that she noticed the other man following behind Tom as they walked into the village. She saw to her small satisfaction that Tom's smile disintegrated when he saw her waiting for him. He noticeably swallowed and then turned to Mya, saying something to her before she nodded and left him alone with his companion. Visenya glared at the girl for a moment to keep up appearances, before she turned back to the two approaching men. The peasant girl shot her an equally venomous glare for an instant before she turned and headed into the village, but Visenya ignored it as being beneeth her notice.

When Tom reached Visenya he swallowed then gestured to the stranger, "Hello...Ranna, meet Bannon Harlaw, the nephew of Harrick Harlaw, he's promised me information in exchange for not blasting him into oblivion."

"And oath of fealty in exchange for protection from my uncle's wrathful nature!" the Ironborn added with insufferable cheer.

Visenya looked incredulously at Tom, absently wondering what madness had overcome him, before she examined the man infront of her. He was a few inches taller than Tom but of a lighter build. Both his hair and his eyes were near jet black in their darkness, and he had a permanent smirk on his face as if he were privately enjoying something hilarious that no one else could see. When Tom finished speaking he dramatically bowed to Visenya, and with great mirth in his voice, said, "It is an honor to meet you lady Ranna. It is an honor to meet my lord's lady wife."

The entire time he spoke Visenya instantly knew that Bannon knew that the two of them weren't married and that she was not named Ranna. She looked to Tom and saw to her frustration that he either was a far better actor than she gave him credit for, or actually seemed to believe that the Ironborn bought their story. She hoped it was the former, but considering how inept he seemed at anything even remotely involving intrigue, it was probably the latter.

She showed no sign of any of these emotions and instead curtsied and smiled, "Greetings lord Bannon."

"The pleasure is mine, m'lady," he said with a degree of good humor that was honestly off-putting, coming from one of the normally violent and dower men of the Iron Islands, "But I must say, I didn't know there was a Targaryen branch house in the Stormlands. Your family history must be quite the tale."

The look of numb horror on Tom's face would have been amusing if their cover had not been so easily blown. Visneya was vaguely impressed when Tom quickly recovered and grinned sheepishly and said, "Seems that you were even more clever than I thought."

"Then we must have words about your obviously low opinion of my intellect," Bannon countered with a small frown, "White hair, violet eyes. The only way she could be more marked by her lineage would be it you tattooed a three headed dragon to her arse," he paused for a moment then playfully added, "And if m'lady would allow it, I'd be willing to check for one."

Visenya was about to have puffed up at that before Tom countered, "She could have been a Dayne, or maybe of house Valeryon. Both of them have those features. And the Valeryon's live right next to the Targaryens."

"True that is a possibility, there are a few problems with that. For one the Daynes live in Dorne and are leagues away from here even a distant cousin wouldn't have moved as far North as Bronzegate. As for house Valeryon, everyone in Westeros knows that old man Valeryon is pissing himself with worry that Aegon'll finally decided he's outlived his usefulness and torch Driftmark with his dragons. He would never have even a peasant soldier of his away from his island, let alone a kinswoman. And then finally, and most importantly, it wasn't either of their fleets that recently wrecked on these shores."

Visenya watched Tom flinch, "So you knew about that? I was hoping it hadn't become common knowledge just yet." To be honest she had agreed with him. If the Ironborn from Harrenhal already knew that the Dragonstone fleet had been destroyed and the dragons lost, then her difficulties were greater than she had expected.

She missed part of conversation as she thought but she was wrenched from her musings when she heard, "...and cousin Harren sent the silver-haired Highborn lady to Harrenhal as a gift to the king."

She then turned her entire attention on Bannon. "What was that!?"

"I said, before we hit this village we found a silver-haired woman floating in the middle of the bay, clinging to a piece of debris. She was dressed in highborn clothing. Harren wanted to have her right then and there but to my personal amazement, I was able to convince him that she was too weak to..." he snorted and began to finger quote,"'Survive his manly passions' and was able to convince him that he'd gain much favor by sending her to Harrenhal as an offering to the king. We dropped her off at one of our coastal forts to recover her strength to travel," He looked at her for a moment, "Why don't tell me that was....? Oh this is too rich." He then proceeded to laugh.

Visenya bristled. "This is no laughing matter! This is my sister we're talking about!"

"Your sister..." he then started to laugh even harder. "Sisters! My, my, my lord, you travel with interesting companions. That fine blade you were swinging about as if it were a woodsman's axe wouldn't happen to be the famed Blackfyre now would it?"

Tom sighed and said, "Since you've sussed everything else out, yes. Yes it is."

"Hmn. If the ladies are on the mainland, one as a love-slave-to-be, and the other playing little wify to a fire breathing hedge knight, and you have the lord's sword. Well, I take it Aegon's no longer with us, and the dragons are a total loss? Correct me when I'm wrong," he said, completely assured in the accuracy of his guess.

"Yes, you would be correct." Tom answered again and she saw that his knuckles were beginning to whiten as he clenched his fists tighter.

"Then I strongly suggest we get moving," Bannon replied with the sureness of the grave. "Unless I am mistaken, house Targaryen has few friends, and many enemies. House Valeryon will no doubt take advantage of the opportunity to capture Dragonstone, and my own people would leap at the chance if only for the bragging rights for being the first people to sack the city."

A numb feeling of dread filled her as the thought of her home being put to the torch by a swarm of Ironborn burned into her mind. Now more than ever, she needed to get Tom and herself back to Dragonstone. At the same time she wanted nothing more than to fly to her sister's rescue and utterly destroy those who dared make a slave of a dragon.

She was taken out of her thoughts when Tom spoke up. "Do you remember where it is?"

Bannon, slightly confused, replied, "Erm yes, it's a way up the coast, in the territory of Micah Rosby."

Tom nodded, "Can you lead me there?"

"I can but I believe that would be...inadvisable, there are at least a hundred men using that fortification and no doubt by the time you arrive they will have learned about you." Bannon seemed somewhat nervous about the look in Tom's eyes and to be honest she was as well.

With that, Tom said, "Tomorrow, we're going after her. If you don't want to come with me then I understand, just leading me there or giving me the directions there would be appreciated."

He then turned towards to the village, mentioning something about, "Apologizing to Rolf," as he left. Visenya stared after him her face a mask of stunned surprise. Bannon stood beside her watching the man walk off into the village. He conversed with the large red-headed man for a moment then after shaking his hand he then turned towards the hut that held all of the equipment that had been taken by the Ironborn.

"Your new man is either insane, the stupidest man in all of Westeros, or he is more powerful than I thought." Bannon idly commented.

Visenya turned to him for a moment, incensed at Bannon's implications. The very idea that she would ever deign to actually... but as she thought on it. As she remembered the man who could have so easily slaked his lusts on her when she was too weak to resist, or more callously left her to die there on the beach. The man who without a thought had leaped into the village because of the rape of a peasant girl. She remembered the raw power that he could call to bear with just a single word. She thought on it for a while, hmm.... She did have a young third cousin who should have bled by now. Maybe.... She would have to think on this.

About then she realized what it was that Tom was intending to do. Much as she wished that they could go and save her sister, there wasn't enough time to mount a rescue. If they stayed away from Dragonstone for too long then Valeryon would learn of what had happened and send a fleet against Dragonstone. She then dashed into the village to find and stop Tom before he wasted their time and doomed her home. She failed to notice the small redheaded figure emerge from behind a storage hut and look after the running silverette.

Visenya found Tom standing in the house that had been laid aside for storing the equipment gathered from the Ironborn. He was in the middle of examining a well made hatchet when Visenya cleared her throat behind him. "We can't do it. We don't have enough time."

Tom never turned around to face her, he just placed the hatchet into his belt and then turned to the chainmail shirts, "I made an oath, I am going make good on that oath. Besides I saw what those Ironborn were doing and I'll be damned if I leave a woman to that kind of fate."

She gave Tom a look and retorted, "And if you do then you will doom my home to that kind of fate."

"My oath was to keep you and your sister safe not protect you island and not to be your attack dog." He answered.

"But you do not know where to find her."

"Bannon said he was there."

"How do you know that he will not betray you."

"The man could have run when he had the chance, instead he actively sought me out so that he could work for me. He wouldn't have done that unless he was intending to be honest with me."

This banter could have gone on for a while but there was an interruption when Mya appeared behind Visenya, "Actually m'lady, we could use the Ironborn ship. My village are fishermen and we're familiar around boats. And if we needed to we have three Ironborn to help us."

Visenya turned back to Mya and after glaring down at the girl who to her surprise glared right back at her, answered, "I assume that between your fawning and seductions, you didn't notice that the mast of that ship was torn clean off yesterday."

"And I guess that between your preening and lies that you didn't notice the gigantic bloody forest behind us and not a noble lord in sight to complain about cutting the trees down." Mya replied without a pause that knockedVisenya back on her heels.

"How Dare You Speak To Me Like That!" Visenya all but roared at the girl, who's bravado seemed to only swell in the face of her indignation.

"Not an easy feeling, is it, m'lady? Living in fear of the Ironborn, wondering when they're going to come for you and the people you love? For you this is something dreadful and new. For my people its just another day. Believe me when I say that acting daft and won't get you anywhere." Mya retorted at Visenya's outburst, shocking the highborn lady to the core as it struck far too close to home.

But Visenya was a Targaryen and fire was in their bodies, hearts, and minds. She retaliated quickly, "So then wise one, what do you suggest our course of action should be?"

Mya smirked with a shocking amount of venom and replied, "My 'suggestion' is that you get your bloody head out of your arse and actually think about finding a way to save your godsdamned sister! If one of my kin was taken, and I had a chance to save them, I wouldn't be standing around here weeping like some festering cunt!"

That was one word too far for Visenya's frayed temper and she would have leapt at the woman right there if something hadn't diverted her attention.

"Visenya... Mya... SHUT! UP!" Tom suddenly snapped, the unexpected source made Visenya's righteous fury fade like mist in the summer sun.

Tom had slipped on a helmet and a chainmail shirt to see how they fit and when he glared at the two of them he snarled, "What the hell has gotten into the two of you?"

Mya was the first to answer, "After all that has happened to me, I'll be buggered if I'm going to let some pampered princess stand around ruining everything for everyone because she just found out that guess what everybody, world ain't fair! My home was raided and I was nearly raped, then I was saved by a hero like out of the age of legends. He made love to me, made me feel like I never believed was possible, then he was infuriated with me the very next day, thanks to her," she all but growled the last three words of the sentence, "When I ran from him, I was held hostage by one of the very same men who attacked my home and nearly raped me. Then my hero saved me, again, and immediately apologized for his harsh words, and then this damned fool ruined the moment by ranting about leaving her very own sister to suffer a fate worse than death," she snorted, "Besides, considering the value that I've heard nobles place on kinship, I'm left wondering if she's really concerned or just looking for a way to get rid of her!"

Tom was staring in stunned silence and a slight blush spread across his cheeks but Visenya barely noticed him or anything else. The last few words that Mya had spoken were rattling around in her brain like a macabre rattle. Did she really think that? She recalled to the fighting that had happened between her sister and her before Aegon married the both of them. Was she really so hostile to her sister that she would abandon her now?

She scarcely heard Tom's half whisper, "Don't you think you're being a little too harsh Mya?"

Mya struck hard again with her response, "Not in the slightest, m'lord. I'm only getting started."

"No, you're not," Tom said brooking no argument, "Cut it out."

"Yes, m'lord," she replied, deflating somewhat.

Tom nodded in satisfaction. "Alright. Now, lets go talk to the men of the village about that boat."

Tom made a motion for Mya to lead the way, and as the two left, he looked back to Visenya for a moment before leaving her to her fugue.

Not a moment later Bannon shot her quizzical look that held far more amusement than was probably healthy. "Well, it seems that there was more to that little fireball then was to be expected."

Visenya nodded blankly, not actually hearing what he said.

 

[brian boru]

Tom stared at Mya as the two of them left the hut, unsure as what to say her after he witnessed the shocking barrage of insults she'd unleashed on Visneya, other than to get her away from the other woman. Tom examined her more closely, and after taking a sniff, he could smell the distinctive odor of beer on her breath.

"Uh Mya," he said in a low voice, "Why do you smell like beer?"

"Because I decided that after all the shite I'd been through this morning, I deserved a nip."

She answered so matter-of-factly it made Tom blink before he then asked her, "Uh how much is a nip?" He was a little surprised at this, there was no way she could have had that much they'd only just got back.

"Wasn't that much, m'lord," she said with a shrug.

"You're drunk aren't you?" Tom deadpanned, not really believing this insanity.

Mya seemed to puff up and retorted, "I'm not drunk!" She snatched her arm out Tom's grip, "I'm angry!" She turned towards the other villagers and with a more powerful voice than her petite form would indicate she roared,"Alright you buggers! Everybody line up! Ser Dovahkin's got a task for you!"

The entire village as one turned their heads towards the tiny redhead standing next to their savior and groaned.

"Seven curse it!" Rolf exclaimed, "Mya, what happened?."

"Not too much. Just told the lord's 'lady wife', what was what, that's all," she replied smugly.

"You were hitting the ale again, weren't you?" he said with a frown.

"I just finished off the jug. I'm fine," she said almost flippantly, "Besides, after this morning I needed something to calm my nerves."

Tom's eyes almost bugged out of his head. Finished off the jug? Oh, for the love of God. He didn't know how much had been left in that jug, but he had a feeling it had probably been enough to make him lose his own head, but here she was, a girl that probably weighed about as much as one of his legs, perfectly functional albeit somewhat maniacal.

"You did what?!" Rolf turned to Tom and almost begging, said "I apologize my lord! When Mya gets drunk she gets rather... spirited."

"I'm not drunk!" she replied in a huff, "Girl decides she needs to take the edge off and speak her mind, and they think its all up in the ale!"

"Damn," one of the younger men cursed, "Enough to put the bug up her arse, but not enough to make her friendly."

"Believe me, Castor, there isn't enough ale in this world to make any lass as friendly as you'd prefer," she replied coquettishly, "I'd stick to the sheep if I were you."

The other young men exploded into laughter, while Rolf simply crossed his arms and glared at her. "Mya, what is this all about."

"Ranna's sister was taken by the Ironborn," That statement alone took all the cheer and levity from the situation. At once everyone was focused on her, their brows furrowed, and the tension heavy enough to cut with a knife. "But we know where she is. She's taken ill and isn't good to travel, so we have time for a rescue."

To the people of the Riverlands, the idea of a rescue, of snatching a loved one from the jaws of the Ironborn was a faint dream, something everyone fantasized about, some even attempted, but few were able to accomplish. The very idea was enough to still all conversation and put all, undivided attention on Mya.

"We need to make their longship seaworthy and mend the sail. Then we'll need a volunteer crew to tend her. Anyone left behind will probably need to take shelter with nearby kin in case the bloody Harlaws show up while Ser Dovahkin is saving his 'wife's'," it was a testament to her acting ability that she was able to say the word with a straight face, "kin. So the menfolk better start looking for a good tree and the womenfolk better start mending that sail."

The villagers lined up and set to work with great elan. As the villagers threw themselves into their individual tasks, Tom looked for anyone who was not being berated by the woman.

To his joy he spotted Rolf leaning against a hut wall, laughing himself sick though he kept it quiet. Tom walked over to his side and the two of them watch Mya browbeat the villagers. Rolf then leaned over to Tom and muttered, "So she got into the ale again huh?"

Tom snapped his head and said, "Again? You mean this has happened before?"

Rolf nodded, "Oh yes. My little Mya's a very spirited girl, but whenever she gets grog of any sort in her," he paused for a moment."You know how we think one thing and say another?"

"Your internal monologue?" Tom offered weakly.

"Aye. That. She has trouble keeping her tongue on the best of days," he replied, "Get a little drink in her and everyone gets to hear what she thinks, like it or not"

"Great," Tom muttered as he noticed how the young woman was all but chasing half a dozen men, all carrying axes, into the forest.

"Now it even gets worse when that little temper of hers goes flying," Rolf observed.

As he listened to Rolf's commentary, he now glanced at Mya who'd moved to browbeating the other young women into getting started on the sail. "Little temper huh?"

"Oh yes m'lord, you should see what she is like when her dander is truly up." Rolf said only half seriously.

"God have mercy that never happens." Tom said dramatically with a hammy shudder.

Rolf nodded, then patted him on the shoulder. Then hopefully stated, "M'lord, you are taking her with you when you leave, right?"

"Take her? I'd be a fool not to. She's got a gift there." Tom commented, watching Mya turn the entire village to their new task.

As they were watching Bannon strode up beside them making a low whistle, "For once I can't condemn my late cousin's taste in women. His idea of courtship though, I still view as morally lacking."

Rolf visibly bristled at the sight of the Ironborn, but as the situation with Bannon had already been explained to him, he didn't go any further than a curt, "And what do you want?"

"I was just going to offer my services to direct the repair of the ship. I'm an Ironborn, shipbuilding is in my blood." He replied.

Rold bristled again and retorted, "We're fishermen, we live on the sea our entire lives, do you honestly think that we can't do it ourselves?"

"Fishermen you may be, but there is a reason my people are feared as the most skillful seamen in the whole of Westeros." Bannon retorted with a slight smirk. "This is a Longship, not the little dinghies that you paddle around with to catch fish. The fact that you live off the sea is the reason I'm offering direction and not standing aghast in mute horror, wondering what ramshackle indignities you intend to inflict on such a finely crafted vessel."

Rolf's face turned as red as his hair, and for a moment he looked like he was about to attack Bannon. Tom quickly stepped into the argument putting his hand on their respective shoulders. "Easy! Easy There's no need to get hostile. I'll take any help I can and he can help steer the ship when we head our way North." He turned to Bannon, "It is North of here right?"

"Steer? Any peasant can hold an oar." Bannon replied incredulously, "It would be best if I were to captain her," he raised a finger, "And before either of you get a burr in your nethers, about me, 'usurping command' or any other such nonsense," he finger quoted, "Do we have anyone else with any experience commanding a sea going vessel with a number of crew greater than the fingers on one hand?

He paused for a just a moment. "No? Didn't think so."

"Fine," Tom muttered. As much as he wanted to thump Bannon for that little power grab, the jerk was right. He doubted that any of the locals had experience in larger vessels and his captaining experience was amounted to little more than having watched all the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. "Since we're on the subject I think now's the best time for us to talk logistics. What exactly are we going to go up against?"

Bannon smiled that insufferable know-it-all smile of his and looked at his liege. "This will take some time to outline. I believe it would be best to sit down and discuss it, over some leftovers from that fine smelling feast you enjoyed last night, while I was huddling in the cold mud, chewing on moldy tree bark for sustenance perhaps?"

Tom groaned. "Fine...," he looked at one of the gawking women, "You heard the man."

