—At Dragonstone—
Daenerys was absolutely livid; both Jaehaegon and Grey Worm had arrived at her quarters aboard her fleet's capital vessel—the Balerion—and not only informed her of Hand Jon Connington's subsequent betrayal, but also Daveth absconding with Rhaegal before the Dragon Queen had a chance to realize what was going on. With renewed hostilities, she rallied what was left of her armies and quickly made haste to the south atop Drogon before the rest of the royal forces could surround her. Her naval commander, Yara Greyjoy, was noticeably absent and hadn't been seen yet. With the loss of the Golden Company, she had no spymaster to keep her informed. Upon landing in Dragonstone, an emergency session was immediately summoned.
"The longer I leave my enemies alone, the stronger they become," Daenerys said as she laid down a stag figure on the war map, along with a kraken, griffin and sellsword figurine.
"We will storm the city, my Queen. We will kill your enemies. All of them," Grey Worm concluded.
"How long before the others get here? We've only been able to get a head start, but they will close the gap eventually," Jaehaegon mentioned.
"Two days. That's the best our forces can muster. The Oathkeeper's armies will have an even longer time getting here."
The Dragon Queen took notice. "You've heard my child being abducted."
He nodded.
"My own Hand has betrayed me. Yara is not with us, and the Golden Company has broken its contract – which is uncommon among other sellsword companies. A blatant disregard and clear violation of their agreement signed in Meereen."
"Your Grace, I can't speak for mercenaries nor can I comprehend what exactly goes through their minds – it's theoretically possible that whatever is left of the Golden Company's contract lies to whoever pays them to get the job done."
"And yet Connington was one of them."
"Connington was one of them," he confirmed. "I think that when Captain Harry Strickland eliminated at Storm's End, Connington seized control of the Golden Company for his own use under the pretense of restoring House Targaryen to the Iron Throne."
Damn you, Connington. First you lie to me, then you grossly underestimate my enemies... now you betray me. "Do you believe we're here for a reason, Lord Jaehaegon?"
He looked puzzled. "Your Grace?"
"I'm here to free the world from tyrants. It's what I've done since my time in exile across the Narrow Sea. That is my destiny and I will serve it, no matter the cost."
Missandei, who remains standing near Daenerys and Grey Worm, remained silent.
Jaehaegon sighed. "If that's your wish... then we'll do our best to see it through." His eyes glanced down at the war table. "To the best of our knowledge with what little we have, it could be a fortnight before the rest of the Oathkeeper's armies make it down here. In the meantime, we could use this to send a small scouting team to assess how many he has as of right now while at the same time doing the same with this... Euron Greyjoy's fleet along with King's Landing's defenses. I heard it's been drastically modified over the last few years, heavily defended along the ramparts; meaning if we do decide to launch an invasion now it'll be a bloodbath."
"How many do we have left?" Daenerys asks.
"2,000 Unsullied infantry; 20,000 Dothraki cavalry," Grey Worm informed her. "Combined with the total losses we endured north and at the hands of this Oathkeeper himself, more than half our forces are gone."
"We're outnumbered," Jaehaegon observed the map. "How do we proceed?"
Daenerys observed each piece closely. "Victory in battle is not always won through superior numbers," she recalls Daveth telling her at Winterfell. "Victory in battle is not always won through superior numbers..." she repeats almost silently.
Her advisors looked at her surprisingly.
"You remember Daveth Baratheon and Euron Greyjoy at the Dragonpit Summit? Those two appear to have a history with one another. They may have the larger army, but we have something better: Drogon. My ancestor had fewer armies, but he still managed to unify six of the seven kingdoms with his dragons."
"But what about...?"
"Remember the Field of Fire? The King Loren I Lannister of the Rock and King Mern IX Gardener of the Reach combined their armies to form the 'Iron Fist' – 60,000 men to Aegon the Conqueror's 10,000. My ancestor was heavily outnumbered, but he still won the pivotal battle. While both sides wear each other down, the rest of us can move in. We'll hit them hard and fast." The balance will hopefully grow increasingly even by then. Daenerys raised her head up. "But first... I need answers from Connington."
