By the time Euron Greyjoy met his mate, his body was a smoking ruin.
His empty eye wept profusely through its patch. At times the blood was black. His left hand was unaffected, but the scale had spread from his right fingers to his arm. On his face, scars were lesser visible than the dark blue veins, climbing from neck to cheek. Shade of the evening held permanent lust over his senses, and he saw three Daario’s than one. The last the Crow’s Eye remembered sensing were the pangs of hunger, when their supplies were over but Meereen no closer. The taste of Cragorn was still on his lips.
Euron knew that for Naharis to recognize the thin, gaunt man in front of him, all he had to do was speak. “Friend,” he said, grinning through blue teeth, before he saw Daario’s smile of recognition. “Euron,” he replied. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”
“Aye,” Euron chuckled. “The less said about the past, the better. I don’t believe I need to tell you why I come here. You know why. The real question is: what kept you?”
Daario’s smile never left his lips, but Euron had a sense that he was deeply uncomfortable with confiding. “A moment of weakness, you may call it,” he said. “I was reminded of what would happen to the people of Meereen should I abandon it. A reckless ruin, perhaps,” Daario said. For a second, it seemed like the wistful sense of rue and regret would wrap him, but then the casual shrug came. “Not that I care.”
“If you don’t,” Euron said, sneering, “why did you not come sooner?”
Daario’s smile vanished. He suddenly looked grimmer. “Maybe I was waiting for the right chance. I do not fight a war I cannot win. I have received opportunities, but conscience held me back. But I believe the gods have sent me a good omen,” he said, smile returning. “Is that what I believe it is?” He pointed at the horn.
“You would be right,” Euron said. “That is payment for your services.” He licked his lips hungrily. “Do you consent?” he said, knowing the answer.
But Daario surprised him. “Ah, Euron,” he said. “Once, maybe. You were a great warrior and a good friend, but look at yourself. You have nothing to offer me but empty promises.” His eyes caught the dragonbinder. “I will not forget your gift,” he said, “but alas, my friend, there will be no trouble forgetting you.”
When his fingers snapped, the Second Sons crept behind him like Faceless Men. Euron’s senses had dulled beyond hope, which meant the swords felt like needles. It was only when he fell did he realized how badly his body craved the rest.
*
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