JON

"How many were taken alive?" Jon asked Harald, Xano, and Horo. Horo, as always, refused to say much aside from a glare angry remark.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," Jon said.

It was the first moment they had to speak without worry of a guard overhearing them, and one where they were all still awake. After Jon's out of body experience, mixed with the exhaustion of the row and his still raw back, he had slept the rest of the day as had most of the others. Including those that had been selected to move cargo.

Unfortunately for them all, they were awoken, and instead of their evening meal, they were shouted to row. The pace was laxer than Jon, and the others were used to. Unfortunately, their masters forced them to keep that pace all through the night and into the next day. They traded turns but were not allowed a break above deck and were fed in their rows, forced to sleep between shifts. Ryjar had even helped feed them better stock then they usually had, but the man seemed a bit nervous.

A god somewhere took pity on them as after nearly a full day of rowing, they were allowed to stop, unfortunately instead of weeks old sweat and blood, there was now an overwhelming stench of piss and shit from those unable to hold on. Still, they were allowed to rest, but Jon needed to know who had survived the attack and what they had done with them. Jon didn't know if it was the desire to know who could help them escape or try and heap more guilt onto himself. He just needed to know and realized that it would be better to focus on this mystery instead of the one where he seemed to hallucinate that he was a cat, which caused him to faint.

Xano cut in, "From what I could see, I counted nine captured, five went to Ventarro's caravel and four to the other."

"How'd they look? Seriously injured?"

"Minor injuries, maybe a few wounds from bolts but nothing serious. The..uh...the more wounded were killed then and there." Jon's memory flashed to the sailor from the Pearl's Kiss with a bolt in the leg. His mind forced him to relive that moment again, frozen unable to do anything.

Jon shook his head, "How many dead?"

Harald and Xano shrugged, "No idea," the summer islander said.

"The cargo, what was it?"

Harald spoke, "Wool, mostly. Some quality furs, leather. Provisions as well."

"And the clay jars," Xano said. Jon felt his blood run cold.

"Clay jars?" Jon asked.

"Mhmm," Xano confirmed, "Ten or so, about this big," Xano separated his hands about a foot apart, "and this tall," then he moved his right hand about the left and separated them about a foot and a half.

"What was in them?" Jon asked, but he already knew.

"Greyish powder of some sort, like shitty flour."

Old memories of speaking with Tormo came back suddenly, the Braavosi showing Jon a clay jar with powder. The same one that he presented as a gift to the Sealord.

"If you all will shut the fuck up, I need to sleep," Horo complained loudly. To Jon's embarrassment, there were a few others that agreed, but he needed to know.

"What did the pirates say about it?"

Harald shrugged, "They didn't think much of it, was going to store it on our ship as food stores until Ryjar saw it."

"What did he think?"

"Didn't look too happy, but took it Ventarro. They left the Braavosi cog with the other captain back to Ventarro's ship."

Jon's mind started racing, trying to remember what Tormo said about the potential worth of that jar, but it was like trying to remember a pleasant dream, something he hadn't had in so long. He did remember being shocked by the answer. If they had ten, it was a fortune, probably worth enough to buy another ship. No, Jon shook his head, much more than that.

Was that why they had been pushed through the night after chasing the cog down? Did they know the value and need to get to Bloodstone quickly to capitalize on it? But that didn't make sense, as the men that guarded them didn't seem jubilant to find a fortune. They were happy, as any pirate would be after successfully raiding a ship, but it didn't seem to match what would be expected with the amount of wealth coming their way. Were Ventarro and the other captains keeping it quiet? That didn't seem to make sense either. He had sufficient control of his men, they wouldn't try to steal from him, and if they all knew what they had, they would love him all the more.

Jon thought back to Ryjar, the man seemed nervous to him. Why would he seem worried? They had been close to Braavos, but not that close, right? Nobody would know they had attacked the ship. So why the frantic dash south?

His fatigued and starved brain was missing something, something crucial. Then it hit him.

Unless they were seen. Seen taking an extraordinarily valuable ship. Jon felt his heart start to pound. Were they being chased by a galley now? Maybe a handful of galleasses? No, we wouldn't have stopped, they would have pushed us non-stop, drove us to death. They would not just get a day's start.

He still couldn't figure out why the ship wasn't guarded, but Jon instead focused that Ryjar was nervous about getting caught by the Braavosi. Which meant there was a chance they could be detected by the Braavosi.

"We could be free," Jon whispered.

"What was that?" Harald asked.

Jon opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Jon couldn't tell them, not yet. Mostly because he wasn't sure he was right. Somewhere in him, he worried that he was making assumptions to convince himself that this was true and if Jon shared this, and he was wrong, the men might do something preemptively and get themselves killed.

"Nothing, I just need some rest."

Harald eyed him, warily, "Okay."

Jon closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but his mind warred with itself and rest eluded him.

Jon hadn't had this much food since he became a slave. Jon had also never been this exhausted either. The turns at the oar seemed to be twice as long, and it appeared that their shifts to rest were significantly shorter. He still hated them all, but he couldn't stop his body from being grateful for the extra rations they were receiving. Unfortunately, they were still only allowed up on deck to relieve their bowels in the evenings.

It had been almost a week since they had raided that Braavosi ship. That was also the last time he had seen or overheard anything from Ryjar, so Jon couldn't even guess what their captors were thinking, but that didn't seem to matter. It was subtle, but there was a shift in the pirates' mood that guarded them all. They reacted with harsh movements, responded to even the slightest unexpected event with severe outbursts. This led to more beatings and uses of the Belt on Jon and his men, but that also meant he had heard a few fights break out among the crew. Unfortunately, his men had started to notice.

