The scorching sun forced his eye open. He sat up wearily, dazed and confused, not knowing where he was. He drew in a rattling breath, vision still foggy, and caught summer and salt water. “Dorne,” he whispered.
“Close,” came a familiar voice behind him.
Euron Greyjoy turned around to see a shirtless Cragorn rowing their boat. The journey had thinned his otherwise broad chest, although his heavily tattooed arms were still muscular. The rays of the sun reflected from his shining bald head, yet nothing deterred him from rowing on. “You finally wake,” he told him.
“I do.” It had not taken long for Euron to remember where he was. His hand reached to his wounded eye, and only felt a tightly tied cloth. Blood was still spilling from it. “Did we lose the battle?” he asked.
“Do not know,” Cragorn said, eyes still on his oars. “Fled with you when I found you in the sea. Stopped at Dragonstone on the way for supplies. Rowed away from enemies and smugglers till you woke. Time to row back up the Narrow Sea and see what awaits us.”
As Euron’s headache subsided, he began to think clearer. “No,” he told Cragorn. “Victory or not, fleeing from the Twins will have lost me Cersei’s grace. I have no lands, no men to return to. Gaining them back would be difficult, but I have a plan. Head east.”
*
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