"Hopefully our objective of taking King's Landing without destroying it remains the same."
Missandei tried to chime in. "When the people find out what we have done for them, that we helped save them—"
"They'll only flock to Daveth's banner instead of ours. As long as he sits on the Iron Throne, he can call himself King of the Seven Kingdoms." She turned to an Unsullied guard. "Jiōragon iā lōgor syt ñuha amīsagon. Nyke'll sagon jāre lēda Drōgon. (Get a boat for my guards. I'll be going with Drogon.)"
"Kessa, ñuha Dāria. (Yes, my Queen.)"
"Umbagon va urnēbagon syt se Āegenka Mentyr. (Keep a close eye out for the Iron Fleet.)" Jaehaegon warned in High Valyrian. "Lo pōnta ūndegon ao, konīr kessa sagon daor jiōragon qrīdrughagon. Pōnta urnēptre daor tepilla. (If they catch you, there will be no escape. They'll show no mercy.)"
As the Unsullied guards, Grey Worm and Daenerys left the room, only Jaehaegon and Missandei remained.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," the Velaryon youth contemplated.
"You worry for our Queen," Missandei observed.
"Of course I do. Not just for safety out there, but... I fear for her mental state as well. After losing Viserion, Ser Jorah and the recent stings of betrayal..."
"Grey Worm will protect her, Lord Jaehaegon. She's overcome much more in Essos and came out unscathed."
"I hope you're right, Missandei. Oh wait, you never told me how you did it across the Narrow Sea."
"If you're curious, she bought me from my master at Astapor and set me free."
"You were a slave?"
She nodded. "I was stolen away from Naath by slavers."
"That's terrible."
"It's different here?"
"What? No! No, there is no slavery in Westeros. It's been illegal for thousands of years. Always has been even long before there were 'Seven Kingdoms'. Anyone caught selling people—even outlaws—into slavery or takes part in strictly forbidden, abhorrent practices in secret are a crime punishable by death."
"And some people live impoverished lives?"
"No one's perfect. That, and there are events that we don't see coming. So, we seek something—or someone—to believe in. I believe Dany can deliver on her promises."
"I believe that too," Missandei said approvingly. "We serve our Queen because we want to. Because I believe in her."
"As do I because I love her," Jaehaegon said. "But what happens afterward? If you wanted to sail home to Naath tomorrow—"
"Then she would give me a ship and wish me good fortune," she finished.
"Just like that?"
"I know it. All of us who came with her from Essos, we believe in her. She's not just our Queen because she's the daughter of some King we never knew; she's the Queen we chose."
My father and cousin would've said something differently. Think of the past 20 years. The rebellion, the misery... All of it because Robert Baratheon loved someone who didn't love him back. But choosing to serve someone because they believe in them, I wonder if that's how everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms sees Daveth... "Then we should at least get some things ready for her when the moment of truth comes."
With that, Jaehaegon and Missandei left the war room—passing by a young servant who eyed them passing by. Once they were out of sight, the little girl brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes before placing a hand down on her face. Pulling back, the face was peeled off from chin to forehead and her face changed when she shook her head; long, loose dark brown curls in her hair, perfectly groomed and shaped eyebrows with greyish-brown eyes staring coldly at them. Utilizing her techniques as a Faceless Man, Arya Stark had not only managed to infiltrate Dragonstone undetected—but had eavesdropped on their entire conversation.
"Tempting as it is to want to slit your throats and be done with it, I already have what I came here for," Arya said with her voice as silent as a crypt. "My brother-in-law will no doubt decide your fate..." But if my sister or my niece or nephews get hurt, then I'll slit your throats myself from ear to ear.
