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Chapter 611
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 18:00:09 +0000 UTCAll the Ironborn ships Euron had sent to Meereen were locked in a desperate struggle with the royal fleet on the western front—except for one. Among the captured warships from Volantis, a single longship, the Invincible Ironborn, sailed alone toward the Iron Fleet.
If Crow’s Eye had been more cautious, this lone vessel would have raised his suspicions.
But the word caution had no place in Euron’s lexicon—everything he had gained, he had taken by trusting his instincts, smashing through obstacles with reckless abandon.
He was about to order the Silence to move in on the out-of-place longship when he realized the ship wasn’t drifting aimlessly—it was heading directly for him. With its sails full and speed unrelenting, it had already outpaced the other captured vessels, cutting a path straight toward the heart of his fleet’s first formation.
The Kraken’s Roar and the Nightwalker spotted the intruder as well, unleashing ranged attacks while maneuvering closer to Silence to protect their flagship. Both sides were moving at full speed, their approach so rapid that the moment of impact arrived in a flash.
With a deafening crack that seemed to tear the sky itself, Silence and Invincible Ironborn collided head-on. The reinforced rams of both warships buried themselves into each other’s hulls, sending sailors sprawling across the decks.
Despite the violent crash, both were heavily fortified vessels, built for war. The damage was severe but not immediately fatal. Euron barely waited for the ship to settle before leaping onto the enemy’s deck.
He craved blood. His battle-axe and armor thirsted for it.
The previous master of Invincible Ironborn had been more than just his younger brother—he had been the Fleet Commander, beloved among the Ironborn. Euron had found him inconvenient but had not dared to openly dispose of him after seizing the Seastone Chair. Instead, he had sent Victarion far away, using schemes to ensure he would never return.
Yet his brother’s ship had come back to Westeros.
Whoever its new master was, wherever they had come from—Euron would sever their head with his own hands. He would offer their blood and tongue as sacrifice to the great power that had, inexplicably, fallen silent.
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The captain-king vaulted onto the enemy deck with impatient fervor. His crew followed hastily, shields reinforced with iron, soaked cloths at the ready—Euron might have been unstoppable in his Valyrian steel armor, but he was not immune to wildfire. If the enemy used flames to defend their ship, his men would have to act swiftly to put them out.
Yet when his boots hit the deck of Invincible Ironborn, he found no warriors standing in defense.
No battle line. No shield wall.
Only a handful of sailors darting about in a panic. The instant Euron landed, they abandoned their tools, clambering over one another to flee below deck.
Euron, filled with bloodlust, could find no enemy to fight.
“Cowards!” he roared. “Where is your captain? Let them come and die!”
“You need not look far, uncle. I’m right here.”
The voice—crisp, clear, and unmistakably female—echoed across the deck.
Euron turned, eyes narrowing.
Asha Greyjoy stood before the entrance to the captain’s quarters.
The last time he had seen his niece, she had been a tattered wreck, a survivor of the Night’s Watch’s clutches. Now, she looked revitalized, her combat leathers hugging her form, her battle-axe and shield held firm in open defiance.
And then there was the black dye staining her armor—the black of the Night’s Watch, as if she were shouting to the world: Yes, it’s true. I serve the enemy.
Euron laughed, though his grin was more teeth than mirth.
“Sweet Asha,” he drawled, stalking toward her. “That little wretch Aegor sent you to kill me. You failed. I sent you back to him, and you failed again. Tell me, niece, is there anything you’re actually good at?”
“I might be useless, uncle,” Asha answered, tapping her axe against her shield, “but I know this—when the Queen and her dragons arrive, your mighty Iron Fleet will shatter like glass. Today, here, this is where you die.”
Euron snorted.
“Bold words. But your crew seems less convinced.”
He wasn’t wrong.
As they had spoken, the last of Asha’s men had slipped away below deck, leaving her alone. The deck was now empty save for her, Euron, and his warriors from Silence, who still stood ready with shields raised, expecting a trap of wildfire that had yet to come.
Euron smiled.
No matter how mad he was, he had to consider the thoughts of his subjects. He had killed kin before, more than once—but never in the open, before so many eyes.
But Asha had given him the perfect excuse.
She had boarded Invincible Ironborn dressed in black, wielding weapons, shouting of his death. No one could call this a murder—it was a duel. If he slew her here, it would not be kinslaying.
It was a gift. A chance to claim a fresh offering for his god.
Grinning, he hefted his axe.
“Come, girl. Let’s see what your precious ‘White Walker Killer’ has taught you.”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond.
Euron charged.
He knew Asha could fight—he had watched her grow up, after all—but he was faster, stronger. His body, honed by foul magics, was a machine of death, clad in armor no blade could pierce.
She could not win.
And yet—
Instead of meeting him head-on, Asha suddenly bit down, her silver teeth flashing as she hurled her axe at him.
Euron tilted his head, dodging the projectile with ease.
That was it?
He smirked, ready to mock her—until she crouched low, coiling her muscles, and flung her shield at him as well.
Euron swatted it aside with his axe, but the rapid exchange had broken his momentum. He snarled, ready to cut her down—but then Asha did something entirely unexpected.
She turned and ran.
“Running?!” he roared, furious. Without hesitation, he sprinted after her.
He knew it was a trap.
But she was only steps ahead—no matter what she had planned, he would cut her down before she could spring it.
The ship’s interior was dark, but Euron knew its layout well—Invincible Ironborn was a sister to his own flagship. He charged through narrow halls, dodging past bulkheads, barreling down stairs, his men trailing behind him.
Asha led him deeper, until at last she rounded a corner into a storage chamber.
He followed.
And stopped.
The air smelled... wrong.
Euron’s eyes swept the room.
Wooden shelves, crates stacked high. Tightly bound barrels, secured with thick rope.
He saw Asha by the window, tossing something out into the sea.
He saw the flickering spark on a fuse.
Wildfire.
The realization slammed into him.
The barrels—every last one—were full of wildfire.
Asha wasn’t trying to kill him in combat.
She was trying to sink the ship.
Snarling, Euron swung his axe, cleaving through the fuse, severing it before the flame could reach its goal. The ember sputtered, dying.
He grinned.
“You little fool,” he sneered, turning to gloat—
But Asha only smirked.
She leapt.
Before he could react, she had thrown herself through the window, diving into the frigid sea.
Euron surged forward, gripping the frame, watching as she surfaced and swam away.
For a moment, he nearly followed her. Nearly leapt after her into the waves, his fury demanding he tear her apart with his own hands.
But reason caught him.
He was the King of the Iron Islands. He could not waste time on a single, fleeing woman—not when the battle was still raging.
Grinding his teeth, he slammed his axe into the wall.
“Kill everyone aboard,” he growled to his men. “Take a dozen prisoners to sail the ship. If it sinks—”
He stopped.
Another spark.
Another fuse.
His stomach dropped.
Every single barrel in this room has already been lit.
Cursing, Euron wrenched himself through the window and plunged into the sea.