"And make sure to bring some of that mouth-watering pork I smelled, if there's any left!" Bannon added in.

"Y-yes, m'lord," stammered the girl, a cute, brown haired lass with freckles, who seemed to shrink under Bannon's not entirely innocent gaze.

She retreated as quickly her two legs could carry her, while Bannon kept his eyes glued to her petite bottom the entire time.

"You know," Tom said slowly, his southern drawl coming to the forefront as he spoke, "I just want to warn you that if you touch any of the local girls without their consent, your death will not be pleasant."

"Just looking," Bannon replied, looking back to his lord, now that the maiden was no longer in eyeshot, "Besides. Believe it or not, not all Ironborn share my late cousin's tastes. I prefer my women willing and eager. Sex is so much more enjoyable when you can dedicate your energy into reaching new heights of pleasure, and not have to preoccupy yourself with keeping her underneath you.."

"Wonderful, you restore my faith in humanity, now let's get going," Tom said with a grimace as he led the other two men to a wooden table dragged out into the center of the village.

Once the three of them sat down Tom turned to Bannon, sighed deeply, and said, "Alright, give me the info."

Bannon, raised an eyebrow at the bizarre term but seemed to understand what he meant, after rising to grab a piece of charcoal he sat back down and began to sketch a rough map of the coast. When he finished he started to point out the location, "Alright, if this," he pointed to one part of the map, "Is our location, and this," he pointed to another spot, "Is Rosby, then the waypoint is about here." He jabbed a third spot to the South of the indicated location of Rosby.

He then continued, "It is located on lord Rosby's land but Rosby barely has the strength to hold his own dick as much as drive them off of Ironborn, to say nothing of establishing a presence to keep them from returning. The waypoint is made up of a natural bay where the ships are able to weigh anchor for the night. There is a wooden palisade that has space for 200 but most of the time, that room is being used to hold thralls for shipping back to the islands. Technically there are only about twenty men stationed there, but as there's almost always a longboat in port, so you're probably looking at closer to fifty. I do note though, it varies almost day to day."

Tom smirked, "Slaves huh? Good. Even better for us." Ignoring the look Bannon gave him, he turned to Rolf, "Alright Rolf, how many men can we bring with us?"

Rolf thought for a moment, "I think we could raise about twenty from here and if we're willing we can call help from our neighbors over at the mouth of the river. If we can get help from them we could possibly gather about fifty men all told."

"And how are we for armor and weapons?" Tom then asked, already knowing that even if they could fit fifty men on that ship, they could never equip all of them.

Rolf had a scowl form on his face when he answered that last question, "Not nearly enough, we have enough armor for about fifteen men, and Ironborn weapons for about twenty, then add in what we got now and we got enough for about thirty, the rest'll have to settle for wood axes, clubs, or knives."

Tom grimaced at that, if he had tried this under any other circumstances they'd be likely slaughtered like chickens. But, and Tom grinned at this, they had an ace up the sleeve. "Alright, send a runner to the Blackwater Rush village and tell them what happened here and ask them if they want to help us. If they do then bring them. Once we get the ship fixed then we get as many men on as there are oars plus another ten if we can fit them. The rest of the men are going to help the women and children here relocate to Blackwater Rush, once they get there I want everyone staying behind to start working on a palisade on that hill by the mouth of the river that's jutting into the bay." He pointed towards the South, indicating the largest of the three hills, the one that in another world would have become known as Aegon's hill and would have been the home of the Red Keep.

"Once we got the men here we set sail, we'll come up with a more concrete plan once we get closer." He finished.

"Wonderful," Bannon exclaimed, "And such perfect timing as well."

Looking over his shoulder, Tom saw the same pretty girl he'd tasked with bringing Bannon his meal had arrived, holding a wooden tray laden with food, including some remaining scraps of the Boar they decimated the night before.

Seeing her, and the tray of bounty she carried, Bannons eyes twinkled like little stars. "My dear, you are far too kind to this sailor," he said with far too much cheer and she placed it before him. "So, my dear, what do you call yourself?"

"E-eryn, m'lord...," she stammered looking like a deer in headlights.

"A lovely name for a lovely young woman," He smiled. To the girl it must have seemed dashing, for she blushed. To Tom it just looked smarmy.

With great force of will he resisted the urge to facepalm and mutter 'you've got to be joking' under his breath.

Seemingly emboldened by the girl's reaction, he gently patted the seat beside him. "Come, Eryn, sit and I shall tell you of my travels. Most think we Ironborn leave our islands because they're nothing but drowned rocks. Bah I say. Truth is most Ironborn women are like badgers with breasts.... short, stocky, and angry. Would a fair change to have fair company while I eat."

To Tom's consternation, Rolf's face turned as red a stop sign and he looked like he was about to outright attack. "Don't do anything hasty now," he warned.

"Hasty?" Rolf turned on him. "Yesterday this Ironborn attacks my home, and today he works his foul charms upon our womenfolk?!"

"If it helps," Tom said weakly, "He was against the attack."

"Then why did he go along with it?" Rolf demanded to know.

"Because if I hadn't I'd have been offered up to the Drowned God," Bannon said with a lazy drawl, raising his voice and turning from Eryn, "One does not deny your lord, and one surely does not deny their captain. I'd have been in the precarious position of doing both at the same time. I thought the attack was foolishness, but dying in protest would have been even more so."

"Fine, but don't expect me to like it," Rolf sneered. "I'm not going to sit back and watch this bastard eat. I'll go help the others find a tree."

"Large and straight, need between 25 and 30ft for the mast," Bannon chimed in with a smile as he shoveled roast pork into his gullet. "You can cut wood shorter but not make it longer after all!"

Rolf turned about, flushing red once more. "I know!"

Not wanting a fight, Tom grabbed onto Rolf's arm. "Okay, forget him for now, lets just go find that tree."

 

[brian boru]

OOC: I LIVE!!!!!!! HA HA HA HA HA!!! YOU THOUGHT I WAS DEAD DIDN'T YOU? WELL HAVE SOME STORY SUCKA'S!

just a short one though but I do have my juices back.

The sound of Valyrian-Steel striking wood sounded out through the clearing. Sweat beaded on Tom's forehead as he swung Blackfyre over and over, striking the dead tree, the sharp edge of the blade biting deep into the wood with every strike.

After Tom had finished planning with Rolf and Bannon, he'd felt restless. Planning was important but a strong part of him had no stomach for it. He wanted to act, not wait, even if waiting was the wiser course of action. It was then that he'd taken a single look at his sword and decided that if he had to wait for the ship to be repaired, then at least he'd put the time to some use. After all, he needed to learn how the hell to use the damned thing, and this was as good time as any to start.

The clearing was a good thirty yards from the village and about fifty feet across. The sun was high and a few clouds drifted lazily across the sky. The hangover from the night before had already begun to fade on its own, and his continued exercise gave him something to work out his frustrations upon.

He'd put the sword down for a moment to take a breath, and was about to pick it back up when he was interrupted by a female voice. "I had a feeling you'd be here."

Turning to the direction of the voice, he saw Visenya standing at the edge of the clearing watching him with an bemused look on her face.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he nodded to her, "Afternoon m'lady, what brings you here?"

She nodded back in greetings and then pointed to the sword, "I have been watching you... 'practice'."

"Really? And what is your opinion of my abilities?" Tom asked with a slight smile on his face.

"Your father needs to track down whoever it was who trained you and demand satisfaction for his outright sabotage of your education." She answered without pause.

Tom blinked at this for a moment, feeling slightly indignant for a moment at her implied insult. But after giving it a moment's thought he couldn't help but agree with her observation. But then he'd never had to learn how to fight with a blade.

"Well, if you think that you could do it better. Why don't you teach me how to use the damned thing properly?" Tom asked ruefully.

Visenya looked at him for a moment. "Alright then," She smirked and approached the man, "The first thing you must know is the stance and how to hold it. Now show me what stance you have and how you hold it."

Tom nodded and got into what he hoped was a good stance and took the sword in a firm two-handed grip.

She took one look at the stance and then sighed deeply. "Please tell me you jest."

Tom blinked in confusion. "Huh?"

Visenya sighed deeply and palmed her face, rubbing her head slightly at the temples with the thumb and index finger of her hand. "Where to start..." She sighed again and shook her head before stepping forward towards him. "Alright then. First lesson is to teach you how not to stand like a drunken woodsman."

"Hey!" Tom exclaimed. "I..."

"Silence," she snapped. "I'm working."

Reaching down to the ground, she picked up a thick fallen twig and walked towards Tom. Her eyes looked him over for any and all faults which she corrected with a swift strike from her switch.

Crack!

"Widen those legs."

Crack!

"Not that wide, fool!"

Crack!

"Suck in that gut!"

Crack!"

"Chest forward!"

After a few minutes of torture, she stepped back, pleased with Tom's improved form. "Now that seems a bit more correct... Now remember, how you hold the blade, and the form of your stance are the most important basics in using the sword, all the strength, speed, and agility in the world will not matter a half copper unless you have these basics. To encourage correctness... I will continue to encourage you to be correct."

She stepped forward, matched his stance, holding the stick as if it were a sword, and then shifted her own. "Now you try."

Tom winced, but complied, and copying the stance that she showed. Once again, she 'corrected' any mistakes, but to Tom's great pleasure, this time there were a good deal fewer mistakes. Unfortunately though, with Visenya and her stick, one mistake was still far too many.

Again and again they did this until, just when Tom felt like there was not a single part of his anatomy that wasn't bruised, Visenya finally nodded and said, " Congratulations, you now know how to hold a sword."

The condescending look on her face make Tom grit his teeth for a moment but he let it go as he knew that he would not be able to find a better sword instructor anywhere for who knew how many miles. He also knew that he needed to learn how to use this damn blade if he was going to survive in this new world he had been unceremoniously dumped into. So he simply smiled dumbly and nodded, speaking with real honesty and just as much relief in his voice, "Thank-you for your instructions m'lady."

Her smile was sickly sweet. "Wonderful. Tomorrow we will see how many you can remember. Now let me show you how to swing it"

Tom muttered under his breath, but did not comment other than to say, "As the lady commands."

For the next several hours, with Visenya as instructor, Tom worked with the most basic forms of sword fighting. By the time they were finished, when Visenya felt that he wouldn't accidentally kill himself drawing it from the scabbard, Tom was aching all over, now not only from his teachers merciless correction, but the effort of his repetitious swings left his wrists, hands, and shoulders feeling like they were on fire.

Tom groaned in agony and, in his mind at least, was luckily able to get the sword back into the scabbard still tied around his waist. Even more satisfying was his relief when she threw her stick to the side and started back into town. He spared a moment to stomp on the damned thing before he followed Visenya back to the village to see the progress that have been made so far on fixing the ship.

When he arrived, he was pleased to see that considerable progress had been made on replacing the mast and repairing the sails. While it was still a long way from being finished, he felt that it would only be a few days before they would be ready to set out and free Rhaenys from her captivity by the Ironborn, and himself from her sister's brutal lessons.

As the two of them were walking towards the ship, they were spotted by Mya, Rolf, and Bannon, all of whom waved and approached the two of them. There was slight jockeying for a moment as to see who would be the first to speak to Tom and tell him their progress so far. Mya managed to get there first by employing a vicious elbow to Bannon's gut that left him staggering for a moment.

She then smiled sweetly at Tom, and bowed deeply before saying, "Hello m'lord, I wanted to tell you that me and the other women of the village have been able to fix most of the sails and all we need to do now is to wait for the mast to be finished. How long that will take," and at this point she gave the two men a scathing glare that made her uncle flinch while the Ironborn showed no visible reaction to it, "It is not my place to say."






That evening, Tom and Visenya found themselves set up in Rolf's two room hut, which was, according to Rolf, the best place to sleep in the entire village. This was a fact which Visenya was more than happy to confirm, making sure to point out that she'd slept there, alone, the night before. Bannon had taken that opportunity to bid them good-night, slipping off with the pretty girl he'd flirted with earlier by his side while Rolf alternated glaring death at the Ironborn and giving pitying glances at Mya who was looking forlornly at Tom as he and Visenya entered the small dwelling.

Looking around, Tom couldn't help but agree with Rolf's statement. While the place was fairly small and only had one bed that Tom would have had a hard time considering a double back home, it was warm and dry and well taken care of and the entire house seem to have the smell of some form of spices wafting through the entire house. All in all it was a meager but, cozy dwelling.

Tom walked over to Visenya who seem to be looking over the abode with a disdainful look in her eyes the entire time. Tom sighed, but did not comment as he was too sore and too tired to muster the energy to argue with her attitude. The bed, while it was big enough to hold the two of them, was small enough that they would have had to spoon. Tom looked at the bed then over towards Visenya, then back towards the bed. Then he sighed and said, "You can take the bed, m'lady. I'll grab a blanket and take a spot by the fire.

Visenya giggled, to Tom it seemed completely out of place on that fierce woman and the young man stared in confusion at such a reaction. He outright goggled when she followed that giggle with a sardonic reply, her violet eyes flashing with sardonic humor. "Oh but it would be improper for a husband to sleep separate from his lady wife, especially so soon after the wedding."

Tom stared, somewhat uncomprehending what she had just said. When they finally pierced through his iron hard skull, he blushed, then shook his head and snapped, "I'm not your husband. No matter what you've told them."

The humor evaporated from Visenya's eyes and they turned as hard as Valyrian steel. "Yes, you aren't my husband. My husband died not three day prior." Her eyes glazed for a moment in memory before she turned them back towards Tom, even harder if he thought that possible. "But, that means I still do not know who you are or more importantly what you are. You called yourself Dovahkiin. That is not a name I have never heard of before. Just what is a Dovahkiin, and why do you call yourself Dragonborn?"

Tom sighed, he knew that this was going to come up eventually, and, careless as he was sometimes, he hadn't planned out a proper answer. He grit his teeth and decided to wing it and hope for the best. "I'm not surprised that you haven't heard of a Dovahkiin, they are rare at the best of times and arise only among the number of those carry the blood of a land farter from Westross than Valyrian. So far in fact that it might as well be another world" Literally another world, he thought ruefully to himself. "As for what Dovahkiin means, It means Dragonborn in the ancient language of the Dragons themselves. Dovah. Dragon. Kiin. Born. Dovahkiin. Dragonborn."

Visneya stared at him for a moment, her face a blank slate of any emotion, then she said, "You lie. Ancient language of the dragons?! Save your nonsense for the peasants. I've lived, trained, and fought with dragons nearly my entire life. My ancestors tamed, controlled, and fought using dragons for thousands of years. I can say with as much expertise as is possible, that dragons, while the king of beasts, are in the end simply beasts, no more intelligent than a very clever dog."

Tom never knew what came over him, maybe it was the stress of the situation, maybe it was the bruises he'd received from her earlier, or maybe it was the condescending disbelief that she was showing him, but at that moment something inside of him snapped and he just lost control. Something primal just welled up from deep within him, and he didn't even know what he said until it had already had been spoken.

"Mey Kiir! Nid!" he roared his voice full of primal rage.

The force of his outburst literally send Visneya crashing onto the bed, wide eyed and pale with shock, literally unable to look away as he continued his rant.

"Vahzah Dovah Mul Hevno Ahrk Munax! Ahrk Nust Kin Al Ahrk Kronidd! Nust Ann Kruziik Maar who Nir Ahrk Du Muz Med Raan! Dovah Do Keizaal Ni Sahlo Jaar Sivaas! "

To Visneya's stunned shock, while she had no idea what these primal, guttural words meant, something in the core of her being knew what was being said, 'Idiot child! NO! True dragons are powerful, brutal, and cruel! They are born conquerors and destroyers! They are an ancient terror who hunt and devour men like animals! The Dragons of Skyrim are not weak mortal beasts! "

Visenya almost quaked under Tom's gaze. She could remember seeing the very same look in Vhagar's eyes when the dragon spied an especially fat, and succulent looking sheep. Only this time, she was the sheep. Dovahkiin. Dragonborn. On some primal level, it suddenly made a terrifying degree of sense.

Before she could speak, before she could even think, Ser Tom moved towards her in a burst. She reacted with fear, reacted by instinct, and before she knew it, she'd drawn the dagger hidden under her skirt in a deadly arc to defend herself from the predator's approach.

"FUS!"

If she was frightened before, now she was terrified, as her weapon was torn from her hands, only to find itself imbedded almost hilt deep in the timbers of the peasant hovel.

Petrified, she could do nothing but look on, hoping and praying that he let her live. For a moment, a shameful part of her was even willing to allow him to pillage her body, just as long as he spared her afterwards.

She flinched when he knelt before her and grabbed her hand, and there was a lack of resistance when she allowed him to place it on his chest. Equally confused and relieved, she did not struggle and he held her hand in place, allowing her to feel the beating of his heart.

As her terror faded, it was replaced with confusion. His heartbeat, there was something strange about it. The fact could feel it through the chain-mail was odd enough, but beyond that there just seemed to be something more.

Though her fingers she could feel fire and fury, power and might. For a moment she could only think back to Vhagar, and that was when she realized. "Dragonborn," she said with a small voice, full of equal parts shock and awe, "It's not just a title, isn't it? What are you?"

"I'm Dovahkiin," he restated, "Dragonborn. I have the body of a man, the spirit of a dragon, and am kin to both."

For the first time Visenya realized what it is she was dealing with, and her fear was like a bitter flavor on the tongue that refused to be swallowed. She really was an expert on dragons, quite possibly the foremost in the entire world now that her husband was gone and her sister's condition was still unknown. She knew well how there was no other creature in this world, no kingdom, no force at arms, that could match the combination of strength, power, and ferocity of a dragon. And to take all of that, combine it with the reasoning ability of a human, and then disguise it in the skin of a man. The very idea terrified her beyond the ability of language to articulate.

The feats such a being could accomplish would be the stuff of legends. Only the gods themselves could ever hope to match it. And it had her hand pressed up against its chest, feeling its heart beat.

"Why?" she asked, her voice cracking, as she forced the syllable through disobedient lips.

Tom looked at her for a moment, not quite comprehending the simple question that said so little and asked so much at the same time.

"Why did you help me?" she asked again. "What did you do?" her fear began to grow frantic. "All I can remember is nothing then... then light and shock! What did you do to me? Why didn't you help my husband?! Why did you spare me when you let him die? Tell me please! Why? What do you want from me?"

"I helped you...because I was asked to... because I wanted to..." Tom's voice was as soft as a whisper but is carried to her ears with ease. "I was alone, and scared out of my mind..."

"You? Scared?!" she interrupted frantically. "What could a being such as you ever have to be frightened of? Surely not Bandits. Or maybe Armies? Entire nations?" she scoffed, "All would be like gravel underfoot for once such as you. What could you possibly be frightened of?"

