Authors Note: I do not own Game of Thrones or any characters. They all belong to HBO.
Reason for this story: Season 7 is over and while I loved it, I had many problems with it. Some were understandable and others weren't. So, the attempt with this story is to make changes both storywise and logistics to prevent the failures of this last season. So, no jet-packing, no super rushed plots. Plot armor is going to be at a premium, people WILL die. And even if I like the character myself, they will not be safe from death or other horrible things happening. So basically, hopefully this will be the season we wanted.
There is going to be 24 Episodes, including the prologue, which will be a separate episode. But these episodes are going to be so massive that they are going to be broken up into different chapters. So while there will be 24 Episodes, there will be a ton more chapter.
It wasn't his first command. Nor did he feel this would be his last. The wind whipped through his hair, cut short like most men of the profession were wont to do. Why, some might ask, would men shave their heads like this if they didn't have lice or scurvy?
He had once had a mate who had told him, "When the seas be most fiercest, then ye be wishing that you didn't have dat der long lock of golden hair."
So it had been so. Ser Magen Lannister was the son of a third cousin of Tywin, the most famous Lannister in the Seven Kingdoms, excepting perhaps his son Jaime and his daughter Cersei. He had learned during his time as a sailor for the Lannister navy, that long hair was a curse that could be caught in rigging, splinters of wood, and more foul things then lice crawled around in long hair.
Health was paramount on two conditions. Good food, and clean bodies. Both were hard as sailors, yet the Ironborn had been the first to link such devilry as scurvy to ships that lacked in fruits, especially the citrus kinds. The Ironborn had basically taught the whole of Westeroes how best to sail the seas and remain alive at the end of the trip.
His ship was a proud ship, long and sleek. It was meant for speed, in pursuit and escape. It was not meant to be ramming other ships. About a dozen small scorpions lined the ship on both port and starboard. A long prow stuck out proudly in-front of it, with the bulwark being made in the shape of a naked woman with a lions mane.
Her name was the Paid Debts which many of the crew laughed at. Even Magen couldn't help but chuckle at the jest. How often had the Lannisters boasted about their perpetually ability to repay debts? It was certainly more famous than the actual family motto of "Hear me Roar!" Seven Hells, Magen couldn't have even started to count all the times he had told people, "A Lannister Always pays their debts".
The crew was thirty, the captain, first mate, bosun and twenty-seven hands. It was small, to be sure, but the length and width of this boat was such that a larger crew wasn't needed. He actually preferred this ship size, he had always had a problem with names and faces, but the lack of a large crew meant he could easily remember any name with ease.
But for this trip, they had added a dozen passengers. Even as he stood there, at the prow of his ship, scanning the horizon, he heard a curse rise from behind him followed by a general scuffling. Magen closed his eyes and tried not to get overly annoyed, especially as the bosun was already on the case of pulling the newest fight apart.
Although he was mighty glad of the ship, he couldn't help but wish for the days of old. The Greyjoy Rebellion of 289 AC (Years after Aegons Conquest) had destroyed the Lannister fleet and it had taken them the following seven years leading up to the War of the Five Kings to build a dozen ships. Even during the years of the war they had only built five more ships. Now it was 304 AC and in the fifteen years since the Raid at Lannisport which had destroyed the fleet, the entire Lannister navy consisted of only seventeen ships.
He heard far sooner then he saw the footsteps of the First Mate. He had been on the only surviving ship of the Raid, the Casterly Rock, which had survived by running the gauntlet of Greyjoy ships by dosing all the lights and running quiet. He had been only nine years then, but at twenty-four, he had spent his entire life on the seas. One gained an ear on these waters and could easily learn the sounds of individual peoples by the pressure of their footsteps and how loudly they stepped, the swiftness or slowness that drew their owners closer.
"My lord Captain," a deep rumbling voice said. "Would you like to watch the punishment about to be doled out to the two who fought?"