—At King's Landing—
Red Keep — Daveth's solar...
A fortnight had passed since the occupation begun.
Jon Connington looked out the window from the Red Keep; behind him, he heard the distinctive screams and cries of a dozen handmaidens being forced on their hands and knees, sometimes their tear-stained faces pressed hard against the ground as Golden Company mercenaries and ironborn raiders roughly tear off portions of their gowns. Euron Greyjoy, still holding the royal family and Small Council advisors hostage, grinned wickedly as his men proceeded to 'have their ways' with the captive women.
"Please! Stop! It hurts!" a handmaiden screamed in agony.
"Take it out! Please, take it out! Please!" another whimpered.
"You're hurting me! You're hurting me!"
Euron laughed. "Go on, boys! Claim these wenches as your salt wives. We'll be taking 'em home with us when we're done with 'em!"
Sansa, with her hands still bound and tied behind her back, stared up at the King of the Iron Islands with such venom. You vile, despicable fiend... You won't get away with this. Many had expressed their interest in 'wanting to taste the forbidden fruit of the North' but were under strict orders to leave her unharmed by Connington himself. No doubt he had something in store. Myrcella and Margaery watched on in horror, as did Varys, Pycelle, Tyrion, Trystane and Tommen—who repeatedly been beaten regularly when the Martell and younger Baratheon defended their loved ones even despite being tied up. Their faces bore deep cuts, swollen eyes and bloody bruises.
Having assumed full command of the remaining Golden Company, Connington had placed King's Landing under the grip of his iron fist. Observing the small skirmish in the streets, Connington raised his hand and gave the signal—on que, several ironborn archers and Golden Company sellswords rained down a barrage of arrows and hijacked scorpions down onto the Street of Sisters, Street of Silk and Street of Steel. Any citizens who bore witness to the carnage quickly hid in their homes, peering fearfully through their boarded-up windows.
"Leave them be for now. Once the Usurper's spawn has been dealt with, you can do with her as you please," he sipped his wine. "A shame it's come down to this, 'Your Grace.' The fault lies with your father, the Usurper... and your husband too. Had Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon simply obeyed, none of this would even be happening. Now look at this: the people you seek to serve and protect are the ones paying the price."
"Let them go," Sansa demanded. "Those people are innocent. They had nothing to do with what happened in the past."
Connington sighed. "Ah, of course. Bound by honor, dutiful compassion, loyal to your friends, tending to the needs of the people as if they were your own flesh and blood... the combined traits of Stark and Tully. How quaint." He sighed. "This place still reeks with your husband's stench. Polluting the Iron Throne. The Iron Throne, it is a marvel even after 300 years, isn't it? Forged from the fires of Balerion the Black Dread, it serves as a symbol of House Targaryen's power, and yet, only I see its full potential—and now I have to means to achieve it. If not with the Dragon Queen, then from someone better." He still held the parchment with the crucial information in his hand, unwilling to let it go.
Snapping his fingers, Connington shifted his gaze to the left of the room. Sansa turned to see several pyromancers carrying large crates of unknown substances; the Queen's nose turned at the smell. It was powerful, yet strangely familiar. Only did a drop plop onto the ground did she managed to see the color.
"Wildfire..." she recognized.
"So you are familiar with this. You know... I've had more than twenty years to learn from my mistakes," he begun. "I was young once, like you. Back then, when I was Hand of the King, Aerys tasked me with ending Robert Baratheon's rebellion once we learned of his defeat at the Battle of Ashford. We soon discovered he was hiding at the Stoney Sept, and I was given leave to end it all. Want to know what I've come to realize after my failure at the Battle of the Bells? I could have indeed ended the rebellion in a single stroke by burning down entire town before Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully or Ned Stark could reach him. That's what Tywin Lannister himself would have done as he wouldn't have bothered with a search as I did. Of course, back then I had two selfish reasons for not doing what I should have done: I wanted the glory of slaying the Usurper in single combat and didn't want the reputation of a butcher. I still hear those bells ringing loudly in my sleep. But now?" Connington bent to one knee and cupped Sansa's cheeks in his hand. "I've learned from my mistakes. Your husband and brother will indeed come, but they'll have a nasty surprise in store waiting for them."
