About 50 pounds. That was the total weight of the three-section staff Jaehaerys used. That weight, combined with his strength, would have destroyed the bones of most men. But not Euron's.
Valyrian steel armor protected him, and the man was good at avoiding blows to the chin. Every blow Jaehaerys landed on his torso ended up making him move by inertia. Valyrian steel sang differently than any other steel he had ever heard, and Jaehaerys could feel the air around him vibrate with every blow.
The water hit the dock hard, and the wood shook. His mouth was full of salt and the taste of iron. The ship, Silence, slowly moved away from the shore, leaving its leader behind. Jaehaerys wondered if the men had betrayed Euron, but if they had, the latter did not seem surprised at all.
Both fought fiercely; Euron was aggressive. Probably used to overwhelming his opponents, but against Jaehaerys, he quickly ended up on the defensive.
The wet ground and falling rain also hampered the prince, but Euron seemed to fare better in that environment. Was he the Drowned god? But there was more to the Storm god's field, and the two were enemies. Would a servant of the former benefit from the latter?
"I have served ten thousand gods," Euron said, as if reading his thoughts. "Why settle for one? I have traveled the world from east to west, north to south. The world knows my name; they fear it. From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray," he said. Jaehaerys remembered that quote from his past life.
Jaehaerys remained silent, not interested in responding to the man. Euron smiled, his axe shining in the moonlight. Jaehaerys couldn't knock Euron down; no matter how hard he hit him, he remained standing. That amused him; it was the first time he wanted to kill someone so badly but wasn't capable of it.
'Can Valyrian steel cut Valyrian steel?' he wondered.
He took the staff from the middle section, the other two hanging to either side. He attacked, aiming his blows at the man's face. Euron backed away. Jaehaerys, this time taking the weapon from the section closest to the prince's body, aimed again at the chin, an upward arc. Euron's axe went to block the blow. Then the prince struck the middle section to one side, the section furthest from his body spun around.
The chain became entangled in the axe handle. Euron pulled; he was strong, but not strong enough. He gave up and threw the axe at Jaehaerys' face. The prince tilted his head and body. His foot slipped, almost causing him to fall. He felt heat and burning on his cheek. Euron lunged at the prince.
"Shall we switch?" said Jaehaerys.
He threw his staff at the man, and Euron unconsciously caught it, the weight causing him to stumble. Jaehaerys went to pick up the axe a few feet behind him. The weapon in his hand was light, as if he were lifting a sheet of paper.
"Do you know why I asked for your mother's hand?" Euron said suddenly. He was a confusing son of a bitch. "Ahh, so much silence, you'd make a good crew member on my ship," he taunted Jaehaerys. "I need a Valyrian womb," he said with a sordid, mocking smile. "Your mother is no longer useful, but Dany—"
Jaehaerys cut him off with the axe. He had already lost his daughter that night. The thought of losing his wife clouded his vision for a few seconds. Euron jumped back. That man, still unarmed, kept smiling, as if he had everything under control.
"There will come a time when she leaves Harrenhal..." Jaehaerys didn't wait and attacked, faster, harder. This time, the weapon struck the man's chest, where the Valyrian steel hit the armor, denting it slightly, and Euron fell to the ground. Then he aimed for the neck, a blow stopped by Euron's gloved hand. The glove was not made of Valyrian steel, judging by how Jaehaerys cut through it. He cut off the hand, taking with it the piece of flesh that held the four fingers. But Euron got time enough to dodge.
For the first time, through the eye slits in Euron's helmet, Jaehaerys saw something like surprise. But don't fear. Even as he raised the axe again, Euron did not look at him with fear, but with expectation. Jaehaerys looked at his patch, which covered his eye, then felt heat in his chest.
Jaehaerys did not hesitate. But the sea was against him. A massive wave hit the dock, and Euron moved his body in the direction where the water was flowing. Jaehaerys gripped the handle of the axe, the dark wood creaking under his knuckles.
Euron disappeared. Jaehaerys wasn't so full of rage to get himself into the ocean.
--------
Euron gripped the rope tightly. The sea had carried him there, to his ship. He ordered his men to pull him up; he couldn't climb with only one hand.
"Damphir... to my cabin," Euron said to his younger brother. "Bring a Warlock." He arrived soaked, his Valyrian steel armor gleaming. The crew stood to one side, watching him, waiting for orders.
Aeron was an Ironborn, a priest of the Drowned God. Euron knew him well, deeply, inside and out. He had tormented him so much as a child that he ended up becoming a priest.