"Nah," Magen shook his head. "I am quite certain the Bosun will be more than capable of handling that without my watching over his shoulder."
The First Mate chuckled. His voice had a curious characteristic too it. It sounded like water being strained through a sponge. That was the only way that Magen could ever have described it. It was most certainly one of those things one had to see to believe. Or in this case, hear to believe.
"I'll be glad once we get these fookers off our ship," the First Mate said grumpily, crossing his arms.
The First Mate was a good old salt. He had been in the navy far longer then Magen had been and he was certain that the old crusty seadog would be around far after everyone else in the world was dead and sent down to the Seven Hells. He was that kind of person.
"I'll drink to that!" Magen replied heartily, "But first we have a job to do. Once we get it done, not only we can we get the fookers off our ship, but we can also fook a few whores as well."
A wide toothy grin spread across the face of the First Mate. Well, as toothy as it could get. He was missing at least three of his teeth. Two were from fist fights he had been in. The last one had rotted away.
"What is your favorite establishment, anyhow?" he asked, leaning against the railing of the deck. "I don't believe I've ever seen you with a whore, if I say so Lord Captain."
"I have a favorite," Magen replied, "It's at Stonedance, just south of Sharp Point."
"Ah," the First Mate said with a knowing nod of his head. "I believe you are thinking of Maester Jamal's place. He's always got good girls, although how a Maester ever got allowed to own a brothel is anyone's guess."
"I highly doubt he's a Maester anymore," Magen replied. "Your favorite is the one in Old Anchor if I remember correctly."
"Second favorite," came the correction. "My favorite is the one in Coldwater on the Fingers."
"That's a Petyr Baelish one if I remember correctly," Magen said. Of course it was. Littlefinger had been so named because he had grown up on the Fingers, one the smallest of them before being warded in House Tulley. Everyone in the Realm knew that.
"Aye, Captain," the First mate spat over the side of the ship. "So where do you think this Gods damned fleet is that everyone is talking about? The one the Dragon Bitch has gotten?"
"Something over nine hundred ships if the rumors are true," Magen said, shaking his head. The largest fleet he had ever heard of was the two hundred Ironborn Fleet. More ships then that was simply assured. How could one even gather that many ships?
"Captain Magen!" a voice shouted in anger. Magen closed his eyes, trying not to be annoyed. "I need a word with you!"
He turned to face the army commander. Out of the dozen foot soldiers that had joined their command, one was a Captain that was named Gerold Shett from Cornfield, about two days ride from Lannisport. The man had served with Tywin Lannister but had never actually fought in any battle. Closest he had ever gotten to a fight was as a rearguard for Tywin's army when it had flanked Stannis' army at King's Landing. He even had the look of an untried man, perfect golden hair, no scars to blemish face nor hands.
"What is it Gerold?" he asked, letting annoyance slip into his voice. "Me and my first mate were having a discussion about where this Dragon Bitches fleet is."
"I will have you know that I am supposed to be involved in any disciplinary action towards my men," the foot soldier commander said, planting his fists on his hips. "I don't care what discussion you are having, this was agreed upon when I came onboard. Yet your….your…..what in the name of the Mother do you call the fellow without the ear?"
"Oh, that cunt?" the First Mate smirked. "That's the Bosun. It's his job to make sure these sons of whores keep in line."
"But your man is stripping the shirts off both your man and my own," Captain Shett said, pointing a stubby pointer at Magen. "He's about to beat them and he did not consult me about this punishment! Only reason I know is the fact that I was up here to begin with!"
"Why don't you shut your pie hole?" the First Mate grunted.
Shetts face turned ashen then turned scarlet. Magen could almost have thought he could see steam rising from the man's face as he screwed himself up to say something very biting. But, Magen didn't really feel like getting into an argument with the man. So, he stepped forward and put a hand on his counterpart's shoulder and turned him.
"Look, Gerold," he said, waving his right hand out towards the sea around them. "Do you see all these ships?"