You're a madman. "If you think you can do as you please and not expect any repercussions for what you've just done, then you're dangerously deluded. Robb and Daveth will come, but it will not go the way you think, my lord. You clearly don't know them well enough."
"Hmph. Even as a hostage, you display no signs of fear. But you will. I need only to know little to know my enemies' strengths and weaknesses. And for years I found a weakness in your husband. A chink in his armor. You." He grabs a handful of Sansa's hair and roughly yanks her to her feet.
"Ngah!" she winced.
"I saw the way he looked at you at the Dragonpit Summit, how he responds to your words... From then on, I knew the truth. Love. A dreadful bond, and yet it's so easily severed. His feelings for you will no doubt be his undoing. His hubris." Connington looked at Euron. "Your men are already in position?"
Euron waved him off. "Ah, no need to worry about them, eh? It's going to be glorious. I know it."
"You'll get your chance. Just be ready for when they do come."
Just then, the Golden Company spymaster Lysono Maar appeared. "My lord Hand, our message was well-received. My spies report that the Oathkeeper—Daveth Baratheon—has been spotted near Duskendale and has already amassed a small force of 1,000 troops raised from the nearby Crownlands, Stormlands and Riverlands. He's on his way here."
"Predictable. Baratheons are always known for their impulsive and emotional tempers."
"Our men have also reported that Daenerys Targaryen is well on her way here with Grey Worm, a few Unsullied guards... and her other dragon."
Connington paused for a moment. He had expected Daveth to show up at his doorstep, but to hear Daenerys also making her appearance known as well? Well, he'll have to speed things up sooner than anticipated. "And the rest of the Young Stag's armies? How long before they arrive?" he asked.
Lysono sighed. "Within the day, my lord Hand. Perhaps by nightfall." He looked out the Red Keep. "He'll be coming for you two."
Euron pulled out his two-handed battleaxe, smiling as the cold, steel made a sound. "Oh yes, we're counting on that. Especially Yara. But if he wants to come to us, he'll have to make a difficult choice: the people, or his family? And he won't be able to pick both this time."
"Take the others with us. I think it's time we properly greet them," Connington ordered and roughly pulled Sansa behind him, still having a handful of her hair in his grip.
Sansa winced and squirmed as she was dragged off; as for the others, Euron and dozens of his men roughly grabbed a crying Lyonel, Cassana and Torrhen, plus the defiance of Pycelle, Tyrion, Trystane, Margaery, Varys and a few other household attendants with them. It was bound to be quite the reunion indeed. Euron, in his psychopathic and sadistic fashion, leaned in close to Sansa's ear.
"Don't worry, 'little dove'. Once it's all over, I'll be tasting you reeaal good," he whispers. Taking the royal twins, this caught the Queen's immediate attention. "Try anything, and your runts' get smeared all over the wall."
"Keep your filthy hands off my children! LET THEM GO RIGHT NOW!" she screamed.
"My, my, the rumors were right about you. Your beauty and wits are matched only by your maternal instinct. Well, do as I say and I may or may not put a hand on their tiny little heads, eh? Hehehehe!"
King's Landing — Gate of the Gods...
Daveth had already gathered a small token force from Duskendale and the neighboring areas standing with him outside the city gates. The Young Stag was born here in King's Landing; he grew up here, he knows the people—highborn and low alike. He ruled the Seven Kingdoms from here in the Red Keep. Looking up, he could see the Golden Company and ironborn high atop the gate had their bows and the city's scorpions trained on him. A long line of King's Landing's own anti-personnel and anti-dragon artillery were loaded, manned and ready. His small company was vastly outnumbered. Already his anger was rising, and his restraint was already faltering when he turned to see Daenerys, Grey Worm and a phalanx of Unsullied approaching.