"Watching a man die before my eyes without being able to help him..."

"Not able to help him??" she demanded. "You were able to help me! What did I have that my husband didn't?"

"You were weak, but not fatally injured like he was." He paused for a moment before admitting, "I didn't know I could help you like I did. What I know of my powers is dedicated to their use in combat, for destruction, taking life not saving it. My healing you was a flash of inspiration, born of desperation and a mad desire not to see an innocent woman die before me as I clung to her, impotently trying to warm her body with mine like some helpless fool."

Visenya though for a moment. It sounded like he found her moments from death. That explained why they'd both been naked, but it left her with a bigger question. From the sound of it, she should be in the same condition the ironborn has reported her sister, feverish and near death. But she felt hale and hearty, as if her life had never been in question for a moment.

"What did you do to me?"

"Your spirit was flickering like a candle in a storm. I... I... From what I remember of that panic filled moment, I gave you a little of my fire, to stoke your own until it could burn by itself. I am sorry I can't say anything else, but that is all I know."

Visenya's eyes went wide at the implication. This man, who was in truth, a dragon wearing human form, gave of his own spirit to save her life. She remembered that moment too. Blackness, endless nothingness, then frantic light and fury. In an instant she'd gone from the brink of death to being full of life.

The idea of his power frightened her, but it also intrigued her, and she could not say that the idea of having some of it for herself wasn't entirely appealing. After all, while her dragon may have been lost to the storm, it didn't mean that she didn't still desire the dragon's power. And if she could convince him to share just a little bit, well. He might be Dragonborn, but she was still Dragonblooded, and though she'd never say it for fear of offending him, she did somewhat feel like she had a right to maybe just a little bit.

"Show me what you did to me," she said, her tone stern and brooking no argument, and hiding both a giddy anticipation, and the very real concern that he'd see through her deception and set her on fire for her impudence.

Tom stared at her for a moment, then he nodded, "Alright."

He stood up and taking a deep breath he thought back those two long days ago, "LAAS ZII FUS!!"

The same blast of energy erupted from his mouth and slammed into the woman before him. For a moment she looked as if she were on fire, as power washed across her body, filling her very soul with his draconic essence.

Visenya's eyes rolled into her head and she fell back onto the bed releasing an ear splitting, and entirely unwholesome scream from her lips. The feeling was indescribable, like being awash in both pleasure and power beyond limit. Her blood boiled from the sheer intensity of it.

The sound of chanting whispered at the edges of her senses, and she knew it to be the voices of dragons. It felt of a wild joy and a rage beyond mortal comprehension. It felt of the scorching heat of an unforgiving sun on her back. It felt of the bitter cold of an icy wind sluicing over her wings.

The chant grew into a roar and Visenya felt her vision darken, becoming blurred at the edges. Even so, she felt a great sense of euphoria well up from within her, as if the whole world was laid bare beneath her all-encompassing gaze as she towered over it. She felt the urge to cry out, and her chest heaved with the beginnings of some wordless scream. The desire to proclaim this world as her own, its peoples her subjects, that it was all hers. Hers from the tallest mountain to the deepest chasm, that all the nations of men, that all the beasts and beings that live under the skies were hers by right of blood.

And it was her Right, nay, her Duty to rule them.

For that moment she was no longer Visenya Targaryen, pathetic mortal, but something far greater. While lasting only a couple seconds, the sensation was so great to have felt like a lifetime.

As it faded, she looked at Tom. In that instant it she saw him now for what he truly was, not a man but a dragon. It was a great beast of vast and shadowy darkness that loomed over her, dominating a room too impossibly small to fit its great dimensions. Its wings spread and it roared so loud she felt that her eardrums must soon burst from the strain of the great proclamation that followed.

::I AM DOVAHKIIN::

As swiftly as the vision had appeared, it disappeared and in the place of the colossal dragon was the overweight young man she had known for the past few days.

He was nothing like Aegon, his face was rounder, and while attractive, was handsome in a humble peasant way rather than in the noble power and nobility of Aegon. His hair was a dark brown and shaggy like a wolf's pelt, unlike the silver and gold of Aegon's long smooth locks. His body while short and solid was incomparable to Aegon's tall and trim form. It wasn't until she looked at his eyes that she remembered the raw power and terror she had felt before. They were an interesting green, not unlike a Lannister but they burned with a jade fire much like wild fire and the black pupils if one were to observe them long enough, one could see a gold glow that seemed to hint at the raw power that dwelt within this young man.

She now understood what that power was. She'd thought he'd tricked him, but now even through the euphoria she wondered if she was the one who'd been tricked, and just as strongly, she wondered if she even cared. She had been given a taste of his power, and now she would give almost anything to taste that power again. She wanted it, she craved it, she needed it. She'd do anything....

anything....
anything....
anything....
anything....
anything....
any....

Tom was beginning to become worried about Visenya as she grew redder and redder, her skin began to shimmer from a thin sheen of sweat, the pupils of her eyes dilated till it seemed that her eyes changed from violet to jet black.

Worry about to grow into outright concern Tom placed his hand on her shoulder and in a loud clear voice said, "Visenya!"

Whatever fugue she was in evaporated almost the instant that Tom touched her and spoke.

She stared blankly for a moment, the flush gone and her eyes contracted back to normal. When her mental fog seemed to clear a few moments later, her eyes focused on Tom and she began to study him as if he were some fantastic creature that she'd never seen in her life. Tom was more than a little disconcerted and wondered if she were about to attack him.

But his concerns were unfounded when Visenya turned away and said, "You may share the bed with me. It is the least I could do for the man who has rescued me."

She then stripped down to her small clothes, an off-white shift that went down to right below her knees. Then she slipped into bed shifting on her side so that she faced the edge of the bed. All while ignoring Tom's presence while doing so.

Tom stared for a moment, somewhat stunned, despite his little adventure the night before this was more than a little confusing for the poor guy. When he didn't move for a few minutes Visenya lifted head to look at him and said, "Well are you not going to bed?"

Tom was started out of his paralysis and stripped down to his jeans and slid in with her making sure his back was facing her as well. When Tom went to sleep, more than a little confused at this turn of events and wondering what the hell it was he did and why he did it, he never noticed that Visenya had laid there, wide awake, her mind was whirling with thoughts and plans for the future.

 

[brian boru]

The sun rose up early the next day, a golden ball rising up from the ocean, bringing light to the humble coastal village that lay less than a day's walk from the mouth of the Blackwater Rush, one of the mightiest rivers that ran through Westeros.

The silence of the pre-sunrise had just given way to the sounds of songbirds making their early morning calls, when the stillness of the village was broken by a dark shape exiting the door of the largest hut.

Tom stretched and cracked his neck and other appendages in an attempt to get the kinks out after sleeping somewhat tensely the night before. Tom unconsciously blushed a bit when he remembered the cause of aforementioned tenseness. At some point in the night, Tom had been roused from his slumber by an interesting sensation. While it had felt pleasant for an instant, when his mind remembered where exactly he was, he'd snapped awake and found that Visenya, still asleep, had rolled over, wrapping her arms around the young man from behind and slowly running her hands along his sides and along his arms and chest.

For a while Tom was unsure as what to do, on the one hand this was an extremely attractive woman molesting him in his sleep. On the other hand, this woman was likely able to rip his throat out with her teeth if she so desired, and thusly he was terrified of her waking up with her hands somewhere less than respectable. For a short time he was unsure of what to do, his reptile mind and his human mind battling out for supremacy. Then her hands started to move south of what can be discussed in polite company and the debate was decided. He needed to get with the out of there before she woke up and turned him into a throw rug.

So, it was with agonizingly care that extricated himself from Visenya's embrace and from the two sizes too small bed with they'd been sharing. Deciding he was thirsty he then left the hut to get himself a mug of ale to quench his thirst. Normally he'd have gone for water, but the combination of Visenya's wandering hands and his own burning desire to avoid the threat of intestinal parasites won the day.

As he walked, looking to find someone to fetch him a mug of small beer, his mind thought back to the events of the past three days. Less than a week ago, Tom's only concern had been worrying about whether or not he could wake up on time to get to his classes.

"Now," he mused, "I have to worry about whether or not I'm going to have my head removed from the rest of me if I get in the way of some angry Cthulhu worshiping wannabe viking."

He looked out to the ship, its sails, though tied down, had been repaired and it now only waited for the unfinished mast to be completed in order to be seaworthy once more. That led to Tom's next conundrum. He'd given his word to a dying man that he'd find and protect his sisters. He'd found one right off the bat and now he had a possible lead on the other. Unfortunately, that other lead was given by a man who was part of a raiding party he'd slaughtered, why would Bannon, the Ironborn raider in question, be so willing to aid him, let alone give an oath of fealty like he had. He knew the man claimed his uncle would kill him, but there had to be more to it. However, he let it go for the moment, as so far Bannon had proven to be both able and helpful, though a bit insubordinate.

Not that he stopped worrying as there was still much more to worry about. The day before he had sent a runner to the village's closest neighbor, coincidentally, the one that would have become King's Landing in another world, requesting aid in an attempt to rescue the kinswoman of a knight who'd saved them from an Ironborn attack.

Now the only question that remained was whether or not the villagers would aid them in their mad endeavor.

As he stood wondering whether or not they'd send men, he spotted Mya emerging from another of the houses, dressed though her eyes still seemed to be clouded with sleep. Tom was a bit unsure as how to respond to the young lady whom he'd shared a ...well mutual defloration would be one way to describe it. His considerations came to a swift end when the young woman spotted him across from the village.

When the young girl spotted Tom, all sleep vanished from her eyes, and with a warm smile spread across her face, she all but chirped, "Ser Tom!" She walked over to him, her pace quick and eager. When she stood before him, she continued, "Good morning, milord. Did you sleep well?"

Tom was a little surprised at the complete personality flip he'd seen from the day before, though he quickly assumed that she was far less aggressive when she wasn't half-drunk and dealing with the stress of having been kidnapped by an overly sarcastic Iron Born.

"Good morning, Mya. I'm alright," he replied, carefully not answering the question as to how well he slept. Grabby widows with daggers are not the best bedmates.

Mya looked at him for a moment, measuring his response, before asking, "Is there anyway I can serve you this morning, m'lord?"

Tom blushed as a couple ways that the attractive redhead could 'serve' his needs passed through his mind, but he threw those thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on his immediate concerns. "I could use a...", he fumbled for the proper words, "small beer, and something to eat. Is there any of that barbequed pork left?"

Mya nodded, "Right away milord." She then dashed away to return in only a few minutes with a terracotta jug and matching mug and a wooden plate laden a small loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, a generous cut of roasted boar, and a lump of fresh butter to finish it off. Tom glanced over, and spotting a comfortable looking log, walked to it with Mya trailing close behind him. Once he'd reached it, he promptly sat down, and then, before claiming his meal, patted a section of the log next to him, inviting her to sit with him.

The girl blushed for a moment, before smiling warmly and gingerly taking a seat, her attention intently focused on her chosen lord. Tom returned her smile before turning his attention to the food before him.

After a moment's thought, a smile came to Tom's face and he drew his dagger. Carefully, he cut down the middle of the small loaf, he dividing it into two halves, attached to one another by only a small length of crust. Then he buttered both sides, and cut the piece of cheese into slices, which he carefully layered along one side of the bread. Finally, he placed the meat in between the two halves and carefully closed the bread over it.

Well pleased with the product of his efforts, Tom lifted his creation from the plate and took a generous bite. While the bread was somewhat grainy, the cheese somewhat hard, and it could use some salt, but the meat was tender juicy and the butter did much to alleviate the otherwise dryness of the bread. All in all, it was not something he would have ordered for himself had he still being on Earth, but it still presented an enjoyable bouquet of flavors none the less.

Mya looked on in confusion for a moment, and he could help but blush when he realized that while she was used to eating their meat and cheese laid upon bread, as he'd seen her eat before, the closed-faced sandwich was probably new idea.

"It's called a sandwich," he said before taking another bite.

"What an odd name," she said aloud.

Tom smiled. "It's named after the Earl of Sandwich, who if I remember the story right, was a notorious gambler who refused to put down his cards, even for a meal, so his servants stuffed his bread with his meat, cheese, and salad so he could eat with only one hand," he paused, "Obviously, the idea caught on and thus the sandwich was born!"

As if to prove the point, he took another generous bite, causing Mya to giggle.

"Was this Earl of Sandwich an illustrious ancestor? The liege lord or your house, perhaps?" Mya asked, only half serious.

Tom snorted. "No, nothing like that. He was simply a man of popular eating habits," he playfully replied, earning a giggle from the girl.

"Would you like to try it, Mya?" he asked, offering the sandwich to her.

She smiled. "Thank you. M'lord is too kind."

Gingerly, she accepted the meat and bread creation and took a bite. Chewing, she looked over it, thinking of the possibilities.

"I can see why it would catch on," she observed, "A man could place his a full meal together in the morning and eat it without having to pause his work. Or you could serve meat with gravy in it, without worry of getting it all over yourself."

Tom nodded. "Bingo."

She blinked in confusion. "Bingo?"

"I mean exactly," Tom replied, drawing away from the cultural reference, "That's why it became popular. The food of gambling lords became the meal of working men and soldiers, and a popular choice among street vendors. For example, if you want to try something very good, try a sausage on a bun with some chili and cheese, or maybe some mustard and some sauerkra..." Tom trailed off, realizing the german name would probably go right over her head, "Sour fermented cabbage"

Mya without pause, asked, "What's chili?"

Tom sighed. "It's a thick, spicy stew made from beans and beef. I doubt they have the spices needed in Westeros."

"Maybe they have them in Dorne," she observed. "Dorne is famed for its spicy foods."

Tom let that sink in for a moment. Yes. That would be something to look into. After all, living a lifetime without Buffalo Wings could hardly be called living.

"So, thinking of more exotic foods from your mysterious homeland, m'lord?" she asked, playfully.

Tom blushed. "Yeah. Hot Wings. Fried chicken wings slathered in Buffalo Sauce, a sauce made from a vinegar based chilli sauce mixed with butter. Very tasty."

Mya snorted. "No wonder you're so generous around the waist m'lord, if your people love strange foods so very much."

Tom shrugged in acquiescence. "Guilty as charged," After all, what could he say in response, he liked food and he hadn't really exerted himself enough to burn it off. "So where did you hear about Dornish spices?"

Mya snorted and rolled her eyes, "I live on the mouth of the Blackwater, and was raised by the village chief," she replied matter of factly. "One does not live along a major trading route without learning something of the outside world."

"I see," replied feeling a bit abashed. She might be a peasant girl but that didn't mean she'd automatically be ignorant. Not knowing what else to say, Tom remained silent. Back home, he hadn't spoken much with women, and frankly he felt he didn't any real talent to it. Her background made it even worse, it wasn't like he could ask her what she'd thought of last night's episode of Dexter! On the other hand, there was a simple pleasure that came with sitting in peaceful silence with a pretty girl while eating a satisfying meal.

Of course, all good things must come to an end.

"Well...Lord Husband, I was wondering where you had wandered off to."

The contented smile on Mya's face shifted to a stony glare so quickly, Tom nearly got whiplash watching it. He took a breath and turned to Visenya who was standing behind the two of them with an unreadable look on her face.

Tom then smiled and said, "Good Morning, Visenya. I hope you slept well."

"Well enough," she replied, "But this is the second time you've left your wife to wake up alone in her bed, to find you in the company of a servant girl."

Tom gritted his teeth behind closed lips then loosened his jaw to answer, "I'm sorry 'darling', but your wandering hands made it difficult to sleep. I needed some cold air."
Visenya flushed, her eyes widening somewhat, before narrowing them again, and answering, "It is only natural for a wife's hands to wander in the dark when her husband left her so well pleased."

Tom's eyebrows shot up and his guts lurched a bit. Alright Tom, he thought to himself, she got you good there. Time to think of something. And think he did. A smile came to his face, but he fought it down, instead replacing it with the stony look of a man who'd done far too much work for far too little benefit. "Well, dear wife, I am pleased one of us enjoyed it at least, for all I remember of last night was a great deal of shouting while you sat on the bed, unmoving."

The Lady of Dragonstone's mouth went agape for a moment. For a moment he expected another witty retort from his self-proclaimed 'wife' but much to his surprise, when her gaze met the hard displeasure so apparent in his own, she lowered her head in submission. "I apologize for interrupting your rest, m'lord."

Tom raised an eyebrow at that and dipped his head slightly, while he'd only known the woman for three days, he knew for a fact that such passive behavior so far outside the bounds of her personality that it was only marginally more likely than her spontaneously belting out the Soviet National Anthem, in Russian, for the honor of the proletariat and the glory of International Socialism. But that said, he wasn't stupid enough to look a gift horse in the mouth, and was just cruel enough to twist the knife a bit, so he simply grinned and said, "It's quite alright. It's endearing for a man to know that he has such a loyal, obedient wife."

Visenya's response was to flinch slightly but she did not raise her head to meet his challenge, a fact which Tom oddly found both smugly satisfying and somehow disappointing. It was as if he'd voiced a challenge and she'd backed down without even putting up a fight.

So, he thought, apparently there had been some good that came of that last night. Tom had for a while laid awake wondered what the hell he had done to her and what the hell he was thinking when he snapped at her. Tom had always taken pride in the fact that he was a very laid back person and not losing his temper easily. But for some reason, he had gone ballistic on her for simply disbelieving the intelligence of a Skyrim dragon. He wasn't sure why he'd done it, but he had a feeling that the little part of his soul deep down that was more 'Dovah' than 'Kiin' had been offended.

He shook his head. That was a matter for another time. He had plenty else on his mind. Seeing Visenya's still subdued visage, he turned to Mya and asked, "Could you get something for Lady Visenya ? I'm sure she's hungry as well."

Mya looked at the woman for a long moment then sighed slightly and nodded. "I'll make her a 'sandwich'," she said before leaving to gather the food.

Visenya blinked in confusion at the girl's statement, much to Tom's amusement. With Mya out of earshot, Tom turned back to Visenya and said, "Sit down, I want your help planning today's agenda. I've got a lot on my plate and some advice would be highly appreciated."

Visenya studied him for a moment, then sat down next to him. Tom grinned for a moment then continued, "Alright, first thing we need to check on is the ship. We were told yesterday that the women had finished the sails but we need to check on the mast. That's Bannon and Rolf's job there."

Visenya nodded, not really having anything else to say. "We also need to see to the arms of the villagers. It would do us no good if we try to attack the Ironborn camp if they're only armed with fishing spears, clubs, and wood axes."

"We have all that gear we gathered off the Ironborn. We can give it out to as many of our guys as we can. As for the rest. Well maybe we can comb the beaches a few more times and see if we can find anymore of the remains from...the fleet."

