The Iron Fleet was of forty, of which Iron Wind, Grey Ghost and Euron’s Silence formed the tip, packed with eight-hundred men each. It was these ships that, as opposing fleets were about to kiss, slammed their boarding planks on Tully decks.
Even though the fog prevented clear sight, it was apparent that the three central ships of Tully were packed with people as well, ripe for combat. Euron could have rammed them until they sunk, for his fleet was stronger, but the chance to fight the Blackfish in single combat was too tempting to spurn. “Charge!” he yelled at his men, as he sprinted across the boarding plank into white vapor.
Before Euron had stepped on the enemy’s deck, he knew something was wrong. Leaving aside that the ship was weak, creaking noisily with every step he took, the quiet was absolute, and although he could see many silhouettes against the rim, none of them prepared in any way to defend themselves. As other men of Silence boarded the ship, Euron charged at Tully men, sword in hand. But when he was near enough and saw rows of empty suits of armor instead, while at the same time hearing cries of confusion from crewmen of Iron Wind and Grey Ghost, he realized the blunder he had made.
Three Tully ships, full with dummies.
The center was weak.
In horror, Euron saw the remaining twelve Tully ships swarm into gaps, ramming against the vessels he left behind. In his haste to meet what he thought were three ships laden with Tully men, Euron realized he had wrecked the tightness of his formation, and fallen into the trap he foreseen.
Arrows of fire whistled from the twin towers and the bridge up north. A rock rained from above, crashing dead-center of the ship Euron and his men were on. The Tullys were intentionally sinking the weak ships he had just seized. The cunt had planned this all along.
As the ship began its rapid descent into the ice-cold river, panic reigned among the crewmen. With hundreds of unbudgeable armors and stranded ironborn, space was hard to find. Men began killing their own. Euron, having been in chillier waters than the ones below him, dived from the ship into the blackness.
He swam past floating corpses, screaming drowning men and through thick, crimson liquid. Chants of victory, yells of agony and the tearing of flesh mingled with heavy mist. Fiery arrows rained from above, dousing themselves as they hit the river. A rock fell from the sky once every minute, sometimes hitting a ship, sometimes plummeting to the depths of the Green Fork. They have a trebuchet, he thought, initial rage now turning into lust. The Tullys were not giving him a battle to forget, that was for certain.
Euron caught rope dangling alongside one of few ships still floating. The waters were warmer than he thought, but they were cold enough to impair his mobility, and he was desperate to escape them. As he hurriedly hoisted himself up the hull, realizing by touch that this was not of his fleet, he caught glimpses of the battle on the starboard. Blood spurted down on him.
When Euron finally made it to the top, he knew he was on the right one.
The ship was of Tully, but plenty of ironborn had boarded it. They were now laying steel against steel with the enemy, who were lesser in number but putting a brave fight. “For Edmure!” they yelled, as with vicious swiftness they tore through the Greyjoys. “You cunts looking to flee?” Euron yelled at his men. They turned, saw their lord alive, and rallied with equal fury.
Eventually, they burned a hole through the Tully resistance, and at the center of it, Euron finally saw him. He charged toward the man, shoving others by the wayside, but when the sword flashed in his direction, the parry was so swift he hardly saw it. Arms stinging, yet with eyes alive, Euron made with him visual contact. “Dance with me,” he told the Blackfish.
Euron Greyjoy threw all his might behind every swing, parry and punch. The timber soaked red with blood. Rocks rained from the sky. Some fought with two swords, some with maces, and some flung hammers. Some jumped from ships, some were thrown. Arrows shot from nowhere, stabbing people through eye, gut and throat, but Euron’s focus never wavered from his opponent. The Crow’s Eye cackled in the smoky sky, while in the milieu, ships drowned in fire.
His sword caught the Blackfish’s leg. Blood escaped it. The Blackfish stuttered, sword tumbling from his hands. Yelling in agony, he fell on one knee on the bloody deck. “I have you!” Euron yelled, as he raised both arms in the sky, before bringing the sword straight down upon his foe.
The Blackfish rolled aside. He grabbed one of the arrows protruding from the deck, and without hesitation, flung it at his face. Euron caught it in mid-air, but not before the arrowhead pierced through his left eye.
Cackles turned to yells. The arrow’s fire had doused, but its tip was still smoking. It burns. Euron fled from his nemesis while he yanked out the arrow. Blood was screaming from his eye. He had lost control of himself – still running, albeit not sure where. Euron began to feel faint.
He toppled over.
*
Comments