"Cease your hiding," Joffrey called to the dark waters below, his voice carrying clearly across the gentle swells. "Surface now and surrender, and I shall grant you mercy."
The sea offered only the eternal whisper of waves in response.
Upon receiving the king's command, Theon hesitated for the briefest moment before beginning his attempt to reach the man lurking beneath those deceptively calm waters. "Uncle Euron, you have witnessed His Grace's power with your own eyes. Will you still refuse to yield? The will of the gods has declared itself—both the Drowned God and the Storm God have made their choice!"
All around them, warships gathered in a tightening circle, their hulls rising like wooden cliffs while cannon muzzles yawned like hungry mouths, each one trained upon the waters below.
Those iron tubes could speak their thunder beneath the waves as readily as above them.
Theon continued his desperate plea: "Submit with the loyalty shown by the Iron Islands themselves, and His Grace will yet grant forgiveness for past transgressions."
The seabed remained eerily silent, offering no sign that living ears heard his words.
The Velaryon flagship Glory of High Tide broke from the surrounding formation, her elegant hull cutting through the water as she approached the motionless Silence at the circle's heart.
"In the name of Theon Greyjoy, Governor of the Iron Islands and Lord of House Greyjoy, I guarantee you will retain a position of honor at Pyke!"
Dong~
Glory of High Tide drew alongside the Silence's starboard rail with practiced precision, her hull barely scraping against the blood-red planks of Euron's flagship.
The warlocks aboard the royal vessel activated their supernatural abilities, causing the wooden deck to sprout writhing appendages that reached across the narrow gap like grasping fingers. These unnatural limbs embraced the Silence's rail with gentle but inexorable strength, drawing the two ships together until they lay parallel as lovers in a marriage bed.
Thud!
A wide gangplank dropped from Glory of High Tide onto the Silence's deck with decisive finality.
The royal marines bearing six-pointed stars upon their surcoats began their methodical advance, moving in disciplined teams of ten as they boarded the captured vessel with calm, professional efficiency.
The crew of the Silence dared not offer even the slightest resistance to this overwhelming force.
Beyond the impossible numbers arrayed against them—dozens of enemy ships where once their own fleet had numbered in the hundreds—those terrifying cannons now aimed directly at their hearts had stolen every last shred of courage from their souls.
What they had witnessed could only be described as divine punishment made manifest.
In the brief quarter-hour just past, they had watched helplessly as hundreds of their comrades vanished beneath the waves along with their longships, their ears filled with deafening thunder and desperate cries for aid that went unanswered. Yet there had been nothing—absolutely nothing—they could do to help.
The Silence had simply dropped anchor in the middle of the strait, not daring to move so much as an oar's length for fear of drawing those surging flames and flying steel upon themselves.
No mortal force could resist such power!
Even King Euron had abandoned the Silence entirely, diving deep to commune with his sea monster rather than face the inevitable aboard his flagship.
Who among them could harbor any remaining hope for escape or victory?
The marines wearing six-pointed stars advanced step by measured step, forcing the mute crew to retreat again and again until they pressed against the ship's port rail with nowhere left to flee.
What now?
Euron's tongueless servants looked to one another with mute desperation. Finally, a Summer Islander boy whose skin gleamed black as polished jet nudged the tallest among their number—Yohn Farwynd.
Every mute eye turned toward this particular Ironborn, recognizing him as their most likely spokesman.
The mutes had grown familiar with Yohn Farwynd during their voyages, understanding that he was something of an outcast among his own people due to his color-shifting eyes and the strange rumors that followed in his wake.
Those who found themselves similarly displaced by circumstance felt natural kinship and trust toward him.
Most importantly, this Ironborn could not only comprehend the Common Tongue of Westeros but possessed the rank of captain and—unlike his companions—retained the ability to speak.
"Ah ah~" came the only sound the mutes could produce, their gestures making their meaning clear.
Yohn Farwynd studied the desperate faces surrounding him and quickly grasped what they wished of him.
They want me to lead them in surrender.
"Uncle Euron!" Theon's voice continued echoing across the water, growing more urgent with each passing moment.
"You likely know nothing of recent events—Asha has become the new Duchess of Greyjoy, while Uncle Victarion serves as Guardian of the Sunset Sea."
This news struck Yohn Farwynd like a physical blow—he had indeed known nothing of such developments.