Visenya flinched for an instant but she managed to speak in an even tone, "That would be wise, the dead no longer have any need for their arms and armor now."

Tom nodded, "We also need to have the men start drilling for a couple of hours a day," he continued. "The men aren't trained soldiers, and there isn't a snowball's chance in hell of getting them to anything resembling proficient with the time we have, but at least we can at least make sure they know enough not to hurt themselves and hope that superior numbers and good moral can make up for it."

Visenya snorted. "More they'll bravely stand behind you while you shout your enemies to death, and then run down the frantic survivors as they flee in mortal terror."

Tom winced slightly, thinking of his last battle, before looking back to the house where the two of them had slept the night before, "That reminds me," he then turned back to Visenya, "Do you think we could have another training session today at some point?"

Visenya piqued her brows at him. "I'm surprised you would want another thrashing after the one I gave you yesterday."

Tom looked at her confused, "Why wouldn't I? You're better than me and if it can train me to use a sword then I don't really mind how much I get kicked around by you."

"Wait. You mean to say that you weren't even trained." She asked honestly confused.

Tom bowed his head slightly and averted his gaze for a moment, "To be brutally honest, no. I really have no clue what I'm doing with it."

She goggled at him a moment, but as she thought back to the previous she remembered that he's only used the sword once, instead using only his shouts to kill the Ironborn. At the time, she had thought that it was because he hadn't felt the need to sully blade with their blood, and she probably wouldn't have either if she'd been in the same position as him. But if he'd used only shouts because that was really his only means of doing battle... just who was this man? How could someone be so mind-numbly powerful yet so utterly helpless at the same time?

She was about to speak further when another villager came running up to them. "Begging your pardon, M'lord, m'lady, but some men from next village coming this way. I think they wish to see you, m'lord."

Tom nodded and turned back to the hut he'd slept in the night before. By his side of the bed he and Visenya had shared the night before, lay the Valerian steel sword he'd been given three days ago. He quickly picked it up and wrapped the scabbard's belt around his waist and rushed back out to the edge of the village.

On the way there he came across Visenya who had been in the middle of following him towards the hut. He stopped for a moment then, offering his arm, he asked, "Would you like to accompany me while I meet with the newcomers?"

She looked at his proffered arm for a moment before she nodded and took the arm. The two of them then walked out of the village to the men who stood patiently waiting.

The men from the next village over proved to number three, one was a man about his own age, black hair and brown eyes, but was about two inches shorter and much leaner than Tom's more heavy-set frame. Of the other two one was a man who could easily have been the previous' father. The third surprised Tom a bit, as he noticed a wooden medallion around his neck painted in seven colors just like a color wheel. So, he thought, this is a Septon. I didn't think that there would be a permanent one in villages this small. He must be a wandering septon, he mused, one of the holy men who wandered around offering holy services to the villages too small for a sept of their own. He grinned as he recalled another fragment of information from the books and wiki, lord was he glad he was such a fanboy of that series.

The three men looked up as one to the young man and the lovely young woman who walked with her arm entwined with his. They took in his strange clothing and the sword at the belt. There was a momentary silence, then the older villager spoke up, "Good Morning Ser, if I was told right, you were the one who sent Dontos to our village?"

Tom nodded then said, "Yes, I'm the one. I am Ser Tom Brody the Dovahkiin." Lord he hoped that didn't sound as foolish as he felt saying it. "I sent a man a day ago asking if you would help me and your neighbors to destroy an Ironborn camp."

The three men started for a second, then the older man again spoke up, "Beggin your pardon m'lord... But you said attack an Ironborn camp?"

"Yes. They have my wife's sister hostage." Tom gestured to Visenya who nodded demurely at the trio while they bowed in turn. "I intend to free her and give the Ironborn a pounding they'll never forget." Tom placed his hand on the pommel of the sword, as if to imply what he intended to do when he found them.

The three looked at each other and then their appointed leader answered for them. "I don't want to be rude m'lord, but are you sure you want us? We're just fishermen. We have no swords nor armor. What good will we be?"

Tom smirked he'd thought on this for a while and had a response in place. "First off, numbers, the camp I'm planning to attack only has around fifty men, and if we're lucky even less, with your help we'll be able to match them man for man. Second, you won't be going in with nets, fishing spears and woodaxes, not all of you at least. When I first came here a few days ago I drove off an Ironborn raiding party and all of their gears was left behind. Enough for about thirty men to be properly armed for this fight. Third and most important of all. I'll be leading the charge, so long as I here it wouldn't matter if there were five hundred Ironborn in that camp."

When Tom saw the incredulous looks on their faces, he couldn't help but smirk, "Oh you're doubting me? Let me show you something." Tom led the three men to a large tree that had died years ago but was still standing, a huge solid trunk that would take a massive amount of labor using axes and saws to clear.

Tom stood about 10 paces from it. Then he took a deep breath and bellowed at the top of his lungs, "FUS RO DAH!!!!"

The three men leaped when a blue ball of energy shot out of Tom's mouth and slammed into the tree, ripping it from the ground, shattering the rotten wood into a thousand shards and sending those shards flying forward in a plume of splinters.

Then he turned to another log, this one having fallen over years ago. He took another breath and roared again, "YOL TOOR SHUUL!" This time a jet of dragon fire blasted from his mouth, consuming the log in a white hot inferno..

Against the light and heat of the flame, none of the men noticed Visenya staring at Tom's show of power, her face slightly flushed and her mouth open a hair.

Turning back to the dumbfounded men, Tom spoke again. "So, about that help..."

The Septon, having kept silent for the most part, flicked his gaze between the inferno and the man who was the source of said inferno, "...gods...By the Seven, who...what are you?" He managed to gasp out, fingering his amulet the entire time.

Visenya stepped forward and with a small smile on her face answered, "He already told you. He is Dovahkiin. Dragonborn."

The three were dead silent, then the youngest of their party, the obvious son of the older man, smiled and stepped forward, "If you can shoot fire like that when we set sail, then you have my help."

Tom smiled and nodded, "Thank you." He then turned to the older two men and asked, "Well how about you?"

The older man then asked, "How many Ironborn did you kill before?"

"At least twenty." He replied.

The man, instead of scoffing at the high number, simply nodded, looking back over to the pyre still burning. "If you can do that again the next time you fight the Ironborn, then you have our help."

The Septon nodded as well, "This endeavour is blessed by the gods and has my support."

 

[brian boru]

A/N: I know I know I promised we'd actually get going here. But if it's a consolation, I DO have the next chapter partway done as of right now and we ARE on a boat so we are getting a move on. So please read and review gimme your thoughts, if it's good say so, if it's bad tell me. Just say something, the silence scares me.



The sun was low in the sky as Tom stood in the center of the village looking on at the assembled men and women who had come out to see off the folk from Rivermouth. Seeing the relieved looks on many of their faces, Tom quickly deduced what it was they were thinking and decided that his best bet was to somehow bolster their morale a bit more. Hopefully another speech would do some good.

"Whether or not they had agreed to aid us," he paused to give the men in question a respectful nod, " I would have have gone on to rescue my good-sister anyway and I am sure that the courageous men, "he looked to Mya and Visenya, "and women that stand beside me this day would have accompanied me regardless. Prepare yourselves tonight, find whatever weapons or armor you can gather from our previous...guests and be ready to move at first light, because we sail at dawn!"

The response was a wordless shout from both the men and women of the village. In the torchlight, the borrowed weapons many of the villagers had gathered from the dead Ironborn, seemed to glow a blood red. Tom couldn't help but grin at the sight.

As the crowd began to disperse he noticed two irritating problems. Neither Visenya nor Mya had left with the others. Instead they seemed to be preparing themselves and... good lord, Visenya was looking through the swords laid out for the men's perusal.

Tom looked around to see if anyone was still watching him and seeing that most of the men were busy with their own preparations for the next day. He sighed deeply and walked over to the two women.

Before he could open his mouth, Visenya spoke first. "We're going," she stated with the finality of the grave.

Feeling a bit off put, Tom crossed his arms and glared at the both. "One good reason."

"You will need my help identifying her," Visenya stated steadily.

"Yes. I need help to find an attractive young woman with silver hair and purple eyes," He responded with a smirk, "I'm sure there will be dozens."

Her eyes narrowed and she promptly responded, "So you could find my sister. What then? She will have been held captive by the Ironborn for days now. She is ill, alone, and likely paranoid out of her mind. She'll will have hidden away at least one knife, and she always poisons them."

Tom gave her a long look before taking a deep breath and letting it out in a loud huff, "Alright. But I want you out of the fight. I'd hate to lose you, dear wife." He finished, attempting to keep up the charade that Visenya had set for them.

Her eyes twitched for an instant but she nodded, "As my lord husband commands." She answered with a bow.

"But while this answers one question, it does leave another open," he replied smoothly. "That explains 'I'. What was that about 'we'?"

Before Tom could even turn to face her, Mya answered heatedly. "If Enya is going then I am as well. I'll be more use on this adventure than she will be anyways."

Tom grit his teeth, doing his best not to sound the frustration he was feeling dealing with these two women. "Mya, Enya's coming because the only person I'm pretty sure won't have a case of poison knife to the kidneys if they get close to her sister. You on the other hand, unless you suddenly are able to swing around one of those battleaxes here then I'm not sure what we can do with you."

Mya looked levelly at Tom, and the tone of her voice slow and somewhat sarcastic. "M'lord, the woman's taken ill and you'll need someone to look after her. I doubt Lady Enya knows much about tending to the ill, and you can't exactly ask a man to attend to a woman, for obvious reasons."

"Is this true?" Tom asked Visenya.

"Yes," she replied. "I know about tending wounds but my sister was the one of us who was most knowledgeable about nursing," she paused for a moment, "I'm not pleased to say this, but it looks like your little peasant strumpet is going to have a chance to earn her worth on her feet rather than her back."

Mya's face flushed bright red and she looked at Visenya, who smugly ignored her, with a look that if any more intense, would probably cause her hair to catch alight.

"Cut it out, both of you!" Tom said cooly. "I'm convinced but I want you both to stay out of the fighting." He hoped that repeating that command would reaffirm it.

Visenya snorted. "I'm no damsel, but I have no intention of charging the enemy lines for as little as the idea of my sister becoming some Ironborn's saltwife amuses me, I find the concept of becoming one myself even less entertaining. I'll be guarding your back and letting you handle the foolish heroics."

Tom nodded. "Alright. I want everyone ready for the morning."

Mya nodded. "Don't worry. I'm already packed."

"And I've already chosen the best equipment I could," Visenya added.

"Alright then, we need to retire because we're leaving at dawn."

With that the 'married' couple bid the girl goodnight and turned back to their set aside hut to try and get some sleep before they set sail tomorrow.

Tom had already gathered the best bits of Ironborn armor he could find from the spoils, but he decided to check them on last time. He was tapping the side of an iron helm when he looked over to Visenya who was brushing her silvery hair with a borrowed wooden comb. Her hair seemed to glisten in the light of the fire burning in the central pit in the middle of the room. Despite knowing who she was and what her original intentions had been. Tom still was forced to admit that the woman was beautiful. He also remembered the promise he'd given her brother, made when he wasn't completely accepting of where and what he now was.

A thought came to mind and taking a breath he asked a bit hesitantly, "M'lady, I was just wondering. When we find Rhaenys and I get the two of you back home. What do you plan to do when you get back?"

Visenya did not stop her brushing, she seemingly had not heard his question or was purposefully ignoring him. He was about to try and ask her again. When she stopped her brushing and put the brush down on a small table. Not looking at him she broke the silence, "We will have to endure whatever may come."

She then turned to look at Tom, her violet eyes searching him with a surprising intensity, "And what of you? What will you do once we have come home?

Tom shrugged, he hadn't really thought that far to be honest, ever since he'd woken up he'd merely been going from crisis to crisis. "I guess I'll come back here." He finally answered. "The villagers like me and well," he went red for a moment, "there's also Mya to think about."

Despite only knowing the girl for a few days, he liked the fiery little red-head.

"You're wasted on this peasants. Return with us to Dragonstone and I'll make you a proper lord." She replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Tom's eyes narrowed a bit, "Wasted? That's fine talk for the people who've been working so hard to save your sister. And what about Mya? I took her maidenhead and I owe it to her to at least look out for her." His tongue tumbled at that slightly out of date word but she didn't seem to notice.

"Then keep her. Sire little Snows, Sands, Pikes, whatever it is they call bastards in your realm on her, but you have greater things to accomplish." She answered with a wave of her hand.

"Greater things huh? What greater things would that be if I pledged myself to house Targaryen?" He said with a little more heat than he'd intended.

"Ideally," she replied, as cool as ice.

Tom was silent for a moment before he responded. "You know maybe you're right, maybe I am a bit wasted merely staying here. But why should I swear to house Targaryen? I'm sure King Mern Gardner of the Reach or maybe Loren Lannister of the Rock would like my services. I'm sure they would offer riches beyond my wildest dreams for my services. Maybe they'll offer me a daughter. So unless you have something else to offer beyond a strip of land on Dragonstone I think I might be going elsewhere after I bring you and your sister home."

Visenya's faced softened just a hair before she replied,"To them you'll just be another lord. My people have always been people of the Dragon, and you are a dragon no matter what appearances may well. Dragonstone is the only place in Westeros where you will be welcomed for what you are and not what you can do. They will fear your powers, we will honor them."

"Honor me? Well that does sound rather nice. How would you honor me?" He asked his eyes never leaving hers.

She seemed to flinch for an instant before she recovered and said, "Well whatever we offer you. It will have to wait until I have Rhaenys back with me and the two of us can decide what would be proper. With that she quickly stripped to her shift and jumped into bed.

Tom looked at her slightly confused but shrugged and went back to examining the rest of his equipment. When he was done he also prepared for bed and did his best to sleep. His dreams that night were of fire and steel.

 

[brian boru]

Hey all you true believers out there! It's time for more of THU'UM AND THE SEVEN KINGDOMS!!!












"FUS ROH!"

"FUS ROH!"

"FUS ROH!"

With each shout, the sail strained, the ropes groaned, and the ship was pulled just a little bit forward. While there was wind to fill the sails, and good men fit to row, Tom had not been satisfied with their speed. Being a child of the 20th century the sedate pace of a sail driven ship, even one designed for speed such as an Ironborn Longboat, simply failed to impress. Rhaenys has been in the clutches of these Ironborn for several days, almost the better part of a week really, and while Bannon had said she was too weak to move, he didn't know if that was still true. She could be recovered enough for them to take down river and away from his reach, she could be dead even, but either way he didn't have the time to dally around waiting for what in his mind amounted to a pregnant canoe to get him there at a leisurely pace. They needed speed, and like his grandfather had always told him, if you want something done, you do it your damned self.

"FUS ROH!"

"FUS ROH!"

"FUS..."

Tom coughed as the weakest form of Unrelenting Force struck the sail with a force that was all too relenting. Taking a moment to rub his throat he opened his mouth again but was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. Turning his head he came eye to eye with Bannon who gave him a steady gaze.

"When you first told me that you'd get to the fort before supper, even if you had to scream us the entire way there I thought I'd be humoring you. Now its not even midday and I swear that I can already smell the pickled herring of their larder on the wind, but at this rate all you're doing is getting these damned fools to their deaths more swiftly, for if you tire that magical voice of yours, then we're all buggered."

Bannon then waved his hand to indicate the men in the ship before them. "While they're a sad sight compared to Ironborn, we have 40 sailors here who've but sat on their arses watching the sights go by, stuffing themselves plump with rations the entire morning," He all but thrust a skin of water into the arms of the younger man, "Time for you to rest up and save a song for my countrymen, while these sheep fucking dirt farmers get to earn their keep."

Rolf turned bright red and glared at him from his place at the head of the rowing line. "Dirt farmers?! I'll have you know, boy, I've never tilled a field in my life!"

"Probably why your pathetic little village was such an iconic example of its ilk."

"Both of you, cut it out," Tom hissed though tired vocal cords, "Rolf, get the men ready to row."

Rolf nodded and began barking orders to ready to ores, getting them moving while not with the precision of an oiled machine, at least well enough that no one was hurt. Bannon simply rolled his eyes. "Hurry up you fools. You gawked your way here, and you're just going to gawk when we get there, so this is your chance to earn those tall tales of heroism that I'm sure that you'll telling the strumpets back home!"

"Bannon," Tom took a long drag of water and glared at the swarthy ironborn. "Shut up."

In the next moment, Tom experienced what had to be one of the most surreal sights of his entire life. It was entirely fleeting, but at the same time, all too real. A pouting ironborn warrior. Then, recovering almost instantaneously, he simply rolled his eyes. "Aye. As m'lord wishes. Just trying to keep morale up and the men sharp."

"Don't," Tom replied, with a deep sigh, "Just don't"

Amazingly the Ironborn finally stopped and turned back to the task of ordering the men to keep rowing.

Tom sat back against the mast of the ship, grabbed a skin of water and after taking a long pull from it, corked it and sat back to watch the shoreline go by, albeit at a slower rate than it had been previously.

Looking back on the past several days, Tom realized with a start that he'd never driven himself so hard in his life. For most of his life, Tom had been, to be frank, a slacker. He'd never put much drive into applying himself, and when he did, it took a great deal of personal desire to make him to do so on his own. But for the last three days he'd been dashing back and forth like a meth head and now he was heading into battle against a seasoned force of unknown number, with allies with little to no experience of battle, all to save a woman he'd never met in his life, because he'd given his word to a dying man that he had just happened to find on the beach.

'How the fuck do I keep fucking falling into this horseshit?"' He all but grumbled to himself, as he sat back in an attempt to get comfortable. As much as he wanted to complain, he knew that the sheer bloody chaos of the past several days was starting to take its toll, and despite how much he wanted to complain about it, he knew that he'd better off centering himself and steeling his mind for the new batch of blood soaked chaos that was about to land wiggling in his lap. So with that in mind he closed his eyes in a half-hearted attempt to meditate.

Only a moment later, he felt a gentle shake of his shoulder and the sound of Visenya's voice speaking to him in a low, soft voice, "We've arrived."

"Wait, what?" Tom almost shot up to his feet, almost being the key word because in his attempt he almost tripped over a cloak that had been laid over him.

Visenya simply giggled melodically in response. "You were asleep. I had Bannon drag you off to the side so you wouldn't get tripped over and threw a cloak over you so you wouldn't catch cold."

"Wonderful," Tom snarked in reply as he shook the cobwebs from his mind and took in his surroundings. The sun was beginning to grow low in the sky, staining the horizon a malevolent shade of red that spoke of the bloodshed soon to come. Looking down from the sky to the shoreline, Tom could spot numerous the pillars of smoke coming from behind the stockade. Tom narrowed his eyes. Each one of those pillars was a fire, far more fires than were needed for the skeleton garrison that Bannon had said were permanently based here. But that would mean..."A raiding party's come in hasn't it?" Tom finally said, his voice low and calm despite the cold sweat appearing on his forehead.