Gerold glanced around. Eleven other ships of similar design were driving through the waters to either side at a good seven knots, which was good for the calmer seas they were driving through. He grunted without saying anything, so Magen decided to take that as an acknowledgement.
"We really don't have time to get in such scraps and to be bickering like children in front of the men," he said. "We are hunting for a fleet coming from Meereen. At any time we could make contact and we don't have time to have such fights."
"I only want what is my due," the Lannister captain growled. "Something we both agreed upon. You said we both would have equal share in making sure that the men got punished as we saw fit. I'm not saying that my man didn't get involved in fist-a-cuffs with your man. But I do not agree that your bosun can just do whatever the Hells he pleases with my men!"
"And you are right," Magen said. Gerold stopped with his mouth open.
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said," Magen reaffirmed. "I said you'd be able to have your own punishment doled out. Bosun! Let go of that man. Captain Shett was not informed beforehand and we should give him the chance….."
"No," Gerold cut him off.
"What?" Now was Magen's turn to blink in surprise.
Gerold took a deep breath. "Go ahead with your punishment," he told the bosun. The Bosun stood with shirt off, his body glistening from sweat in the midday sun. Both soldier and sailor were stripped and tied to the central mast. "Let this be a lesson to both of our groups that we both suffer the same penalties. Yes, these might be glorified fish mongers…"
Fish mongers? Magen frowned. That wasn't called for. Who did he bloody think he was? The Crone?
"But they are just as much Lannisters as we are," Gerold finished. "And we both suffer the same fates."
Magen nodded his head in approval as Gerold turned to face him. "That's all I wanted," Gerold said, and turned away and headed aft. Magen shrugged and turned and headed back to front of the ship, where the First Mate was relaxing, propped up against the prows rear end.
"That went rather better than I expected," he admitted. "That little shite has been nothing but a complainer since he got onboard."
"Well, he has every right to be," Magen replied, looking out across the waters. "So where were we? Oh yes, trying to figure out where the Dragon Bitch has her ships."
"I would say that she can't be too far away," the First Mate said, "That island to the right is Grey Gallows, and she'll have to pass around it to come up to enter the Narrow Sea from the Summer Sea. Although why she wouldn't just go to Dorne is beyond me."
"She's a Targaryen," Magen replied as if it was obvious. "She'll want to replay the Conquest of Aegon. So she's going to go straight for Dragonstone."
"Not if we stop her first," the First Mate said. "Nine hundred ships. That's got to be a mistake."
"Ship ahead!" a voice from the Crows Nest called out. "Coming into view from the South-East!"
Magen turned his eyes in the direction indicated. Yep, there was a ship alright. A long ship, it was too far to make out any details, but it was big enough that they could see it from miles off. Sea didn't work like land, where a few miles and you wouldn't see anything. You could see many more miles since there wasn't the same restrictions to be seen.
"Inform the rest of the fleet that enemy spotted," Magen called out and a bell began to sound. Other ships joined in the sounding of bells, acknowledging the order. "As soon as it's within range we'll began peppering them with scorpion bolts."
"Second enemy ship spotted!" the crows nest reported and Magen smiled. Well, at least they'd have a fight on their hands. "Three ships. Four ships. Five ships…."
The count kept getting higher and higher until it was past twenty. Every ship counted was a dampener on Magen's enthusiasm. Soon, there was so many ships, the crows nest shouted, "There's too many Gods damned many of them to count! And theres….."
A sound tore through the sky and Magen looked up and his heart froze. Dragons were bearing down on them. He turned to the First Mate and the man's eyes were wide with horror. They….they had thought it was a rumor.
"Get those scorpions aimed at those fookers!" Captain Shett was calling out. Magen didn't even need to turn, he could hear the men running all over the place.
The dragons, three massive dragons straight out of history and legends, zoomed in on the ship to the right of them. The crew of that ship, Lannister Gold, was frozen with both shock and awe as the dragons hovered over them, flapping their massive wings. Then, three columns of fire rushed down, washing the decks of that ship in flames. Magen did not wait. He didn't wait to see the crews abandoning ship.