"You!" he pointed at the Dragon Queen. "You've got a lot of nerve showing your face here, after what you and your Hand have done!"
Daenerys stood her ground. "I have done nothing but contribute to the Seven Kingdoms' survival by diverting my armies north to fight the undead."
"Your Hand has my home—my family—hostage! If they lay so much as a finger on—"
The argument ended abruptly when a small contingent of royal scouts led by Jon Snow arrived at the city gates. They were still roughly smaller than Daveth's and Daenerys's forces; but judging by their timely arrival, the Young Stag was speculating that the rest of the royal army was set to arrive soon. It all came down to a matter of timing. Somehow, Daenerys knew this too and had to plan carefully to hold her own armies back long enough for her plan to pull off.
The gates rattle and Lysono walks out. Daenerys steps forward to meet him halfway between the gate and Unsullied. "Your Grace," the Golden Company spymaster greets.
"What is the meaning of this?" Daenerys demands. "Going behind my back to violate the ceasefire in such a manner?"
"We only did what we were paid to do: restore House Targaryen to the Iron Throne."
Daveth immediately stormed over towards them. "Where is my family?! What have you done to them?!" he raised his voice.
Lysono looked at him. "Jon Connington demands your unconditional surrender. If you refuse, your family dies here and now."
"Try it, and all of you will die... very painfully."
"I'm told you're a rational man when calm and composed. But I'm more than only a mouthpiece for the Golden Company, I have eyes and ears everywhere. All in the service of our Queen."
"Your Queen, not mine!"
Jon approached to intervene. "Neither of us want this to see this city burn. Neither of us want to hear the screams of children—little children—burning alive," he tried to negotiate.
"Then bend the knee and swear fealty to Daenerys of House Targaryen, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You are her subjects," Lysono repeated. "Your armies are battle-weary and much of your siege weapons are gone while we have King's Landing's impressive arsenal."
"I think that's enough for now," Connington called out from above.
Nodding obediently, Lysono stood aside. Having heard enough, Daveth pushed past Jon and moved closer. As he approaches the wall, he locks eyes with Connington and Euron.
"Ready! Nock! Draw!" the archers shouted.
Connington raised his hand up. "Hold," he ordered. Once the archers stayed their hands, he looked down at the Young Stag. "I see your stubbornness and determination continue to defy all sorts of logic as are your limitations. Your father had the same thing too. Even though you are my enemy, I must admit I am surprisingly impressed."
Daveth ignored him. "You people are despicable cowards for attacking when our backs are turned, Connington! You as well, Euron!" he hissed. "Taking an entire city hostage, threatening them with death... You two are nothing but rabid dogs needing to be put down, a blight among humanity that need to be purged from this world and the next!"
Euron laughed. "My, how delightful to hear such words coming out of your mouth. Oh Daveth, what would your mother say?" he taunted.
"Charming choice of words," Connington remarked. "And yet you waste your time yelling."
Tommen, despite his hands still tied behind his back, lurched forward. "Brother!" he shouted. This got Daveth's attention. "He plans to gather everyone set in one spot and blow them all up with wildfire! They've got dozens of barrels of them set up in—!"
Euron drove the pommel of his axe into Tommen's gut, knocking the wind out of him. As Tommen fell to his knees gasping for air, this act further enraged Daveth.
"EUROOOOOOOOOON!!" he roared with fury. Memories of his childhood trauma had rushed to the surface every time he looked at Euron's face and witnessed the strike against his brother.
Jon stepped forward. "Please, no one else has to die! Just let them go, and we'll let you live."
Connington notices him. "I see Ned Stark's influence has corrupted you too."
Daveth stared up at both of them, clenching his fists tighter and tighter until his knuckles popped and his teeth ached. Yet at the same time, what were they talking about?