"It would appear so, milord." Bannon answered in a deadpan as dry as a Dornish summer, "I mean the two grand bloody boats sitting on yonder shore is a bit of a giveaway I'd say," he replied, indicating two beached and dismasted longboats Tom had not noticed in the shadows of the palisade.

Tom nodded with a shocking amount calm before asking, his voice now trembling just slightly, "And our chances of getting out of here right now?"

"Slim to none, as close as we are I wouldn't be surprised if..." He was interrupted by the sound of a horn blowing from the fort. Shadows and torches began to move through the palisade as the garrison went to their positions to accept and identify this newcomer.

"Ah there we go. Unless you want to exhaust yourself again milord we won't be able to outrun them, and even if we do the fort will be alert and waiting for our return. No, I would advise we continue with our venture. After all, the last place any self-respecting Ironborn would expect an attack from is the sea."

Tom nodded, that made sense to him. While he was confident in being able to outrun any other Ironborn, the only problem would be that trying again would be damn near impossible. But the sight of the two unexpected ships meant that this had just become that much more complicated, not to mention dangerous, of a mission.

Deciding to get another opinion, he turned to Visenya who had come up on his right side watching the reacting Ironborn in silent observation. "What do you think, lady wife?" That seemed to be getting easier to say he silently noted as he waited for her answer.

Visenya was silent for a moment, slight flashes of emotions that Tom was unable to catch quickly enough flitted across her face. Suddenly she took a deep breath, let it go, then answered, "While I think that attacking now might be reckless, suicidal even... we won't have another chance like this again. If we wait the next time we try, my sister may be gone." She then set her jaw and continued, "I am forced to agree with Harlaw. We attack."

Tom looked at her face for a moment, then letting out the breath he'd been holding in one single blast he nodded. "Alright then get the men into as much of the Ironborn gear as they can get on, the rest are to cover themselves in cloaks as not to stand out. Bannon, I'm assuming that you have a way to tell them that we're friendlies right?"

Bannon quirked an eyebrow at the unfamiliar term but understood the meaning of it quickly enough to not linger on it. "I know the watch words, they change every fortnight, but the next change won't be for a long while yet. Why they may even line up like good little pegs for the knocking down to lick the shit covered boots of my late and unlamented kinsman."

Bannon smirked for a moment then turned to Tom, "Cover yourself with your cloak, and try and look like a drunken idiot." then he looked to Visenya "Tear your dress, tease your hair, and try and look as miserable as you can manage... try your best to capture that 'freshly pillaged' look."

He then glanced over towards Mya, "Make that both of you."

Tom narrowed his eyes and muttered, "You know you make yourself a hard man to like. I have to wonder, do you actively try and get people to dislike you, or are you just naturally an asshole?"

Bannon's smile was insufferable. "Years of tireless practice and diligent study, I assure you, m'lord." His smile faded, and his voice dropped from his normal, gratingly jovial tone to calm and serious, "But my point stands. The day my cousin doesn't come into port without a fresh wench or two to keep him entertained would be the day he started buggering sheep, and as there aren't any livestock on board, we'll simply have to make do."

"Am I to play your dearly departed cousin then?" Tom asked.

"Of course. As I said, just throw on a cloak, discard all shame and decency, and try and look like a drunken moron. Molesting the women in open view while drinking heavily will do much to make you seem authentic. It would be even better if one of them could get a good cry going."

Bannon's smile wouldn't have melted butter, while Mya and Visenya combined glares, if combined with the correct isotopes, could probably be used to initiate nuclear fusion.

Tom groaned but nodded, "Alright, I think we can figure out what the plan is from here." He then turned his focus on the fishermen-cum-warriors, "Everyone who has any Ironborn gear get it on now, the rest of you, throw on a cloak and try and look like you belong, and for all that's pure and holy, do not say anything from here on out. Is that understood?"

There were a flurry of nods all around as armor, helmets, and weapons were either strapped on or set next to them to be ready to use at a moment's notice.

Tom then turned to Bannon and said, "Alright, what now?"

Bannon grinned and said, "Grab that water skin and start stumbling like its full of southern wine. But first gear up. You can't do this without looking like a proper Ironborn from the neck down."

Tom nodded then turned to put on his own equipment. The helmet and the chainmail fit surprisingly well and the sword Blackfyre felt comfortable at his side, ready to be drawn the instant it was needed.

To Tom's mild surprise Visenya and Mya arrived at his side, their dresses strategically cut to look like they'd been torn. Both had applied bits of tar to their face, so at a distances they'd appear bruised, and Mya even seemed to be in tears.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked a bit worried by the authenticity of her red, watery eyes.

"Found an onion," was her only response.

Tom blinked. "Oh."

Shaking it off he then smiled and, grabbing a water skin, he took a long swig before throwing his arm around Mya from behind and pulling her in tight. She blushed, he blushed, and both hoped that from the shore this chaste embrace looked more like unwanted molestation.

Closer and closer the ship rowed towards the fort. It was, in the grand scheme of things, actually rather small. Set above a small natural bay, the fort was set on a small hill with a wooden palisade about eight feet in height with each log forming a sharpened spike at the top. A pair of wooden walls stretched the fifty or so yards from the hilltop to the beach itself. There were no actual physical docks, because Ironborn ships were of shallow draft and designed to be hoisted onto the shore when not in use. There were however eight great posts driven into the ground, to serve as a tie down in case of inclement weather.

Only two were in use at the moment, the ships drawn well away from the water, and bound securely to posts. Both of the ships were all but abandoned by their crews, protected by unmotivated looking men who were probably bitter that they were not being given the chance to join the festivities further inland, though despite this, their attention was firmly locked on the incoming ship.

There were camps and fires set up in the great courtyard between the central palisade and the sea, probably those of the lower ranking warriors who due to either limited space or noble arrogance, were not afforded a place in the inner walls.

Suddenly the palisade gates opened and a small contingent of heavily armed men began making their way towards the sea. Feeling somewhat nervous, Tom looked up towards Bannon who simply rolled his eyes.

"Give it time. Give it time," he said in a low voice, "If we announce ourselves too early we'll look suspicious. The point is to look comfortable, look confident, and act like we belong."

"Are we going to have to announce who we are?" Tom asked.

"No," Bannon replied with a tone of subdued annoyance, "Not with my cousins personal sigal painted on yonder sail as broad as a Reachland wench's arse after shitting out a couple of pups."

Tom frowned at Bannons' vulgarity and muttered, "And thank you for that wonderful mental image."

"My pleasure, m'lord, now shut up and let me do my job."

Tom shot his sworn man a look but remained silent, agreeing that this was not the time for chit chat. It was such, that as they approached, he sometime shifting his hands over Mya's body or drank from his water skin, all the while feeling his tension grow as the party grew ever closer to the shoreline. It was then, when he swore his butt was at maximum pucker, that Bannon cried out for all to hear, "WAR IS OUR HARVEST!"

There was silence for a moment, then three short blasts of a horn soon followed and the shadows and torches moved again, this time away from the walls and much more slowly. Having done their duty, the guards at the ships went back to slacking off, while the small group moving towards the shoreline visibly relaxed their pace.

Bannon turned to Tom and smirked before turning back to guiding the ship in to rest close to the shore.

Tom's lips twitched for an instant before he began to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm his nerves. Despite already having been in a battle before, Tom could feeling the icy grip of fear squeezing in his chest as well as dragging it's cold fingers up and down his spine.

Forcing himself to calm down he grabbed a waterskin, then taking a pull from it. Then he grabbed Mya around her shoulder, twisted her around, and kissed her roughly on the lips, lightly grabbing her hair to make it seem forced.

As they kissed, he swore he saw Bannon snicker once, but before he could really confirm that action, a voice from the docks bellowed out across the water.

"Ho there! Who's speaks for ye!"

Bannon took a breath, "Bannon Harlaw! I speak for my cousin, Harren Harlaw! We're coming in from a raid!"

The man frowned. "Why don't he speak for himself?"

Bannon laughed and jerked his head towards Tom. "As you can see, he's a little preoccupied. Decided to enjoy his spoils early and leave the busy work to yours truly.

Just then, Tom decided it was time to act. He pushed her away as gently as he could, and turned her around, giving her a sharp swat on the ass to motion for forward. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make a sound that had the men on shore laughing loudly.

Mya, for all of her character, bore the 'abuse' well, holding her hands, and the onions concealed within up to her eyes to bring forth a new torrent of tears.

"You too, wench," he said in a close to the voice of the man he killed as he could manage, intentionally slurring it to sound drunk and conceal his deception, turning back to give Visenya's shirt a tug, pulling her forward, and tearing it slightly, and causing a new ruckus of laughter from the men on shore.

While he could see a glimmer of outrage in the eye of the elder Lady Dragonstone, she obediently followed, her shoulders slumped, and her head downcast, playing the role of the resigned woman taken as a slave frighteningly well.

"Enjoying indeed," the man leading the beach party replied, "I only hope Lord Harlaw is generous enough to share the spoils when he's had his fun. Especially the taller one. She has the same cast as the wench be brought in last time, and believe me, its only your orders that are keeping the men from doing what comes natural."

Tom could almost feel the tension wafting off of his 'lady wife' but she kept her composure well.

"An' 'ows dat one doin' then?" Tom slurred, "Need 'er well an' intact now."

"Intact I can give you. Well I'm not so sure of. Her fever hasn't broken yet and she's in a sorry state." The man frowned. "Are you alright m'lord? You sound a bit off."

Tom froze in place for a moment. Oh shit what now?

"My cousin has taken to cold," Bannon replied, "Unsure footing when coming in for a raid and tripped. It happens to the best of us."

The owner of the voice seemed to be satisfied by Bannon's explanation, as the next thing he said was, "Well, either way welcome my lords, come in, eat and drink and tell us about what's going on further South."

Bannon turned back to Tom and smiled again, this time larger if it were possible.

Tom returned the grin and took another drink of water before walking forward, the girls in close tow. Looking more carefully at the men greeting them on shore, he had to count at least a dozen, all well off if their gear was any indicator. The leader somewhat older than the others seemed to be rather pleased to be hosting such important members of Ironborn society and was rather jovial in his demeanor.

"Welcome my lords, it's a real pleasure to have you here again so soon."

Bannon leaped down from the ship as gracefully as a cat, Tom half tumbled out behind him, a cloak covering his face and hiding the Valerian steel sword. He continued to half stumble behind the other man towards the welcoming party. The moment they knelt Bannon drew his sword and threw himself away from the party in a diving roll while Tom threw back the hood of his cloak and bellowed at the top of his lungs. "FUS ROH DAH!!!"

The Ironborn only had an instant of comprehension before they were blasted away like leaves in a tornado. One of them had the misfortune of crashing into one of the large mooring posts with a gut twisting crunch. The great log was actually bent over by the force while the man fell unmoving to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Another poor bastard actually landed in the cooking fire of one of the shore groups, and if the screams were any indicator, was still alive after impact.

With that the rest of the rescue party leaped from the ship armed to the relative teeth and righteous fury burning in their eyes. The handful of the welcoming party that were not caught in the attack were quickly dealt with by the rescuers while their weapons, shields, and helmets were quickly stripped from them by men who had need of either.

"You lot!" Bannon exclaimed, pointing at a small group of fishermen. "Get this ship up on shore! No matter how well you fight, the raid will be a loss if our bloody ship drifts off in the middle of it."

"Do as Bannon says," Tom said as he drew his sword, the dark grey of the blade glinting off the torch lights. He then raised his sword then lowered it to point towards the buildings and the fort further up the hill where heads began to poke out of tents and shacks. "The rest of you... CHARGE!"

The men behind him roared in agreement and followed him as he and Bannon thundered up the hill towards the Ironborn crews, the whole time Tom was howling in his head, 'Don't let me get cut! Don't let me get cut! Oh God don't let me get CUT!'

The first man Tom ran into was an older Ironborn if his dark hair peppered with grey was any indicator. He was nearly naked save for a pair of trousers. He was armed with a sword in one hand and a knife in the other. Tom bellowed "IZZ!" and in a heartbeat, the man was encased in a solid coating of ice. Tom without wasting a moment, Tom twisted around, and neatly decapitated the mancicle, his Valerian blade cutting through ice, bone, and flesh with pitiable ease.

Before Tom could linger on that little act of violence, another Ironborn, this one actually still armored swung his ax at him. Tom nearly had his sword torn out from his hands in an attempt to parry the blow. He then bellowed "YOL!" Setting the man on fire and making him forget all about him as he struggled to put himself out.

Before he could finish him off, Tom was forced to involuntarily flinch when the loud *phwt* of an arrow barely indicated that the missile barely missed him. Throwing himself behind a hut he tried to learn where the had come from. A quick glance showed that the warriors in the fort proper were trying to take pot shots at their attackers before they could approach the walls.

After blasting another man with a FUS ROH DAH, Tom paused to assess the current situation. Either by a stroke of divine favor, or because of perfect timing, many of the Ironborn had been caught with their trousers down, literally in some cases as many in the encampment under the fort were slaves or prisoners of the Ironborn, and most of them being women. Regardless, they were putting up an impressive resistance, showing with regretful clarity that even against drunk, half-naked Ironborn, a large group of well armed, well prepared, and very angry fisherman were still, in the end, just fishermen. To make matters worse, the on duty guards, who were actually armored and sober were beginning to trickle out of the inner stockade.

Tom quickly recognized that while his men were technically winning, if they lost the initiative, things could get very messy. Thankfully, he knew just the thing.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and focused his mind on the thing he hated most. Spiders. The damned things always gave him the willies, and he simply couldn't stand the sight of them. As such, he felt a wellspring of primal, animalistic fear rising from his gut, as he shuddered, remembering the feeling of walking into their webs by accident, the time he ended up with one on his face. It made him want to shudder, and he latched onto that disgust, that nameless horror, and forced it into his voice.

"FAAS RU MAAR!"

Fear. Run. Terror.

The effect was instantaneous. Focused to a razors edge, the power of dismay quickly tore through the assembled Ironborn. Most of them broke combat and began to flee, some of them, especially those closest to the epicenter, simply dropped their weapons and ran screaming into the sunset, even the guards, who were farthest from Tom, quickly turned about face and advanced to the rear with a motivated swiftness, before slamming the gates shut, giving no regard to their countrymen.

The effort though was more than Tom had expected. For a moment he was almost sent to his knees by the exertion, barely able to catch himself as his hungry lungs fought to draw in air.

"Okay," he panted, thinking aloud "Can't do that too often."

As he fought to get his breath back under control and stand back up again, he saw that the fishermen had recovered and were running down the now blindly panicking Ironborn with relative ease. But the stockade, it seemed, was still going to be a problem. One man who'd become too emboldened by his success decided to make a go at the blockhouse, and was riddle by four arrows for his troubles.

Knowing he would need to find a way into that fortification somehow, Tom studied the stockade for a moment. It had heavy log walls anchoring a solid wooden blockhouse, protected by a large pair of iron shod gates with heavy hinges, which were probably imported from the Iron Islands. He nodded. Yes. He could deal with that. He knew just the shouts.

Closing his eyes, he delved into that place that held the words for the shouts he desperately needed for this plan to work. Like an annoying pop song, the bubbled to the surface. Eyes opening, he quickly muttered, "God, don't let me fuck this up," sheathed his sword and broke towards the gates in a full run.

Rolf, seeing his suicidal seeming charge cried out, "M'lord what the bloody hell are you..."

Ignoring the fisherman, he shouted, "FEIM ZII GRON!" In an instant the world greyed out as he entered ethereal form, becoming almost as transparent to light as he was to arrows. It wouldn't last long, but he didn't need it to. He only needed a couple moments.

Making the most of those moments, he voiced his Voice, and with a shout of "WULD NAH KEST", he rocketed off in a blur, almost crashing into the front of the gate as his feet skidded to stop him. He might have been able to go right through them in his ghostly form, but he wasn't about to risk it in the middle of a battle.

Not giving the Ironborn a chance to reorient, as it was understandably difficult to keep track of a transparent figure moving at almost superhuman speeds, he simply took a deep breath and exclaimed at the top of his lungs, "IZZ SLEN NUS!"

As he'd been standing right in front of it, he'd had no reason to aim. The damaging shout disrupted his ethereal form faded but he no longer needed it as he watched the results of his efforts. The blast hit the gate dead on, and quickly covered it with a thick layer of ice and frost, as the full force of the Ice Form shout froze it inside and out. It was almost like watching a nature documentary with a time lapse camera in the first person.

Once the frosty work was finished, his ended with the coup de grâce. "FUS RO!"

He chose not to use the full power of Unrelenting Force because he did not know who was behind these doors. Ironborn yes, but he would not have been able to forgive himself had some innocents, taken as thralls, been struck in the face by the massive claymore blast of frozen wood and iron that would have resulted. Still, force and balance were more than enough on their own, and the attack did exactly as intended. As if they were but glass, the brittle, frozen iron hinges shattered under the strain. The gates themselves, acted upon by the force of both his Thu'um, and regular old gravity fell away from him, striking ground with an almost anti-climatic thud.

He instantaneously found himself looking at several Ironborn who were standing almost infront of the gate, utter shock and horror on their faces. They were probably standing guard around the gates when they fell. In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised if he was told that one or two of their number had been crushed when they fell.

Still, they were Ironborn, they were warriors, and when given the choice of fight of flight, their natural tendency was towards battle. One of them raised his axe and opened his mouth for a battlecry, but Tom simply rolled his eyes and made a cry of his own. "ZUN HAAL VIIK!"

Their axes and swords were ripped from their hands like a stick smacked from that of a disobedient child by an angry parent. They flew through the air before landing on the ground, scattered half a dozen paces from the group.

For a moment they looked dumbfounded at their now empty hands, their minds almost unable to process what they were facing. Tom simply took the chance to draw Blackfyre and said, with the most certain of terms, "On your knees with your hands on your heads, or on your backs with your heads on pikes. Decide. Now."

Slowly the group drifted to their knees, their eyes wide, and their faces ashen with terror, unable or unwilling to comprehend exactly what it was that they stood against.

Raising his voice, Tom said, "That goes to all of you. Gently lay your weapons at your feet, kick them away, and assume the position, and I swear that if any of you give me any shenanigans, I will rip out your blacked souls and feed them to the Storm God himself. Am I clear?"

Tom smiled with grim satisfaction as a shower of weapons rained down from the walls. To quote Hannibal Smith, "I love it when a plan comes together..."

"What the bloody hell was that?"

Looking over his shoulder, Tom found himself looking at the enraged vistage of the elder Lady Dragonstone.