"Give us full speed!" he shouted, turning around to the crew and running to the back, to the raised wheel deck. "Get us in close to the Dragon Bitches ships!"
"We won't last long against those Greyjoy ships!" the helmsmen shouted as Magen ran up the stairs, his First Mate staying at the prow and shouting orders behind him. Scorpions were firing, but their aim was too low. They couldn't elevate enough to hit the dragons, but a few men were using bows and firing at the beasties. Most of the few arrows missed but the few that hit their marks bounced off harmlessly.
"We'll last longer then we will with those dragons!" Magen shouted, even as the Lannister Gold began to break apart. The sound of wood cracking could be heard from where they were. "We may even take a few of them with us!"
And with that, the Paid Debts shot forward, men using oars to propel the ship forward even faster. Magen looked around and behind him and he was glad to see most of the ships were joining him, driving forward as fast as they could. However, one ship, a ship with a lower deck and wider berth was panicking, trying to turn to flee. The dragons, acting as the predators they were, sensed the ship like lions sense the weakest of the pack and swarmed it, bathing the ship in flames.
"Prepare to engage in ship to ship combat!" Magen shouted.
"What the fook do you think we're doing?" Shett shouted back angrily, men reloading the scorpions as fast as possible.
Magen turned to see the rapidly approaching enemy fleet. There was so….many of them. How in the name of the Seven were they supposed to defeat so many? And that one in the lead, that one's prow was fashioned to look like a dragon.
There she was. Magen could feel it in his bones. Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen. The one who claimed herself to be the Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains. As they got closer, he could even see the silver haired bitch standing at the back, her hair glistening in the sun.
"A thousand gold dragons to any of you shits who kills Daenerys Targaryen!" Magen shouted, pointing to the ship in front of them.
"I'll double that!" Gerold shouted in response.
The scorpions turned towards the ship and those scorpions that couldn't were abandoned by all who could pick up bows. As they swept towards it, they were sliding from their port side, and on the other side, a similar ship like the Paid Debts was preparing a similar run. He was pretty sure it was the Queen Cersei but he couldn't be sure. All these ships looked alike.
On the enemy ship, he could see warriors in black leather armor lining the side of the ship, using the shields lining the side to protect themselves. Others in skins and bare chests were running up with bows. The ship was a little higher than the Paid Debts but if they could get the first shots, it would help them.
"Loose!" Gerold shouted at the same time a foreign voice gave what was probably a similar command. Arrows passed back and forth as scorpion bolts punctured the shields. Magen smiled grimly as he saw several of the Unsullied and Dothraki fall but the return fire was accurate. One by one the soldiers and sailors fell. They continued firing back and forth, sliding past each other.
Magen's eyes caught sight of the Dragon Queen, and she didn't even turn to them. The Bitch was perhaps no more than two dozen feet away, and she wasn't even paying them any heed. That infuriated him to no end. Who was she to think that his Paid Debts was no threat?
"Turn this ship around and get us after them!" he shouted, and the helmsmen grunted as he complied. The archers continued to fire back and forth and Magen saw the Queen Cersei pulled up along the aft of the enemy ship. He ran over to the ships bell, the crew man who was supposed to man it fallen, screaming from two arrows that had planted on either shoulder.
He frantically pulled on it, ringing out the "Turn, 180 degrees" command. He was greeted a few seconds later by an acknowledgement and he saw the ship turning. They were turning faster than his own ship was and he turned angrily to the helmsmen.
"Why aren't we turning the fook around?" he screamed.
"We'll be rammed otherwise!" the helmsmen shouted and looking, Magen saw it was true. Two more ships were bearing down on him, turning ever so slightly in an effort to flank his ship. A great collision of wood on wood rocketed his ear-drums, and he turned in time to see the Queen Cersei being rammed straight in the middle. The ship was already breaking in half as the much heavier enemy vessel used its brute strength to plow through it. Men were jumping into the water or being shot be enemy arrows.