"His Grace has forgiven our people's past sins. The Iron Islands and our house enjoy perfect stability. Abandon this futile obsession!"
The royal marines aboard the Silence had filled every available space upon her deck, surrounding the small cluster of survivors like wolves circling wounded prey. One more step would drive them completely into the sea.
A decision had to be made, and quickly.
The colors within Yohn "Skinchanger" Farwynd's pupils shifted and flashed with increasing rapidity—black, blue, green, black, blue, green, black...
When his eyes showed green for the third time, he closed them swiftly and reached out with his supernatural abilities, seeking communion with whatever sea creatures might aid their escape.
Yet the waters below stretched empty and barren, containing only a vast, terrifying consciousness that dwelt upon the seabed—something that glared and roared with such primal fury that he dared not approach its awareness.
What about further out?
He expanded his spiritual search, casting his essence wider across the waves in desperate hope of finding souls suitable for possession.
Nothing here. Nothing there either.
The sea monster's overwhelming presence had frightened away every creature that might have served his purposes. He invested more power, reaching ever further...
Suddenly, golden light blazed across his consciousness!
He could perceive no specific form, only pure radiance and boundless energy spreading holy, ardent brilliance throughout the deep waters.
Like a warm sun rising from oceanic depths.
The light filled him with awe and an overwhelming desire to simply rest, to sleep peacefully in its embrace...
No!
Not the sun! Something far more terrible than any sea monster! Too tempting by far!!
Yohn Farwynd snapped his eyes open in sudden panic, the black, blue, and green in his pupils almost entirely replaced by molten gold. Fortunately, that alien color was already beginning to fade.
After two shuddering breaths, his original appearance and demeanor returned.
In the next instant, the sounds of the world rushed back—Theon's continued shouting, the gentle lapping of waves against hulls. He had survived whatever trap had nearly claimed his soul.
The afterimage of that golden radiance made him blink repeatedly to clear his vision.
Only then did he realize that his body had turned without conscious command to face the great steel warship—King Joffrey's flagship—that dominated the surrounding fleet.
He looked down and discovered that he was already kneeling upon the deck.
Dong dong dong~
The mutes followed his example without hesitation, dropping to their knees with such force that the sound resembled urgent knocking upon a door.
And the master within that door had already chosen to answer.
A lengthening shadow approached their position. Yohn Farwynd closed his eyes once more, allowing his hands to be wrapped and bound with coarse rope...
The surviving crew members were herded toward the stern under careful guard.
A squad of marines entered the Silence's cabin, searching for sorcerous artifacts, hostages, and equipment according to detailed instructions displayed upon their light screens.
A lieutenant claimed the ship's wheel, ensuring she would sail only where the king commanded.
Two soldiers approached the bow, where they carefully untied the naked, dying figure of Mia from her place of torment. They draped a thick blue blanket bordered in red and yellow—the colors of her father's house,—around her trembling form.
A lieutenant drew his saber with ceremonial precision, wiping the blade with two fingers before calling forth blazing red flames to wreath the steel. He struck with diagonal force, severing the black iron figurehead of the Silent Maiden that had adorned the Silence's prow for so many years.
Half of that heavy, cold statue tumbled into the sea and vanished beneath the waves.
The Silence was completely captured, her bloody career finally ended.
Yet Euron "Crow's Eye" Greyjoy remained unmoved, waiting in the depths with supernatural patience.
Today's miscalculation had cost him dearly—the Ironborn fleet, the Silence herself, magical treasures accumulated over decades, and his absolute faith in prophetic visions.
But he had no intention of surrendering!
He had already perceived the weakness in Joffrey's overwhelming power. The fleet could not reach the true depths of the sea! Those iron balls could not strike what lay far beneath the surface! Fire could not burn in the ocean's heart!
The sea monster remained invincible in its proper element.
The prophecy had failed to kill Joffrey—what matter? He would accomplish that task personally!
Crow's Eye prepared to invest all his patience in this final gambit.
No matter how large or strong any fleet might be, it would always possess weaknesses. When the proper moment arrived, he would strike directly at that steel flagship and end this pretender with a single, devastating blow!
Silence bred murderous intent as precious time slipped away like sand through fingers.
Joffrey sighed, a sound that somehow carried clearly across the water.
"Ten heartbeats remain!" Theon was commanded to make one final attempt at persuasion:
"Choose now—survival, or destruction?"