"I was winning the battle," he replied smoothly, more than a bit proud of his successes.

Visenya stunned him by giving him a solid thump up the side of the head. "You should have told us what you were doing, you caught us as unawares as we caught them!"

Tom blinked. "Yeah, that could be bad."

He honestly hadn't expected her to fight, but in retrospect, he'd been an idiot to think anything but. While still clad in her now bloodstained peasant dress, she'd given the skirts a quick reduction with the sword she now carried, a sword that was covered in blood, testament to the fact that she really was one of the only actual warriors he'd had to his name for this battle. He also noted that her torn shirt now displayed a great deal of cleavage, once again reminding him that they were living in the time before bras.

Yowza.

"Alright," he said looking away from Visenya's breasts, and at the panting fishermen, who while strong and fit, were obviously unused to running about on dry land for extended period of time. "Bannon, I want you to strip these men of their armor any any remaining weapons. If anyone resists, kill them. Take as many men as you need."

He nodded, "Don't worry, I'll be as gentle as a virgins first time with this lot."

Tom grimaced. "Bannon, I hope you didn't expect that to be relieving, because I know what you Ironborn do to virgins."

Bannon's response was a smile of pure cruelty, but Tom ignored it, turning to Visenya. "I want you to round up any Thralls you can find, both here and out in the courtyard. I believe they'll react more positively to a woman than a man. If any have any talent for medicine, set them to helping our wounded."

"What about my sister?" Visenya asked, "We came here for her!"

"We're getting to her, don't worry!" he replied, "It might surprise you, considering how easily I can spit out fireballs, but the healing shout takes a lot out of me."

She nodded, acquiescing immediately, "Only understandable. I apologize for my impudence."

Tom blinked, "How is it understandable?"

She simply smiled, "As a woman, I know well that it is infinitely more difficult to create life than it is to take it away."

Tom rolled his eyes slightly, not sure if she was serious or if she was jerking him around. "Rolf..."

"M'lord?"

"I want the men to give me an inventory of everything they've got in their stocks. We have two fully laden raiding ships and an entire fortress of goodies. Anything we don't take with us, we burn."

"Your will be done."

Tom waited for a moment and crossed his arms. "All of you, report back to me when you're finished. Now go."

The three quickly ran off to their appointed tasks, grabbing any men they could to aid them.

Taking a deep breath, Tom then turned towards the Ironborn, "Alright, I have been told that there is a woman you are holding prisoner here. She looks something like her." He pointed to Visenya, "Do you know who I'm talking about and if you do where is she?"

There was silence for a moment before one of the Ironborn from the group he'd first disarmed spoke up, "M'lord...She's in the central hall, m'lord."

Tom muttered, "Alright" under his breath then turned back to the his companions, "Mya? Mya! Where are you?"

"Right here." Mya made her way through the crowd of fishermen to reach Tom, "What is it you need?"

"I was just told that my sister-in-law is being held in that hall over there." Tom told her, "Would you please go in and look at her until I can join you? Take a couple men with you for protection."

"Of course m'lord." Mya nodded then dashed towards the blockhouse.

Spotting Rolf, Tom then turned to him and said, "So how goes it?"

"I've set the boys to looking over the enemies goods. They'll tell you what we've found when we're finished."

Tom nodded. "Good, so..." he let his voice trail off as he forced himself to face the grim reality of battle. "How bad was it?"

"We have eight outright dead and another ten injured," Rolf replied grimly, "Would have been worse, but when you did, whatever it is you did, most of the fight went out of them. I'd say most of 'em are dead or gone, not many prisoners. Probably could have gotten more, but we didn't chase them down as, well, we figured you'd need help. We were mistaken it seems, m'lord."

"You weren't. I couldn't have kept all these prisoners myself," he replied leaning against the wall, finally letting his fatigue overtake him, "I need to rest for a few minutes before I do anything else."

Rolf nodded and handed Tom a waterskin from which he drank liberally. "Thank you, Rolf," he sighed and looked over. "I suspect you can handle it out here?"

"Aye," the old man replied. "I know how to handle my men, and Bannon, being the foul Ironborn bastard he is, knows all about Sea Raiding."

"Good," Tom replied, "Because as soon as the wife gets back, I have to go attend to my inlaw."

 

[brian boru]

Tom walked into the dimly lit hall, and squinted his eyes. The light from torches cast a foreboding glow across the dimly lit room. While they were enough to see by, to one spoiled by a life of bright, electric lighting, it felt it like an issue of 'only just'. He couldn't help but frown. Yet another reminder of the things he'd lost. Things like running water, proper sanitation, and a competent and reasonably honest central government founded on the ideal that human life actually had some kind of intrinsic importance and value.

He sighed. Though for the moment, he'd settle for some extra light.

Blinking his eyes to help adapt to the darkness, Tom moved through the hall heading towards the door, that he hoped would lead to the living quarters. As he walked, he glanced to the side and saw a small number of men and women, more of the latter than the former, hugging close to the outer walls of the hall, trying their best to be unnoticeable. Obviously some sort of survival trait, he reflected with a frown.

Slowing for a moment, he looked over them. All were dressed reasonably well. Not richly by any means, but well enough not to be an embarrassment to the lord of the hall. He noted that each had a wooden collar around their necks, driftwood if he wanted to hazard a guess. "Always driftwood with them." He muttered wryly under his breath. Iron was not to be wasted on slaves

Looking more carefully, he studied them, even as they shrank away from his lingering gaze. The men all looked beaten and downtrodden. The women wore dresses of a distinctly abbreviated nature, that he found himself unable to ignore.

Their tops were loose, showing full cleavage and baring their shoulders, obviously kept from falling only by a single bow nestled between the mounds of their breast. Their skirts were short by westerosi standards, ending just below the knee, and slit down one side, showing a shock of leg. For a moment, one probably longer than he really should have allowed, he studied them, considering their state of dress. Then his frown deepened with realization. Yes, the dresses were sexy, but that was obviously a secondary objective. Rather designed to allow for 'easy access' without the threat of a randy, drunken ironborn damaging the goods while trying to reach the creamy center.

He gritted his teeth. Slaves came cheap in these parts, but semi-respectable clothing was a valuable commodity.

His eyes narrowed to slits as he noticed the condition an especially skittish, rosy cheeked blonde girl in the back. It caused Tom to feel both a sensation of festering self-loathing and seething rage, for just moments ago, he'd been stupidly ogling her impressive bosom, completely inconsiderate of her physical condition. Now that his eyes had adjusted he could see the dark spot about her left eye, the split in her lower lip, and the black bruises along her upper arms and throat. The poor girl looked like she'd been beaten half to death.

Barbarians, he thought to himself as he sneered, his heart filled with disgust. Fucking barbarians.

Seeing the look on his face, and his attention directed at her, the girl recoiled in obvious fear. This shook away Tom's anger, leaving only his shame, which he quickly twisted in his mind to something infinitely more productive. Purpose.

"Girl," he said in a calm, level voice he hoped was nonthreatening, "Come here and stand before me."

The blonde girl visibly paled and pointed to herself, "M-me m'lord?" she asked, her voice but a squeak, like a frightened mouse who had earned the full attention of the local cat.

Tom slowly nodded. "Yes, you."

She slowly stood up and walked, or rather limped, towards him, tense but not resistant in the slightest, her head down to avert her gaze.

Once she was before him, she stood up straight as her injuries would allow, chin up, her posture perfect for display. You'd almost think she was standing at attention if it wasn't for her eyes, which were shut to prevent her accidentally making eye contact with her master, or any other 'respectable' individual who'd seek to make use of her. In her condition though, all it did was underscore how bad she really looked.

"No," Tom said gently, laying his hand softly on her shoulder. "None of that. Open your eyes."

She lowered her head and did as he bid. "Yes... m'lord."

Slowly, Tom reached out with a single finger and lifted her chin bringing her eyes up to meet his own. Pretty eyes, he couldn't help but observe. Soft, warm brown eyes, eyes filled with so much fear, sadness, and suffering. It made him hate this god forsaken world even more. He could only hope burned the fucker who did this to her.

"Don't be afraid," Tom said smiling sadly. "Come now, what is your name?"

"A-ana, m'mlord."

"Ana, I am not going to hurt you," he said in the most reassuring tone possible, "But I need you to do something for me."

"I understand, m'lord..."

Slowly her hand rose to the tie that bound her top, only to be caught by Tom's. She looked at him with confusion, to which he firmly replied, "No, Not that. Just hold your head straight and hold your hair out of the way. Alright"

"M'lord?" she asked, not so much confused as completely dumbfounded. After all, he was still dressed like an Ironman, but here he was treating her as something other than a self-propelled sex aid.

"I need to look at your collar," he clarified.

She gulped slightly as a big of fear ran through her, and did as he bid. Obviously she was afraid that he might somehow find her collar lacking and blame her for it.

Tom sighed and gentle fingered it, looking it over it. It was just as he thought, driftwood, smooth and pale, bleached by the sun and carved into a two joined half circles that were joined to one another with pegs, and driven into each of those pegs was a small iron wedge. There was obviously no way to remove them without cutting them off.

A small smile came to his face. Though there was something else he could try. After all, if something was closed, all he needed was for it to...

"BEX!"

Open.

The wedges shot free out with an audible ping, while the pegs simply popped out like a cork from a champagne bottle. As for the collar itself, the two halves flew across half the room before hitting the ground, skidding to a halt against the walls.

Ana stood there, confused and disbelieving as he had moved to her neck. The skin was red and sore, irritated from the collar. Slowly she rubbed her throat and looked at him. He couldn't help but smile as a he saw a new emotion run through her eyes. Hope.

"M'mlord... my collar...," she said hesitantly, unwilling to believe quite yet.

"You won't be needing it anymore. You're free, Ana."

"I'm free?"

Tom nodded and looked towards the others and took a deep breath.

"BEX!"

A wave of energy shot from his mouth, washing over the huddled mass of men and women. Their collars shot off just as Ana's had.

"You're all free," he paused but before he could react Ana knelt before him. Well, maybe knelt wasn't strong enough a world. More like prostrated "M'lord," she said, "I..."

Oh come on, I don't have time for this shit, Tom thought to himself before coming up with something a bit more diplomatic to say. "Ana, Please. Not right now. Whatever it is, it will have to wait. I came in here for a reason, and I have to finish. Just tell me later. Alright?"

"Of course. Whatever m'lord commands," she replied as she slowly, and painfully started to rise to her feet, her battered body not enjoying the movement.

Tom winced in sympathy and much to Ana's shock, and the shock of all of the other former slaves, knelt down next to her and slowly, gently helped her back to her feet.

"Easy now," he said in a kindly voice. "You're hurt and I won't have you making things worse on my account." he paused for a moment and smiled. "In fact..."

Tom smiled as he had an idea. While it would be a massive waste of energy, and probably somewhat risky, to use the powerful healing thu'um that had some an... interesting effect on Visenya, he could try something here. He hadn't had a moment to spare when he created that Thu'um. Here he could afford a second. For a moment he focused on the idea of health, of physical well being, of healing, and what it really meant to be whole. Then smiled as a word came to him, one steeped in understanding of the primal concept of Health.

"HAAS!"

A wave of green energy swept over the girl, and clung to her for a moment, almost like green fire. She startled for a moment, but then marveled as her bruises faded from view, and as any injuries burned away leaving only smooth, untouched skin.

She stood there, dumbfounded, lost in her shock, unable to react as Tom left her, continuing on through the door. Behind it was a simple set of steps that lead to the tower.

It was one the next level that Tom spotted Mya's bright red hair bobbing around through a doorway at the far end of the hall. Without hesitation, he he walked towards the bed that Mya was hovering over, but stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted a flash of silver-blonde hair from the bed.

A bundle of emotions rose in his chest, excitement and elation at finding what was obviously the other Targaryen sister. Fear and apprehension at her condition after what he'd heard from Bannon and other Ironborn.

As he entered the room, he was able to get a good look at the person laying on the bed being administered by Mya; the sight made his heart hammer in his chest. Laying on the bed, in a most sorry of states, was Rhaenys Targaryen, lady of Dragonstone and the youngest child of the late Aerion Targaryen, former lord of Dragonstone.

Her breath was swift and shallow, interrupted only by the occasional incomprehensible delusional muttering. Her long, silver hair, which he could only imagine was normally as lovely as her sister's, was wild and soaking with sweat. Her violet eyes were bloodshot and glazed over looking blankly into space, while her skin was somehow a fevered red and sickly pale at the same time. All in all, she looked like death.

Tom quickly moved next to Mya, who only glanced up for a moment to see who it was before turning back to Rhaenys. With a purposeful grimace, she ground powders together before dumping them into cup of water, with the intent of pouring down the ill woman's throat. To Tom's consternation she seemed to cough more of it up then she swallowed, and even that bit she did seemed to do little to help.

Finally breaking the silence, he coughed and asked, "How is she?"

"She has a terrible fever, the worst I've ever seen," she said matter of factly, "I've seen grown men as strong as oxen be stricken down by fevers half as bad as this, the fact she's still alive is nothing short of a miracle."

Mya never looked to Tom as she told him the diagnosis.

"Is there anything you can do?" Tom asked, apprehension tinting his voice.

Mya was silent before she finally shook her head, " No m'lord. I've never seen anyone recover from a fever like this in my life, and I doubt even a Maester could help her now. I believe that all we can do now is make her comfortable as we can and send someone for the Septon.

Tom nodded then hearing the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned behind him to see a shock of blonde hair duck behind the door frame.

"Oh for the love of...," Tom muttered under his breath, "Ana, what are you..."

Tom paused and then smiled. Wait. He could use this. "Ana, step out there I can see you."

'Ana' Mya mouthed, a sour look on her face, while the blonde girl, much prettier now that she wasn't covered in bruises, stepped into sight. "Y-yes, m'lord?" she asked, frightfully.

"Who's the fastest runner here?" He asked.

"W-what?" she blinked in confusion, shrinking away slightly.

"Look," he said with a sigh, "I'm not angry with you, but right now I need to know is who's the fastest runner you've got. I need to send a message."

"Yohn," she said after a moment of thought. "Yohn is fastest."

"Good," Tom said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Fetch him as quickly as you can."

She nodded and bolted from the room as if The Others themselves were riding the hem of her skirt.

Once she was gone, Mya looked up to Tom and scowled. "So, who's Ana?"

"She was injured," Tom replied. "I removed her collar and then healed her."

Mya facepalmed.

"What? All I did was free her..."

Mya looked up. "Did you pay her any special attention?"

"Well, she was injured, so like I said, I healed her..." he paused, "And I had to look at someones collar to figure them out."

Again, Mya facepalmed, muttering something under her breath. From what little Tom was able to hear, she was saying something about 'heroic' 'idiot' 'men'.

Tom blinked, a bit lost as to the cause of Mya's reaction. "What?"

"M'lord?"

Tom turned about to see Ana standing in the doorway with a young man of slight stature, probably barely into his teens, and filled with what looked to be abundant nervous energy. "You summoned me m'lord?"

"Alright, I need you to go find a lady with silver hair to come here. Tell her that the Dovahkiin needs her in the hall." When he saw the look of confusion at his title he sighed, "Just tell her that Tom needs her at the hall, she'll know who you're talking about. Also, if you are able to find the Septon we brought with us putzing about out there, fetch him as well. We might need him."

Seeming to understand the young man bowed his head. A grim look of determination came across his features. Remaining only to say, "Your will be done, m'lord," he dashed from the room as quickly as his legs could carry him. Tom had to admit, boy was pretty damned fast.

Turning back to Mya he said, "Is there anything else that could be of any help?"

Mya looked for at him for a moment, "I need a bowl of the coolest water you can find as well as several rags. It will cool her down a little bit."

Tom nodded, and after giving the room a quick glance, realized he knew exactly where none of them were. Thankfully though, he knew someone who did. "Ana," he said, trying his damnedest not to look at the busty blonde's bust, "I'm going to need your help. If you would fetch the things that Mya asked for, I'd be very thankful."

Ana blinked at the pleasantry added at the end of his request but recovered quickly bowing saying, "Of course m'lord." She scampered off to complete her task, her wide hips swaying with every step making her rear move in such a special way.

Tom shook his head. He really needed to get that girl dressed in something that would be considered acceptable outside of a brothel, if only for his own sanity's sake.

Moments later Ana returned with the basin and the rags, Mya took them from her without comment, and quickly soaked them in the water. Then, after ringing them out, started wiping the woman's forehead in an attempt to make the young Targaryen woman as comfortable as possible. Tom doubted that this venture would do any real good, but not being anything close to a expert or even an educated layperson in this particular field, he bowed to Mya's expertise and continued with the work.

A few minutes later Tom heard the thundering of footsteps up the stairs and a moment later, Visenya burst into the room with the Septon right behind her, his pudgy face lobster read from the exertion, looking like he had been dragged the entire way up here.

Visenya's eyes scanned the room in an instant then honed in on the prone form of her sister, she was by her sister's side in an instant, all but throwing Mya to the side in the process.

She took her sister's limp hand into her own and began trying to get her attention, "Rinnie, it's me! It's Vissy! I'm here, little sister! Please wake up! I'm sorry we got lost but I'm here now. "

Rhaenys didn't respond, she just continued gasping and occasionally muttering.

Her eyes widened frantically and started to gently shake her shoulders. "Rinni! Wake up! Please! Please wake up!"

Shooting her a glare, Mya pulled her away. "There's nothing we can do, and if you keep this up, all you're going to do is kill her faster."

"You little wench!" Visenya growled, knocking Mya's hands away from her, "Don't you dare there me there's nothing we can do, I... I..."

She snapped her head to look at Tom, who'd been ignored up to this point, the look in her eyes silencing anything he had been about to say, "You saved me. Can you save her?" Her voice held none of the normal power and authority that it normally had, all Tom could see was a scared woman, desperate not to lose her little sister after having already lost her brother/husband.

Tom was silent for a moment, then nodded, "I can at least try."

He then strode over and knelt by the sick woman's side. He took a deep breath then focusing on the words that had saved Visenya he bellowed at the top of his voice, "LAAS ZII FUS!!"

The same gold shockwave of energy that had saved Visenya days before enveloped the young lady of Dragonstone. There was silence a split second, then with a deep, choking gasp, Rhaenys shot up from the bed, her eyes wide open though staring at nothing. Turning over she leaned over the side of the bed, gasping desperately for air and hacking herself raw.

Mya grimaced and slid the bowl under her mouth as she spit up massive globules of phlegm. Thick, pussy, rotten smelling phlegm that was a stomach wrenching shade of green, with vile brown chunks in it. The fact that it was coming from a human body made him fight to keep his lunch.