"Captain!" the First Mate shouted, running back to him and waving his hands, "We're about to be raked on both sides!"
"Give these sons of whores a good Westeroese welcome!" Gerold shouted but the words had barely left his mouth when dozens of arrows showered the decks. Six men fell in the first few seconds and the rest hit the deck, hugging the sides of the railing even as the few really brave traded shots. The enemies were so close one could almost smell them, but they could certainly see the whites of their eyes. A few enemies did fall, but the same thing with the flagship, they weren't paying them more attention than it took to slid past them.
"We got to get the Seven Hells out of here!" the First Mate shouted as arrows landed thick around them. The running battle had already riddled the deck with over a hundred arrows and it was only by mere luck that they hadn't encountered any scorpions of their own.
"How do you propose we do that?" Gerold asked, a bow in his hands now, arrow notched and ready to fire at the first man who got clear.
"Samwell!" Magen shouted to the young helmsmen, who was hugging close to the wheel. "As soon as I say so, I want you to make a sharp turn to port. Starboard side oars are to row hard while port oars hold. Then keep turning until you see a clear shot then hold us steady. With luck, we'll be able to slip right past these cunts and make straight for Essos! We can't defeat these many ships."
The bow twang but Magen wasn't sure what Gerold had been shooting at. It really didn't matter though. If they didn't get somehow out of here, they were screwed something fierce. He waited, watching the ship to their left with a hawk-like intensity. They had to time this right. Time it perfectly.
"Now!" he shouted and the helmsmen turned as hard as he could.
One of the advantages to the ship they had was their sleeker frame allowed for faster maneuvers then wider and heavier ships. With skill belying Samwell's young age of sixteen, the ship began to turn at an incredible speed. The ship seemed almost to tilt on its side at the speed they were turning. The side of the ship gracefully turned, using the back of the enemy ship to the right to help guide it. The two ships were so close as they turned, that Magen would only have had to reach out his hand and he'd have been able to touch it.
They were almost at a direct forty-five degree angle, and they could see….other ships baring their way. There was no escape. Yet Magen couldn't even devise a new plan when the ship was rammed hard. A Essos ship of heavy wood drove through them. The ship shuddered, then began to crack. Loudly beams began to snap and cracks formed all over the ships deck. Arrows sliced downwards, hitting men who were staggering from the blow the ship had taken. The prow of the enemy ship was tearing through the ships hull, inch by inch driving further through it.
"Abandon ship!" Magen shouted. "Everyone, abandon….."
The ship shuddered as the front of the ship disintegrated. Bodies and wooden beams flew up in the air and men screamed. The force of the explosion jerked the ship to the left, just enough that their hull and the enemy's prow was disengaged. The enemy plowed once more into the gaping wound, but Magen had a few seconds to see the utterly devastating wound to his ship in all its glory.
Captain Gerold Shett jumped onto the starboard railing, following the example of several crew, all thought of his men lost as others were rushing up. He set his foot on it, only to fall backwards, gagging blood as an arrow imbedded itself in his neck.
"Get off the ship!" the First Mate was shouting, grabbing men and pushing them away from the port side. "Go the other direction, you damned fool! You jump portside, and the ships hull is going to fall right on you! You, stop cowering you cur! Get off the…"
With a Gods almighty crack, the ship broke in half. Magen was thrown backwards, hitting the aft railing hard. The two sides of the ship were now completely broken in half, and the force had thrown sent the heavier aft swinging backwards. Samwell the helmsmen hit the back of the ship, and the force continued rolling him backwards. Magen reached out to grab him, the youngster screaming in panic. Their fingers touched, but the boy rolled over the edge and into the water below.