"Connington, don't!" Daenerys shouted.
"I pledged to restore House Targaryen as the rightful rulers of the Seven Kingdoms, but since you chose to fight alongside the Usurper's spawn, you strayed too far from the true path. And as it turns out... you aren't the only one left in the world," Connington said to her before returning his gaze to Jon. "Tell me, Jon Snow... who do you think has the better claim? Or should I say... AEGON TARGARYEN, the Sixth of His Name, last trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his Northern wench Lyanna Stark?!"
Daveth's eyes widened with disbelief as Daenerys and Jon continued their protests and demands. Their voices slowly faded and grew fainter. When Connington's words reached the Young Stag's ears, it felt like reality itself was falling apart; as much as he wanted to believe it was all a lie, a slander to discredit and weaken his claim to the Iron Throne... Daveth had been playing the game of thrones for a long time. But then again, so had Connington – however brief his stint as Hand to Aerys II was. Does this mean that Robert's Rebellion—the war his father was hailed as a hero—was nothing but a lie? There was another Targaryen he'd have to contend with? If so, then how long was this important truth kept hidden from him and all the realm? The amount of stress and wave of emotions was rapidly becoming too much for him to bear.
Sansa listened and was just as surprised as everyone else; Tyrion, Pycelle and Varys were taken aback by this startling discovery too. Growing up, the Wolf Queen had always believed that Jon Snow was her bastard half-brother her father must've sired during the rebellion. But having grown to become an adept player of the game of thrones herself, she sensed no ounce of deceit in Connington's words. She has a Targaryen cousin.
"I don't want it! I've never wanted it as soon I was told the truth! Hang dynasties, this is about doing what's best for the realm!" Jon shook his head and shouted. He looks around, then speaks out in a voice of power and formality. "Which is why I cannot and will not do as you ask. I cannot serve two monarchs. Like it or not, my lord, we've had a new King these past few years. So let it be known in the sight of Gods and men that, I... Aegon of House Targaryen, born as Jon Snow, do hereby renounce any and all claim to the Iron Throne forged my ancestor in perpetuity. From this day until my last day, I declare my support for Daveth of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name as King of the Seven Kingdoms."
Connington frowned deeply with disappointment. If he couldn't succeed with Daenerys, then he hopefully tried recruit Jon to his cause as well – but to no avail. Daenerys angrily glared at this sudden announcement; Jon—no, Aegon—her own nephew, had now just declared his allegiance to her enemy? The son of the man who murdered Jon's father and Daenerys's eldest brother? But that mattered little as Daveth soon snapped back into reality.
"Release my family and my advisors! NOW!" he shouts again.
Connington forced Sansa to her feet, still grabbing her hair as Euron and his men roughly brought the others to their feet as well. Immediately, Euron yanked at one of the twins and pulled up him by his collar – the twin's feet dangling off the ground.
"LYONEL!" Sansa screamed with fright and tried to pry herself free to get to her son but was forcibly held back down by Connington's guards. "GIVE HIM BACK! GIVE ME BACK MY SON!"
"Lyonel!" shouted Myrcella and Tyrion.
"Prince Lyonel!" shouted Pycelle.
"MAMA! PAPA!" Lyonel wailed in terror—tears and snot dripping down as he was held in the air; his feet were dangling off the edge flailing. If released, the boy would not survive the long fall.
"'Lyonel', huh. So that's your name?" Euron whispered into the child's ear.
My son! Daveth instinctively moved closer, his face full of anxiety and rage boiling over. "LET HIM GO, EURON!!" he shouted again.
The King of the Iron Islands pointed down. "See your old man there? If you want to live, be a good boy and tell him what you want him to do. Tell him to come save you."
"PAPA! PAPA!" the boy continued wailing, extended his arms out desperately to his father.