As her lungs cleared, Rhaenys's breathing became deeper and less labored. Tom could only watch as the women fought to clear her airway, while Mya stood back, her job being done. Ana's attention seemed to be locked on Tom, her eyes shining with wonder, while the Septon seemed to have broken into spontaneous prayer, thanking the seven for the miracle that he'd just been blessed to observed. As for Visenya though seemed totally unpaused, and instead simply began to slap her sister on the back in an attempt her help her clear the foulness from her lungs.

As the labored hacking faded to a simple counting, Rhaenys glanced up and looked at her sister. While tired from the labor of clearing her lungs, she looked infinitely better than the decaying figure she'd been moments before. While her skin was still a bit red, it was from exertion and not sickness. Her eyes had also cleared, becoming weary and tired, but alert, rather than the glazed over, bloodshot orbs they'd been moments before.

"Visenya," she said before going into a short coughing fit, "Where am I?"

"In a formerly Ironborn held camp. We have just taken the camp after we learned where you were." Visenya answered.

"We...?" Rhaenys managed to ask.

Visenya gestured to Tom who walked up to the young lady's side, "This is Tom Brodie, a knight that found me washed up on the beach near the mouth of the Blackwater Rush. He nursed me back to health then after we stopped an Ironborn attack, he gathered a rescue party to find and free you. We owe him our lives."

Rhaenys turned her head to look at Tom, her eyes seemed to scan him for a few moments before she smirked slightly, "You look more like a baker than a knight but if you did all that my sister said you did, then you are true knight in my eyes and you have my gratitude."

Visenya smirked. "I'd call him a baker of sorts, though I wouldn't say its bread that he introduces to the fires."

Rhaenys stared at her sister for a moment, "Is that a joke I heard from you sweet sister? Truly this is a day of miracles."

"Oh, it is no joke, just a witty observation."

"Truly sister? Than this must be a rare man indeed." Rhaenys's gaze became more appraising of the young man and he had the vague feeling he was being measured for something that he wasn't exactly looking forward to.

"Sister, don't. He may look like a fat peasant, but understand I make no joke when I say he's quite possibly the most dangerous being either of us has ever encountered." Visenya answered her voice taking a tone of reprimention.

Tom gave her a look of askance, "'Fat peasant' you are so kind to the savior of you and your sister." Sarcasm all but dripped from his voice.

"Feel blessed that I hold you in esteem high enough to speak the naked truth." She replied in what seemed both jesting and deadly serious at the same time.

Rhaenys then suddenly changed the subject when she interrupted their banter, "Neither of you mentioned Aegon, is he here? Or have you not found him yet?" Apprehension now tinting her voice.

Visenya visibly shrank at the question and Tom looked away, unable to make eye contact with the prone young lady.

That apprehension started to turn to panic, "Where is he? Where's Aegon, what has happened to him?"

"While he was able to save me... Aegon... he was beyond saving, even with his power." she closed her eyes, unable to go on.

Rhaenys's eyes widened in horror, her voice completely gone, then tears formed at the corner of her eyes and she began to cry, she covered her face with her hands and wept like a lost child. Visenya reached out and embraced her sister, letting her head rest against her breast for comfort. Tom stood there, unsure as how to respond.

"I know, little sister." Visenya whispered as her own pain once again welled to the surface.

Tom stood there for a while, then turning to Mya and Ana he nudged his head towards the door and went out, the other two following behind him letting the sisters have a moment alone.

Noting that the Septon hadn't moved from his kneeling position, nor had he stopped praying, going to the holy man's side he cleared his throat then asked, "C'mon, I think we need to give these two a moment alone."

"But..."

"If you lost your sibling wouldn't you want a moment of privacy? Besides there are plenty outside that need your help." Cutting the sputtering holy man off.

He paused and sighed. "I apologize. It is not everyday one sees a miracle."

As they walked out, a thought came to Tom's mind he turned to look at the Septon, " "Wait. Where were you when I was killing the Ironborn."

"Seeking shelter in the boat, sire. I am a man of the cloth, not of swords."

Shrugging his shoulders, Tom replied, "Fair enough."

As the group walked out of the hall Tom spotted Bannon across the courtyard, "Bannon!" He called out, "We found her! She's in a rough state right now but she'll live."

"Oh, happy day," Bannon remarked in an almost girlish voice. "Now m'lord, I'd be most thankful it you would leave me to my work. We need to be out by sunset unless you wish you spend the night. Bah. You'd almost think that these peasants have never looted a settlement before." He scoffed, "A proper ironborn crew would have their winds in their faces, and a fire at their backs by now."

"A fire at their backs?"

"Rape, Pillage, then Burn. My father always said you have to get the order right."


Tom shook his head at that little comment, but he thought on it for a while, Bannon was right if these were Ironborn they'd have already been out of there but they weren't. "No, we'll stay the night, we gotta rest then we'll head out early, I'll make sure we get out quick enough but the men need time to rest."

Bannon frowned. "Then if I may be so bold, make a plan in case of visitors. It's not unheard of for ships to arrive soon after dawn."

Tom looked over to the bay, thinking hard. "Have some of the former slaves watch the water, if they spot anything have them call it in then we'll make sure to bug out as quick as possible. Throw everything onto the ships and row out. I can take care of any ships that get close enough to be a threat."

He turned back to Bannon, "You go help them get ready to move out at a moment's notice."

"I doubt such is possible. This crew simply isn't used to working in haste," he replied, "Still, I'll try."

"That's all I can ask."

Bannon nodded. "I don't suppose you'll allow motivational floggings?"

Tom gave Bannon one of the most withering looks he'd ever given anyone. "What do you think?"

Bannon shot him an all too oily smile. "I think it was worth a try."

Tom rolled his eyes. "I think you need to get back to work. If you need me, I'll be getting something to eat."

 

[brian boru]

When Tom walked back into the hall, he was surprised to see Rhaenys already up and about, and dragging Visenya behind her, a look of exasperation on her sister's face, "My Lady, I'm pleased to see you and about. How are you feeling?"

She paused for a moment a slight look of melancholy on her face, "As well as the circumstances warrant, but there is something that we must discuss now. My sister has been telling me tall tales of of magic powers. She claims that you can breath fire and ice, can blast open doors and shatter walls with a shout, even that it was you who healed me with but a phrase!"

"Sister," Visenya warned, "Do not taunt the Dovahkiin..."

"Sister, we both know I dabbled in Valyrian magics of old when I was young, and as we both know, whatever power those spells ever possessed is long gone. I find your claim that this man is somehow able to do things that even the dragonlords of could not to be absolutely preposterous."

"How else did I take this fort? As brave as my men are they're fishermen not warriors." Tom asked, hungry and thirsty and now more than a little snappy that this woman, whom he'd just saved from dying, was now trying to read him the riot act.

"Not without evidence," She then strode right up to Tom, her face inches from him. "If you can really do these things then show me."

"Rinni, please..." Visenya said wided eyed and a bit pale, before turning to Tom. "Please don't set her on fire, I do love her, even if she is being very very stupid."

Rhaenys snorted in contempt. "This isn't like you."

"And it isn't like you to stick your head in a dragon's maw," Visenya snapped.

"This man, he is no dragon."

Tom's eyes twitched, he was tired, hungry, his throat felt like sandpaper, and now this ungrateful little bitch was questioning him?

He thundered over towards a fireplace, unlit but set for a fire with the wood piled high. Taking a deep breath he bellowed out, "YOL TOOR" A massive jet of flames shot from his mouth, enveloping the fire and almost billowing back out from the fireplace. He held the flames for as long as he could then shut his mouth, killing the flame. The wood in the fireplace was completely consumed, only hot ash remained.

He turned back to the stunned woman and thundered back towards her, fury blazing in his eyes, "Are you convinced now or does the wittle doggie have to do another trick?"

Rhaenys's reply was simple and to the point. She stood there, eyes wide, her mouth agape, completely dumbfounded by what she'd just seen.

"Close your mouth, little sister," Visenya said with a smirk so insufferable, you'd expect to see it on Bannon, "You're going to catch flies.'

"Are you convinced? Good, now if you'll excuse me I want something to fucking eat!"

He nearly stumbled into Ana who was standing right behind him, carrying a large platter generously laden with bread, cheese, and pickled fish. "I thought you might be hungry, m'lord!"

Tom stared, a little bit stunned at how quickly she had shown up but he couldn't help but smile, "Ana," he sigh with a sigh, "You're a blessing you know that? Just let me take that and..."

He reached out to take the tray but she looked almost scandalized. "Please, m'lord! It wouldn't imagine! Please, just sit and allow me to serve you!"

He looked at her, slightly surprised as that was the most spirited he'd seen her, then he shrugged and said, "Alright then, if you feel so strongly about it then alright. Shall we?" He then gestured towards a table and the two of them walked side by side to said table.

Ana was almost glowing with pleasure as she placed the food before Tom, a brilliant smile across her face. "Would you like ale or wine, m'lord?"

Thinking back to the results his imbibing of wine had done to him a few days ago, he responded, "Ale sounds nice."

As soon as Ana had left the room, Visenya shot him a scathing look. "Tom, are you intentionally collecting a comly peasant girl from every encounter, or are you really just that naive?"

The look of stunned confusion on his face could have been used as a picture description for the phrase. "What? No! That's just how my mother raised me, treat a women like she's a lady unless she proves otherwise."

"Tom," Visenya said dryly, "I believe I can say with much assuredness that neither your pretty little fishwife, nor your freshly liberated the slave girl are noble born."

Tom smirked and shook his head, "What I mean when I say 'a lady; doesn't mean she has to be noble born. It means that any woman should be treated with dignity and respect unless she proves by her actions alone that she doesn't deserve it."

"Your people have a very strange definition of the word 'lady'," Visenya remarked.

"You should be thankful," Tom replied with a wide smile, "Had my mother not raised me to be a gentleman, I probably would have left you to die."

Visenya flushed in annoyance. "You were raised to be a gentle man? That might explain why you are so soft and untrained in the ways of war. They should have raised you to be a warrior."

"The capacity for mercy isn't weakness, Visenya, and my people's culture is very different than your own." Tom's features hardened, "I strongly suggest you watch your mouth, especially when it involves my mother."

That left her silent as Tom turned back to the table to focus on his meal. As he lifted the first piece of bread though, he glanced to the side to see undivided Rhaenys attention focused on him, or rather the piece of bread within his hand. She didn't say a word, and tried to control her body language as much as possible, but he could see her eyes tracking it like a cat with a toy. Lightly she smacked her lips and...

He frowned deeply when he heard a slight rumble from her stomach from halfway across the hall. Yeah. She'd been deathly ill with fever for days, and probably hadn't had more than a couple bowls of broth, if that, the whole time.

Sighing deeply Tom muttered to himself, "And remember son, a gentleman always suffers for a lady..." then pushed the food towards her. "Ladies first."

Rhaenys walked quickly but calmly over to Tom's table and quickly tore into the plate with surprising speed and demureness. When Ana returned with a pitcher of ale, she blinked in surprise.

Tom looked up to her and shrugged, "She hasn't eaten in days," he stated calmly, to explain the situation, "Would you mind getting another tray for me, please?"

"Of course m'lord."

She placed down the ale and left to fetch a second serving.

"Why not get enough for everyone?" Visenya remarked.

Ana paused and frowned slightly before bowing to the elder Lady Dragonstone. "I will tell one of the others to attend you, m'lady."

Visenya smirked and sat down next to Rhaenys. "Remember to breath, little sister."

Rhaenys ignored her and reached for the ale, pausing and looking to Tom who simply sighed and nodded. Foregoing the goblet entirely, she drank deeply of the pitcher before returning to her, well, for lack of a better term, 'feeding frenzy'.

Tom filled a cup quickly before Rhaenys claimed it and nursed the drink until Ana returned.

---

"Ouch!" Tom cried out, rubbing the back of his head from where Mya had slapped him, "What the hell was that for?"

The two of them were in a more private part of the hall, the fires in the hearth making a reddish glow reflect off of Mya's red hair making her almost terrifying.

"You really, are an idiot sometimes, m'lord," she replied, coldly, a deep frown marring her pretty features. A small part of Tom's mind was amazed at how a girl so tiny could make herself puff herself up so that she seemed like a giant looking down on the tiny bug-like people below her.

"An idiot? Honestly What did I do? I'll try and fix my mistake but I can't do that if the only answer I get is an insult!" He responded, honestly confused.

"Ana ring any bells?"

"You did see the state she was in right? I couldn't leave her or any of the others like that. And how should I have treated her?" Tom asked a bit upset now.

"No, but I can only imagine," she replied, "But whatever you did has her following you around like a lost puppy," she sighed, "I'm not upset that you helped her, that's what you do, but the way you go about it sometimes..."

Tom looked at her, confusion etched on his face, then his eyes widened in surprise as a light bulb flashed in his head, then with slight bemusement he asked, "Are you...jealous of her for some reason?"

Tom struggle for a moment, then unable to contain himself, started to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Mya's face turned red and her cheeks puffed up, which when combined with her red hair, made her look rather reminiscent of a tomato. "What's so funny?!"

"Nothing, nothing at all, just remembering my younger days and how different they were." He thought back to how he'd joke that he'd have girl-repellent when he'd been in high school. He then looked back to Mya, who'd seemed to get only more indignant, "Mya, I promise you, you don't have ANYTHING to worry about from Ana. I was just trying to be kind to a girl that needed it."

Mya shrunk down a bit. "You swear?"

Tom, still a little unsure as how to go about this, wrapped her up in a hug and said, "I promise Mya, you've got nothing to worry about."

"Good. Just so you know, m'lord, I'll be warming your bed tonight lest Ana try and warm it for me," she smiled coyly, "We can't have that now."

Tom flushed like a fire hydrant at the implications behind Mya's words. But he managed to recover quickly enough, "I guess so."

Unsure as how to react from there, Tom beat a hasty retreat from the young woman and walked back into the hall proper, to his mild surprise, he found Bannon and Rolf along with the men that had come with him eating, drinking, and generally celebrating their victory. Bannon seemed to be talking with one of them a pretty brown-haired girl that seemed to be talking animatedly with the young man.

Looking up from his conversation, Bannon happened to spot Tom and with a grin on his face stood up and gestured to him. Then he called out in a loud voice, "And here he is, our brave leader, the Bane of the Ironborn, the fire breathing, bear buggering bastard of Blackwater Rush himself, Tom Dovahkiin!"

The men and women either sitting or serving the table immediately began to scream out in cheer, lifting their drinks in the air in honor of him.

Tom was a little stunned by the reception he was receiving, he knew that he'd taken these men away from their homes and had gotten several of them killed for what he felt were for selfish purposes. But here they were, cheering his name and toasting to him. It was a...heady feeling.

Feeling a moment of inspiration, he walked to the center of the hall, then he raised both of his arms and then lowered them, gesturing for silence. Once he had it he took a deep breath and loudly declared, "Men of Blackwater, tonight you have every right to celebrate." There was a loud cheer from the partiers.

Tom let them calm down then continued, "Yesterday, you were fishermen, and easy target in any Ironman's book! But now, now your warriors, warriors who took up arms to defend their homes, warriors who avenged themselves and their loved ones! Warriors who fought not for glory, but for honor, and you gave those Ironborn Buggerers the reach around that they've been asking for the better part of the century, and sent them running back to their shitty little islands! This night isn't mine, is yours! I toast to each and every single one of you! TO THE RUSH!"

"TO THE RUSH!!", was their immediate reply.

As Tom sat down at the high table he managed to be close enough to Bannon for him to mutter, "I'm not a bastard."

"Ah, and that may be, but I see you didn't contest that you bugger bears." Bannon asked with his usual grin.

"And once again, you and charm wins the hearts and minds of those around you." Tom responded, dryly.

"I try my lord, I try."

"Bannon... Shut up."

---

The next morning found Tom, along with the sisters Targaryen and Bannon Harlaw sitting at the head table eating breakfast before heading out to help with packing up and heading back to the Rush, or Bannon and Tom were, the sisters had made it clear that they weren't interested in, as Visenya put it, "being pack animals."

The two were also interested in talking with a pair of young women who were the most interesting of the former captives of the Ironborn. Lysa Stepstone and Dana Storm, the legitimized bastard granddaughters of Lord Pyle who ruled land along the Southern edge of Blackwater bay and was sworn to King Argilac 'the arrogant' Dondarrion, King of the Stormlands.

Tom had met them the night before and both had thanked him prodigiously for having rescued them from the Ironborn. Dana, at sixteen, was the elder of the two. She was an extremely intelligent young lady of particularly sarcastic temperament, who even after the ordeal she'd so recently been through, managed to affect an extremely dry, almost implacable affect.

After establishing her pedigree, and telling the sad tale of how the two of them had been horseback riding near the coast when they'd been beset by Ironborn raiders. Their guards were killed, and their person's taken into captivity. Being noble born, they'd been spared the usual immediate rape followed by enslavement, and instead had been captured intact. It seemed the captain who claimed them was a practical salt, one more interested in the coin that a pair of noble ladies could bring in ransom rather than getting his rocks off.

Lysa Stepstone, was a relatively good natured girl that while far less implacable than her cousin, seemed to possess the same swift mind, and an admirable eye for detail that in retrospect, was probably somewhat of a liability, at least for Tom.

While her cousin had spent most of the night, and much of the following morning trading barbs with Bannon, Lysa had remained silent, simply watching and listening. In the morning, she'd sat herself across from Tom, and simply watched, no, studied him, as well as keeping a close eye on Visenya and Rhaenys.

After an eerie half an hour of her eating and silence and observing, she shot Visenya a long, studying glance, before casually asking, "So... lady Brodie, how exactly did you meet your lord husband again? I'm afraid that didn't get to hear the full story last night."

Having used the same story a number of times, Visenya could repeat it virtually route. "Well...," she began before being cut off by her Rhaenys.

"Sister, I believe that it is obvious to all but you that your thin ploy is starting to fray at the edges," Rhaenys stated coolly, "While I say this with no disrespect to the brave and honorable men who charged to my rescue," she said lifting her glass in honor of the fishermen, "They are peasants, simple folk of the sea who are not accustomed to sorting through pleasant falsehoods with every breath. Lady Lysa on the other hand, is, and has obviously picked up on your little white lie. So please, I beg you, enough games. While I understand why you did so, and agree with your reasoning, it has outlived its usefulness. To continue to cling to it is an insult to Ser Tom and to the intelligence of everyone in this room..."

"Sister," Visenya replied through gritted teeth, her annoyance clear and very apparent, "I could have just explained it to the two of them in private."

"Gods damn it, Visenya!" Rhaenys roared, slamming her hands onto the table, "Our beloved deserves better than this! He deserves better than to be to mourned in hiding while you play the little wife of some dumpy hedge knight with the ability to breath fire!"