He was forcing himself and stood, staggering to the front of the wheel deck. A few men were still on the ship, having become entangled in either rope or had smashed against the wall that made the raised portion of the wheel deck. He was about to call out to them, urge them onwards when something dark fell over the ship. He looked up, and Magen's heart sank. There was another ship about the ram them.
Magen knew there was no hope for the rest of the men on the ship. If they survived, they survived. If not, well, then the Drowned God would be able to add more to his army of mermaids. Turning, he ran full tilt towards the aft of the ship and with the ship still tilt that direction, it was an easy three long steps. He ran up the lip of the railing and with no thought but instinctual survival, he threw himself overboard. He was still falling when the enemy ship and the remnants of his own collided and something hit him hard and he blacked out even as he hit the water.
He awoke, spluttering. He thought he had died, and he wasn't sure what was stranger. The fact that he wasn't dead, that he seemed to be floating on air, or the fact that the first thing he was seeing was the arse ugly face of a crewman looking down at him.
"Ye be alright Cap?" the man asked, the man's mouth open in a toothless grin.
"Out of everything I wanted to wake up to, Jamsen," he informed the oarsmen, "Your Stranger-blessed face was not one of them."
"Stranger?" the man continued to grin, "Nay, Cap. I is as butiful as da Maiden."
Magen snorted in derision at that. He lifted his head and tried to prop himself up, but a wave of dizziness hit him. He closed his eyes hard as the world seemed to spin and felt hands grabbing him and pushing him back down.
"Now, now, My Lord Captain," a voice as rough as leather said, "I wouldn't get up for at least a few hours. You took a nasty bump when you hit the water."
"Maester Gail?" he asked, risking opening his eyes. The wizened old man was now in view, but where once had just been wrinkles and sunspots of age, there was now a bandage tightly wound around his chin. It was dark red.
"The very same," the Maester replied with a satisfied smile. "I was afraid your brains may have been jolted a little too hard, but since you seem to know who more than just Jamsen, you will be alright. Although, as you stated, his face is too ugly to forget."
"Did we win?" Magen asked, false lightheartedness in his voice.
"Ye be needen to check his noggin again, Myster," Jamsen said with a hoot, "He be talken crazy!"
Magen rolled his eyes at that. Despite his oarsmen's jolly disposition, he understood all too clearly what had happened. His ship, since it had been the flagship, had been the only one to be granted a Maester. He had taught others on other ships some of the more basic healing arts, but the thought that so many men would be dead today because their own ship didn't have a Maester made him sick.
"How many survived?" he asked, fearing the numbering.
"There's us three," Maester Gail informed him. "We are on what would be called the aft of the Paid Debts. Samwell and the Bosun also are alive, they are using the mast to keep afloat. One of the foot soldiers from Captain Shett's men is also alive, but the rest…."
"The First Mate?" Magen asked.
"I fear he probably drowned," Gail replied sadly, "But I can't be certain. I will say one thing though, this is a horrid mess."
"Help me up," Magen said, trying to prop himself up.
Gail's hand held him fast. "There's no point," he tried to argue.
"I want to see what has become of the fleet I was supposed to command!" he snapped, "Help me up!"
With a sigh, Gail put his hands under the Captains shoulders and helped pull him up. The noonday sun was gone, the sun setting to the west, behind them. So, it had been several hours he had been out. But it was light enough that he could see. The enemy fleet was long gone, having plowed through his small armada as if they weren't anything at all. What was left though, was sheer destruction. Men were floating in the water, faces up or down. Many had arrows sticking from them. Pieces of wooden beams were scattered across the water, bobbing gently up and down.
With a grunt, he turned himself so he could look towards where the rest of the fleet was. The world seemed to spin and he clenched his eyes shut. He waited, waited for the world to stop making such an irrational movement. Soon, it came to a stop, and he dared open his eyes.
Pillars of smoke could still be seen from burned ships but closer, he saw more of the same. As had been infront of the broken wood that he, Maester Gail and Jamsen were on. He spotted a few survivors sitting on pieces of broken wood, or bodies and rubbish floating in the salt water. Everything was ruined, and there were no signs of the enemy ships.