Euron laughed wickedly in a sadistic manner as he threw the boy back behind him; Sansa broke free and rushed to hold her son, who was crying with fear and terror. The Queen angrily looked up at her captors. She was surrounded and cornered, unable to do anything but instinctively put herself between her aggressors and her offspring. It was the only thing she could do for her children for now... at least for the time being. Before anyone could further respond, one of the guards roughly picked up Varys and shoved him towards the ledge.
Varys...? No!
"If you have any last words, eunuch, now is the time," Connington said.
Varys folded his shackled arms. He faces Connington and Euron, having accepted his fate and fights to maintain his composure before exchanging a knowing look with the helpless Daveth. "I know what you're thinking, Your Grace, and what you're feeling. I've watched you grow from a small child into a young man," he spoke up calmly – a small hint of fear in his voice, but calm nonetheless, "but I'm telling you now that what Euron did to you doesn't have to define who you really are. No matter what decisions are made today, tens of thousands of innocents will die unless you stop them. These are the people you swore to protect. But I beg you, Your Grace... do not destroy the city you came to save. Most importantly, do not lose yourself because if you do that, if you go down that path... there will be no coming back. Do not allow vengeance to swallow you whole. Do not become what you have always struggled to defeat."
Euron scoffed. "Aw, look at that. The foreign eunuch does care. But still you don't get that I've already marked him that day at Lannisport. Guess what? I'm going to enjoy breaking him... permanently."
"Is that all you have to say?" Connington huffed.
Varys didn't look at them. "I've served tyrants most of my life. They all talk about destiny. This one is tried and tested. We've experienced cruelty and evil firsthand for most of our lives. You know where my loyalties stand, Lord Connington. You know I will never betray the realm. You know I will never betray millions of people, many of whom will die if the wrong person sits on that throne. We don't know their names, but they're just as real as you and I. They deserve to live. They deserve food for their children. I have always acted in their interest, no matter the personal cost." He glances at Tyrion. "Goodbye, my friend."
Daveth continued watching as his heart rate and breathing increased at a very fast pace; behind him, Jon mouthed 'no.' Having nothing left to say, Connington nods to Euron – who then proceeds behind Varys with his two-handed battle-axe at the ready. Rearing back, the King of the Iron Islands swings his weapon through Varys's neck in one sweeping cut. The Master of Whisperers' head and body fall from the top of the city gate to the ground below and lands with an audible thud. Lyonel, Cassana and Torrhen cried at experiencing such cruelty firsthand no matter how hard Sansa tried shielding them. Atop the wall, Euron looks down satisfied and pleased.
"See that? That's on you, Oathkeeper! The longer you intend on delaying, more executions will be carried out," Connington said. "Now if you want to beg for mercy—"
Below, Daveth's face twitches more and stared in disbelief at the corpse of Varys... sound had grown faint again; something deep in the Young Stag's psyche... just snapped. He was unarmed. He was defenseless... He... he wasn't a threat to you... And you killed him anyway. You... you monsters! You ANIMALS! "Mercy...? You... you spit on mercy?! Then YOU WILL HAVE NONE!" Daveth glared, his voice roaring unable to contain his unbridled fury. "You want carnage?! YOU'LL GET MORE BLOOD THAN YOU EVER BARGAINED FOR!!" I'm going to get you, Euron. I'm going to get you, Connington. And I'm going to kill you both. You will die for this.
As Euron and Connington dragged their hostages back to the Red Keep, Daveth fumes and boils and turns on his heels—roughly bumping Daenerys' shoulder along the way. The Dragon Queen and Unsullied watched him leave with Jon Snow rushing to catch up.
"Your Grace! Don't worry, we'll get them back. Arya's got to be back at Duskendale by now. Don't worry, Euron and Connington won't get away with—" he tried to speak.
"Get away from me!" he snapped. "As soon as Robb and the others arrive come nightfall, I'm going to kill them. Euron, Connington... I'm going to kill them all. Every single one of them." And I will save my family, no matter the cost.