Visenya's face sank. "I know, Rinni, I just wanted to keep us safe..."

"I couldn't take it," Rhaenys cried out, as she broke out into a full weep, "I just couldn't take it anymore!"

Visenya frowned sadly, and pulled her little sister into a hug. "There, there little sister. I'm here."

"I don't know how I can live without him," Rhaenys wailed as she clung to her elder sister, "I don't know how I can go on..."

"Wait," Lysa said her eyes wide. "Her names Rhaenys, they're sisters, and... by the gods... you're..."

Visenya's eyes snapped up and all but bored into the girl's skull, "You complete that sentence in public, and I swear by by all the gods worshiped under the open skies, I will strip you naked and throw you into the cells to entertain our prisoners!"

"Wait! Everyone calm down before we do something we all regret!" Tom shouted.

When he was sure that everyone had his attention he cleared his throat and continued. "Rolf, Beric, Septon Patrek, Ladies Storm and Stepstone, I'd like a moment of privacy with all of you. I can't tell the details to everyone, but I know the others trust you. If you find my reasons to be true, I'm sure they'll take your word for it" He then rose and walked up to the second floor of the hall. The others closely behind him while the fishermen began to mutter under their breaths about what was going on.

Once Tom was sure that they had privacy he turned back to the small group and said, "Alright, you want the full truth, here you go First off Rana is not my wife. Rana it isn't even her name. Before you are Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen and sisters/wives of Aegon Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone. They were, along with most of their fleet, underway to the mainland when a storm hit. As far as we know, all hands were lost to the bay except for the Targaryen siblings themselves. I found Aegon. With his dying breath he made me swear to find and protect his sisters."

"Soon after I found Visenya and managed to restore her to to health. Our original intent was to head to Rosby and find a ship to take her back to Dragonstone. The next day we came across the village and the rest is history." Tom sighed, "Listen, I know I lied and I apologize from the bottom of my heart. If you feel it right, I will not accompany you back to the Rush, and instead I will do my best to get the sisters back to Dragonstone.:"

Rolf looked at Tom heavily for a long moment, before snorting. "Lad, you've done right by me and mine so I don't take any issue. I'm sure you had your reasons, but I need to know what they are."

"It's simple," Dana cut in. "If it was commonly knowledge that Lady Visenya Targaryen of Dragonstone was wandering about the countryside with but a single hedge knight for protection, there would be a line of thieves, bandits, and petty nobles looking to seize her for their own devices that would stretch from Sunspear to Winterfell!"

"Well," Beric said grimly, "I'll admit I felt rather insulted, but when you put it like that... I see your point."

Lysa sighed. "I guess I should apologize for giving Lady Rhaenys the opportunity to have her outburst."

"Don't blame yourself, dear," Patrek said gently, "The lady just lost her husband. It's only natural that she be distraught."

Dana snorted. "Come now, I can understand that Lady Rhaenys is upset, but really, there is a fine line between distraught and stupid. I believe she crossed it somewhere in the vicinity of Lannisport. She just put all of us in danger."

"Lady Storm, please don't antagonize her, the last thing we need is a fight. So here's the big question, should we tell the men, they aren't stupid and I can't imagine them not trying to ask what is going on and I don't want to put that kind of pressure on Rolf and Beric." He nodded to the respective village leaders.

"Personally I say we tell them what is going on, get out in the open now and prevent rumors from spreading or them finding out on their own and feeling betrayed for it. What say you?" He asked the others.

"Lady Visenya obviously wants it to be kept as secret as possible," Lysa countered, "I humbly suggest we..." Lysa trailed off as a horn sounded in the background. "What was that?"

"That was the horn. That means..." Tom's eyes widened. "Oh, Christ. Not now!"

"What is it?" Lysa repeated.

"Ships, you silly girl!" Rolf exclaimed, "Ironman ships!"

---

"Alright then, what's the situation?" Tom asked, not even bothering to look to the side as he exited the hall, clad in his helm and chainmail shirt, Blackfyre hanging at his side.

"M'lord, we've spotted two sails," one of the men announced. "Just on the horizon. Maybe an hour's distance"

"Bannon," He called out, "Where are you?"

"Up here!" the Ironborn warrior announced from the wall, "What do you need?"


Tom looked at him. "You're the expert, do you think we can get out of here quick enough to avoid them?" He already had a feeling what the answer would be but he had to ask.

"To be honest, maybe," he said, "But we'd have to leave now. Right now. And even then, we'd be in for rough times. Even with the thralls you freed manning the oars, they'd be able to get here, see that the place has been sacked, and row us down without much difficulty. Even if they didn't, we'd have to leave everything intact to avoid drawing attention, and believe me when I tell you, they'd use this place to staging point for a putative reign of terror across the entire coastline."

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Tom started to curse. Tom looked to the sea and then to the forest inland, "Alright everyone get the women and non-fighters out of here. Head for the forest and hide there, those Ironmen won't abandon their ships for long."

Bannon let his eyebrow peek. "After this? The forests would be the first place they'd check, and don't make me remind you of the dozens of Ironborn warriors you send fleeing into those very woods but yesterday."

"Motherfucker!" he screamed to the high heavens. "I take it fighting them on the shore would be a lost cause?"

"Unless you can magic out another victory," Bannon observed, "We have less chance than my Great Uncle Orin has of getting off the damned Wall."

"God damn it all to hell," Tom grumbled. He needed to whittle down that group down before they hit shore but how? How!? Then like a bolt of lightning, it struck him, there was a shout that could probably work. One he'd been able to recall with ease even before he'd come here.

"I have an idea," he said with a smile, "Have the men pull the ships up as far onto shore as they can, take down masts, and tie down the ships. Things are about to get very rough..."

 

[brian boru]

Tom thundered down towards the shore, the most evil grin he'd ever shown in his life on his face. He had the perfect plan, a certain shout that would end these fuckers now and send them to the bottom of the sea.

It was one of the most powerful shouts that the Dovahkiin of Skyrim ever learned calling down the power of nature itself to strike down all caught within it's shadow. STRUN BA QO, or in the tongue of men, Storm Call.

As he walked down the hill past rushing men and women either fleeing towards the walled hall or down to the ships to fulfill his orders and secure the ships, a niggling feeling of apprehension entered the back of his mind. Try as he might to crush the doubt he felt it refused to be quashed and continued to gnaw at him until, water now lapping at his feet as he came to a stop at the shoreline, he could no longer ignore that doubt and acting on that feeling he used a different shout than he'd intended.

"Lass Yah Niir..." Immediately the world around him flashed blue and the multitudes of lifeforms now detectable with the use of 'Aura Whisper' entered his senses. Wrangling the sensory deluge under control, he then directed his focus to the two quickly incoming ships. His heart sank as he found what all were in those ships. "Damn..." He hissed through gritted teeth, utter frustration tinting his voice.

"Is something the matter, m'lord?" Rolf asked, having come up to tell him that the ships had been secured.

"Plan's a no go," Tom muttered before turning to the older man, a wry grin on his face, "I guess I'll have to play this one from the hip."

"What?" Rolf asked stunned at his lord's answer, "Why can't your plan work?"

"Because," Tom said, pointing out to the ships, "That ship is coming in from another raid itself, there are women and children onboard."

Rolf frowned slightly, "If I may be so bold as to ask, sire, why would this negate your plan?"

"Because my plan would have destroyed both ships and claimed the lives of everyone aboard them."

There was moment of silence before Rolf continued, "Are you sure my lord?"

"No, but if I was sure to the contrary then mark my words, those uppity Cthulhu cultists would already be feeding the unspeakable horror they worship as a god!" Tom growled in anger, his frustration etched into every part of him.

The others actually took at least a half-step back from him. Clearly able to see the fury coming off of him in waves. Interestingly enough it was Visenya and Rhaenys thas that were backing away the quickest. Despite being the ones least likely to be even vaguely impressed by the temper tantrum of somewhat dumpy, shaggy-haired youth, they seemed to unconsciously sense something primal about him and react most accordingly.

Tom on the other hand was boring holes into the sides of the oncoming Ironborn ships with his eyes, his mind desperately trying to find some plan or method of attack that could get rid of the Ironborn and keep their captives safe. Become Ethereal? He could avoid getting hit until he wanted to strike, then when the effect faded because of the strike he could quickly use it again and repeat the process. It could work, but he didn't trust himself to be able to time it skillfully like that for TWO ships of Ironborn. Maybe if he'd been doing it for years... no.. it was still a good idea, but it wouldn't work alone. He needed something else... hmmm... something else...

But what?

Elemental Fury...that might be what he was looking for, the shout would make him move at a rapid pace and even as unskilled as his strikes were, if they were moving fast enough it shouldn't make a difference. Still he'd have to know EXACTLY when the effect faded, and he didn't trust his own reaction time enough to make up the difference...

He smiled. Of course his untrained reflexes wouldn't be quite the detriment if he was faster, or rather, everyone else was slower. Slow Time. If you can't speed yourself up, then just slow down the goddamned Universe.

Still though, he wasn't sure. He needed something else. Something that even if his other tricks failed, then at least he'd have a chance to withdraw and approach if from another angle...

It had to be something big. Something really big. Monstrous even.

Fuck, this would be so much easier if he could just turn into a goddamned dragon and roast them all. It was then a new shout bubbled up from the depths of his subconscious and a smile came to his face that could only be described as cruel in its effect.

Yes, that might be JUST what the doctor ordered, he thought, his smile changing from cruel to one that reminded Rhaenys of, if nothing else, Meraxes after he'd spotted an especially plump looking bullock...

He turned back to the others who were valiantly resisting the instinctual urge to run away and climb the tallest tree they could find, and said, "Get ready a crew to work those ships, I'll be right back."

Then he took a deep breath.....

Rhaenys stood in place, silently considering the form of the man before her. While he seemed to have some ability of some kind, has he'd been able to wrench her from the grasp of death, and lead this rag tag group of peasants to victory, the idea that he'd be able to not only fight, but defeat two full shiploads of Ironman raiders on open terrain in personal combat was not only suicidally overconfident, but even dignifying the idea with anything greater than silent contempt was sheer folly for those around him.

She voiced such thoughts to her sister and added, "It might be prudent to simply advance to the rear once he's thrown himself to the raiders. If we are fortunate he may be able to buy us enough time to make the woodline."

Visenya glared at her sister, and had she been granted the time, probably would have responded with something both condescending and amusingly sarcastic, but as fate would have it, Tom interrupted her with a shout, and all hell broke loose.

"MUL QAH DIIV!"

For everyone present, save one, what came next was nothing short of staggering, that special mixture of awe inspiring and downright terrifying that could remain with a person to their dying day. The one exception of course, was Visenya, for she'd already seen his true self, but even then she was caught after guard. After all, while she'd seen him in his true glory once before, that had been on a mental and spiritual level. This was her first time seeing the true nature of his dragons soul, unconcealed and apparent for all to see in the material realm.

After all, it was not every day you saw a man take on the Aspect of the Dragon.

Tom's smile twisted with the promise of suffering as thoughts of cruelty filtered through his mind, tempting him with the siren song of domination of all who would challenge his might.

It was jarring, and for a moment he almost lost himself, for it seemed that in this state his mind was more Dov than Jul, more Dragon than Man, and his thought processes reflected this. The normal whisper to dominate that sat on the back of his mind, urging him to humble all challengers had become a shout as mighty as any Thu'um demanding that he subjugate all who would dare oppose his might.

Until now he never truly understood Paarthurnax's comment about overcoming ones evil nature to do good. The sheer force of will needed to control this instinct, this drive to dominate, well, calling it 'great effort' was quite the understatement.

Clad in ethereal armor that rendered him human in form while openly displaying the draconic nature of his character, Tom looked back to the others. "I'd say behind the walls if I were you. This is probably going to be a bit..." he paused for a moment before letting his mouth twist into a smirk that could only be called sadistic, "Messy..."

Yes. Very messy he reflected. While he could quite agree that the instincts welling from the very depths of his dragons' soul were evil by the standards of human morality, there was something to be said about doing evil until evil.

He smirked, his features etched with cruelty as a dark cast overcame his character.

Yes. He'd let himself indulge, maybe just this once...

By now, Tom was absolutely sneering at his enemies, his dragon's mind running full tilt, inventing new and creative ways to end his enemies with the power of The Voice. As they approached the shore, it was obvious to all that they knew something was wrong, for the many bodies still scattered about were a clear indicator that not all was well. As such they conducted their landing more in the theme of a raid, running their ships onto the beach and disgorging their ranks in good order.

Had it been even possible, Tom's smile would have become even more wantonly cruel, more gleefully sadistic in its cast, this would have been the time, for this was the moment he'd been waiting for.

Without even taking a moment warn the others, he loosed three shouts in quick succession.

"SU GRAH DUN!"

"TIID KLO UL!"

"WULD NAH KEST!"

With the final shout he literally exploded into action, and what came next almost defied description. One moment he was standing among them, the next the leader of the Ironmen all but exploded, torn in half by a sword blow strong enough to split him in twain clear through his armor and send his body flying through the air, showing blood and viscera over his gathered subordinates.

Not that they had much time to react, as to call what happened next a massacre would have put light the sheer erorminty of the slaughter. The bloodletting to follow could best be described as an orgy of carnage.

Even to the trained warrior eye, Tom's moments were but a blur, and every strike rent their target, making light of the weapons and armor of his enemies. Even the few blows his enemies were able to land in return were for naught. Most pass through him as if he were but an apparition, and those that struck true were deflected off of the physical manifestation of his dragon soul.

It was not a fight between men, but rather it reminded the sisters both of nothing less than the time Aegon had rewarded Balerion by loosing him upon a flock of sheep.

The reactions of those watching were mixed.

The villagers were left with mixed emotions, shocked by the true force of their new lords uncontained might, while at the same time howling in satisfaction at the grizzly fate of the hated Ironborn raiders.

The Ironborn prisoners also were howling, but for an entirely different reason: Terror. Sheer, unadulterated terror. It was not until now that they truly understood what sort of creature they'd surrendered to. Creature, for this being could be no simple man. Many were praying in thanks to their Drowned God that this monster has spared their lives, others still were screaming in terror, convinced that the Storm God himself had arrived on the mortal plain to lay claim to their souls.

Bannon for his part was silently confirming the wisdom of his change in allegiances, wondering how to more closely endear himself to his new master, as well as how to unleash his power for their shared benefit.

As for the sisters, the younger was standing in place, absolutely gobsmacked, staring blankly at the scene unfolding before her, her mind almost blank in its lack of comprehension. The elder was just standing there looking very smug, silently lording the events over the other.

As swiftly as the violence had begun, it ended. Not a single man had survived save Tom himself. Looking over the killing field before him, his aura faded and he collapsed to one knee.

Rolf, Bannon, Visenya, and Rhaenys were the first to approach him after the glow of the dragon-shaped armor faded.

Bannon cleared his throat and asked, "My lord, are you... alright?"

Tom suddenly snapped his head up and looked towards Bannon and the others who flinched, all of them swore there was a golden glow in his eyes for an instant before they all set it aside as them merely imagining things. Tom looked at them for a moment studying them like a wolf might an animal he could take down if he wanted to but he just didn't feel like it at the time. Then there was a subtle shift, one that none of them could point out and Tom's eyes were once again those they had seen for the days they had known him.

He picked himself up and after brushing off sand from his trousers he examined the carnage he had wrought. It was then that the others noticed that despite killing at least a hundred Ironborn, there wasn't a mark on him from the fight and neither was there a drop of blood on his body, that ethereal armor seemed to have prevented any of it from getting on his more mundane armor or his person.

They were shaken from their personal musings when Tom suddenly said, "I might need to avoid that one unless I need to...I might start liking it..."

He sighed again and turned to Bannon, "What was that Bannon?"

Bannon recovered quickly enough and responded, "Erm ...I was merely asking if all was well my lord."

Tom looked at him then nodded, "Yes, I'm alright, not a scratch on me and don't even feel tired." He looked back to the bodies bleeding on the sands, "Nor am I feeling much of anything over that" he gestured towards the Ironborn, "for some reason, and that scares the hell out of me..."

There was an awkward silence for a while, then the young warrior, for warrior he was and none could gainsay that, especially after his most recent display, but rather than let the others ruminate over what he'd done, he instead decided to put them to work.

"What are all of you looking at?" he snapped, "Rolf! Drag those ships ashore and give me an inventory of their contents."

Then he turned to his ginger mistress and commanded, "Mya. I want you to take the servant women to attend to any thralls on the ship. I want you to clean them up, tend to any injuries, and see that they are fed."

Lastly he turned to Bannon, "I want you to take those idiots," he glanced to the Ironborn prisoners, "And strip the bodies of everything of value."

"And what if some of them should try to escape?" he asked, "After all, you are ordering them to gather up arms and armor."

Tom's eyes narrowed and without thinking, he stated, "Then you tell them that I'll tear out the soul of the first idiot who gets any cute ideas."

Bannon blinked, maybe a bit off put by both the venom and the terrifying implications of the statement, said, "That is quite the creative threat, m'lord?"

"Threat?" Tom growled, "No Bannon, that's a promise."

"Wait, what?" Bannon blinked, his face losing maybe a little bit of color, "You can actually do that?"

Tom frowned for a moment wondering if maybe he'd spoken a little too rashly in his anger. Still, he always considered honesty to be the best approach so he responded truthfully.

"Yes."

Bannon's eyes went wide and he coughed slightly, affirming once again that he was quite pleased to be standing behind Tom and not in front of him. "Yes. My lord. I will make it very clear."

"Good."

"And what would you like done with the bodies?" he asked looking towards the massive field of the dead.

Tom thought for a moment. Normally he'd just have them thrown into the sea, but he was feeling maybe a bit more vindictive than usual, so he allowed a somewhat cruel smile spread across his face. "I want the bodies impaled on stakes and lined up along the shore line so that the next Ironman ship to arrive find themselves with a most grand greeting party awaiting them."

He then looked to Visenya and Rhaenys, the only of his entourage not to have been tasked with a duty and thought for a moment before holding out his sword to them.

"All this exercise has made me hungry," he said lightly. "I'm going back to the hall to wait for the others to finish their tasks. Be dears and fetch me something to eat..." he paused and then embedded Blackfyre into the earth before them, "And see to it that the blade is cleaned."

Both were slightly taken aback, especially when he turned around and left them without even a buy your leave.

Rhaenys glared daggers at him for a moment before muttering, "Does he take us to be common servants?"

"Sister," Visenya replied coolly, "I strongly suggest that you turn your eyes to the beach... and shut the hell up."

Reminded of the carnage that this man had committed only moments ago, then considering he'd done similar just the day before, and taking into account the fact that he was here entirely for her benefit, the younger Lady Dragonstone relented, and with a sigh, said, "I believe I know where to find some meat and cheese..."