He was about to lean back when he spotted something coming through the descending dark. He squinted, although he was never sure why people did that. It didn't actually help them see better. Hells, all he would see was his eyelashes very fuzzily.
"Is that a ship?" he asked.
"My eyes aren't that good anymore," Gail informed him in an apologetic tone.
"Abut mine be good," Jamsen said and after a few second pause. "Ye be righto Cap. Der be a ship be come this direction."
"Is it Lannister or the Targaryen girls though?" Gail asked, voicing the unspoken question of the Captain.
"Well," Magen said, watching it come closer, his head resting on the bony lap of the Maester, "If we get shot with dozens of arrows, you will know they're not friendly."
"Considering what Queen Cersei did to the Great Sept of Baelor," the Maester said, a shiver in his leathery voice. "Let me just say that it's not as great a comfort as you seem to think."
Magen had loved the Great Sept in Kings Landing. The beautiful mosaics, the painted stain-glass windows, the Septons and Septs in their great and beautiful clothing. The statues of the Seven and the burning incense. It reminded him of home, and his mother and wife. No, his mother was not also his wife. He wasn't a Targaryen and he wasn't the Queen and her brother, the Kingslayer. But there was that comforting feeling that one would get when one was home when one was in the Great Sept.
Everyone knew that the Queen had blown up the Great Sept. There was no secret to it. The official story was it was an accident, yet he had been in King's Landing that day. He had just received his commission to command the entirety of the Lannister fleet from the Master of Ships, Mace Tyrell. The bumbling High Lord had told him all he needed to do to command ships, yet Magen Lannister felt he knew far more about ships then the old fool.
Yet he had listened. He was not a lord himself, even though he was noble because of being a Lannister. Yet being called "Lord Captain" was an honorary given to all ship captains. So it wasn't like it was anything special, even if he commanded the entirety of the Lannister fleet. Although that was all gone, except for four ships, one which was docked at Dragonstone. That would most likely be the next ship to die.
"Can you make out the flag yet?" Magen asked the oarsmen. His vision was getting foggy and he had to close his eyes, giving them a rest. The Oarsmen, despite any flaws, was the only one who could tell if they were going to die or not.
"It be getting to dark to tells for sho," he replied, "But it be a big fooker. That be certain."
Magen's heart sank. If it was 'a big fooker' it wasn't one of theirs. They were going to die. They were going to feel a hundred arrow slamming into them, and among the last thing he was ever going to hear was Jamsen the Oarsmen calling a ship 'a Big Fooker'. He'd rather had his wife's small breasts pushed in his face at death.
"Well, as long as they end us quickly, I won't care," Magen said, opening his eyes. The ship was getting closer, slashing through the water like a sea-beast. It was getting closer and closer and now he began to make out the sails. The rest of the survivors seemed to have noticed because laments began to be heard all across the water.
"By all the Gods!" Gail said, his usually reservation of not speaking vulgarities broken. His voice was trembling and the man's tiny frame was shaking. "The Ironborn!"
"Fook me!" Jamsen said, and out of the corner of his eyes, Magen saw the man put his face in his hands as if to avoid looking at the end as it approached.
The ship, as massive as one pleased, slide up to them, as silent as a whisper of wind. It slowed to a stop, and something loud plopped into the water, the sounds of chains scrapping against wood as the anchor was lowered into the water.
Insane laughter rang out from the ship and Magen turned his head to see a man standing on the edge of the railing of the ship, his hand wrapped around the rigging to keep him in place.
"Why are you boys playing in the drink when you should be getting on board and dry?" the man laughed again, and at the same moment, a rope ladder was tossed overboard. "Come come! Come on up."
"Who are you?" Magen called out.
"I am the Storm!" the man said making a flourishing bow. "Euron Greyjoy, King of the Salt Throne and the Iron Islands. And I have a massive boner for your Queen."