"Is the prince dead?" asked the priest. But he then saw the armor deformed and his brother's half-hand missing.
Euron did not answer. He just stared at the wooden wall.
"The Warlock?" Euron visited the House of the Undying during his journey around the world. He had explored the world in search of riches, knowledge, and magic. He wanted to know everything that was out of control. And he tried to control it. He touched magic like no other man had ever touched it.
His hand went to his left eye. He always hid it suspiciously under his patch. He had tried to see Jaehaerys' truth with it, but the prince was protected. Not to much, but there was something in his chest that avoided Euron's sight.
"He's here."
And there he was, a man with thinning hair and blue lips. The man trembled and avoided Euron's gaze. Too battered to resist when Euron took the Warlock's hand, then clasped it with his own, they were similar in size, although the sorcerer's was much paler.
He took an axe and cut, severing the sorcerer's hand at the wrist, who let out a squeal of pain like a rat. Euron placed his severed hand on top of the sorcerer's. He made another cut, right where Jaehaerys had cut with the axe.
"Bring a bowl, Damphir," he ordered his brother. "And start praying."
Aeron brought the bowl, but did not comply with the second request. Instead, he protested.
"You lost a hand?" he asked the obvious. "This is not something the Drowned God can help you with," he said.
"Pray to me, not the Drowned God. To me," said Euron. "I am your god, brother. You'll be my first priest," he said.
"Do the gods bleed, Euron?" Aeron asked, looking at his severed hand.
Shlunk!
Euron slit the sorcerer's throat. Blue blood began to fill the bowl.
"By the Drowned God," the priest said, frowning at the blood.
"The Drowned God? When have you ever seen him work blessings like this?" Euron dipped his hand into the blood, joining it with the part he had severed from the witch.
Then he sang, in Aeron's ears it must have been a horrible sound, full of growls, like a thousand voices merged into one. Voices full of anguish and despair. When Euron withdrew his hand from the blood, the blue liquid dripped, but now he had a complete hand. The skin tone from one part to another was marked.
"It doesn't make sense," Aeron muttered.
Euron grabbed him by the back of the neck with his new hand. "Do you understand now, brother?" he asked, his light blue eye fixed on Aeron's eyes. "It didn't come from those you worship... it came from me. I, who am more god than man," Aeron trembled and writhed.
"You're not..."
"Shhh," Euron silenced him. "Cersei is no longer here to tend my bed," he had spent many nights with the blonde; she tried to seduce him, but he was not a man who would fall for her charms.
"Euron, please," Aeron spoke, his voice stuttering.
"Do you remember when we were little? When I visited your bed... I always wondered, were you trembling with fear... or excitement?" he asked his brother.
"Let me go," Aeron said, his voice low.
"Have Cersei taken down and sent to me... her body has not yet rotted," Euron ordered as he released him. Aeron fell to the floor before running out of the room.
Euron looked at his new hand.
Euron was obsessed with the idea of the gods. But no, in Euron's mind, the gods did not exist. But the miracles that men attributed to the gods, those were real. He had seen them; his left eye had revealed it to him. All those forces of chaos were there, and Euron wanted them for himself; he wanted to break down that wall between the mortal and the divine. He wanted the world beneath his feet, to destroy it, rebuild it, and destroy it again.
But he couldn't take them. Not yet. He had gone against destiny, he saw where men did not see. But his body was still fragile, human. He believed that the Valyrian steel armor would elevate him. And it did.
But not against him.
Not against Jaehaerys Targaryen. Euron thought about the Valyrian; that night was not the first time he had looked at it. The prince was a critical piece; he was just what Euron wanted.
That's why he wanted Rhaella's hand; he wanted to see if her womb could replicate the feat, and if so, he would find a new level on the physical plane. He would take what makes man special and elevate his presence even further.
His brother, Victarion, went to Harrenhal to get Daenerys, but Euron already saw him fail. No, he had to look in another direction. Maybe that dragon in the East. Now, the Greyjoys are rebels, and most of them will die. Euron will be back in Westeros on time.
Jaehaerys was above men, he was, but the idiot hadn't realized that yet. He was still trapped in that human shell and didn't dare to rise any higher. Or he didn't know how. Euron did. He had already distorted his own existence, rituals, sacrifice, magic, and everything he could change; he changed.
He didn't care if he lost his humanity; in fact, that was precisely what he was looking for.