"If we make a move tonight we can get free, get everyone free and take over the ship-"

"And do what? Get slaughtered by the other two?" Jon said, interrupting Jorcho's righteous anger.

The young man's eyes flashed quickly to his back, it was still tender and scabbed, but they broke apart less and less now.

Xano spoke up then, "One of the ships is gone most of the day, nearly on the horizon."

Larris nodded along, "They're all nervous, if enough of us get free, we can overwhelm them."

There was a snort behind him, "You think you thin pieces of shit can take the thirty-five maybe forty-five depending on the time of day?" The attention shifted to Horo behind them, his angular face held a sneer under his dark brown beard. The annoyance his words held were punctuated by his dark olive eyes. "Then the forty or fifty on Ventarro's ship as well? Then hopefully, we can get these men back on oars before the third ship returns?"

Their silence was interrupted, "Me and this fuck have no idea what you're talking about," Toregg said in Westerosi while pointing to Ollo, and the remaining Dothraki twin, who was maybe his size stared at him with a burning curiosity.

"I kill who killed Rorlo," the twin said in broken Valyrian.

Toregg rolled his eyes with mock betrayal, but Jon kept Ollo's gaze and nodded, "Soon."

"Soon?" Horo asked, imitating Jon's voice, "Don't give them false hope, boy? And who the fuck are you to think you can fight them at all?"

"He's Muqqedes Cinder !"

Horo's eyes widened a fraction, and only for a moment, "He wouldn't be here if he was."

Jon looked at Jorcho, "I trained with them for a few months, but that doesn't matter. What matters is when we make our move."

Jon took a deep breath, allowing himself to gather his thoughts, "We still need to wait." Jon held up his hand to forestall Jorcho and Xano's interruptions, "Until we are near land, something with a beach. If we are, we can try and take this ship and beach it to fortify the ship from the land."

Harald nodded, but Horo waved it away, "What's to stop them from coming back once they return from Dramar's or any other port?"

Jon clucked his tongue, "I am not sure, but as they've said, they are all nervous about something. Either they are being chased, or they are expecting to run into danger."

"Exactly, they are all armored even when they come to escort us up top," Horo said.

"You're right," Jon smirked, "They are bringing the weapons to us already. We just need to pick our moment." The other's nodded, except Toregg, who stared intently, hoping the foreign words would make sense by sheer force of will.

"They'll gut you before you can move two steps," Horo said.

"Probably, three in ten chance I'll die before I kill even one, six in ten chance I'll die before I can free you all. Eight in ten chance this will probably fail".

"That low?" Jorcho said.

"Aye, but we will not be given a better one."

Horo chuckled, "You'll risk yourself for that?"

Jon stared at him, "Yes." Horo's smirk faded, and he looked away.

Harald shrugged, "I'm tired of this oar. I'll follow your lead Toli."

Xano and Jorcho agreed, Daleth and Larris were less enthused but still nodded. Then Jon felt the Belt strike his back. His wounds cried in protest, and Jon's body shook in pain for moments.

"Enough!" yelled Pero, "I can hear your yapping from the godsdamn deck! Where the fuck-" Pero trailed off, searching for someone and found it. "Szen!"

Their guard for the evening leaned against the timber, talking to the new man manning the pace drum. He spun around, and his eyes focused on Pero, and Jon could see the guard fight to roll his eyes.

"Szen! What the fuck are you doing?"

"Talking."

"So were the slaves, and Ryn has been waiting to feed them for ten minutes," Pero nearly shouted.

"And I am leading them up now, so quit speaking to me like you're the captain or even my god damn bossman," Szen's hand went to his cudgel, and Pero's snarl stayed, but he turned and stormed up the steps.

Jon gave Harald a look, and soon it was their turn to be led up to the deck. The sky was darkening quickly, Jon thought he could see a few dark clouds on the horizon, but he wasn't sure. He could clearly see the third ship in their small fleet approaching, and at the prow, there were two flags. One was black, and the other was white. Jon assumed that meant all clear, but he wasn't too sure. The pirates confirmed it a moment later as they all let out a relieved sigh and became far more relaxed. Ryjar was there as well, and the wretch nodded his head but was still tense.

Jon's hand was soon filled with two rations of biscuit and a real hearty stew with some sort of fruit. Apple maybe? His stomach didn't care as he tore through it quite quickly and quietly, as he tried to listen for any information from the men guarding him.

Szen, the man who guarded them all afternoon was complaining as he bit into some salted fish, his Tyroshi accent giving his Valyrian an annoying gurgling quality like his tongue was too large for his mouth. "Alls I am saying, I do not understand the problem with the ship we took."

Pero glared at him, "Braavosi are weak, and their men couldn't fight to save their lives. Did you see the man I hit, right between the eyes I did! Dead before he hit the ground."

"Your talkin' out your ass, Pero." Kylmer mocked, "I had to kill the bastard when I hopped over, you barely scratched the sop's head."

"It wasn't the one you was thinking of, you floppy prick," Pero stabbed his finger at Kylmer.

A fight almost broke out, and Jon filed that information away for later, but once tensions had simmered another pirate that Jon didn't know spoke up, "Can't believe there were no women, hadn't gotten my dick wet since Lys." Jon started to ignore them as he had no desire to hear any more talk of their conquests.

"Still, we took what? Ten sailors? And those clay jars that the Captain is going on about," Szen spoke, returning to the previous topic.

"Maybe it has to do with that sailor we got that says he is a son of some savage Lord," Pero said, and Jon's wavering attention snapped back and focused on whatever they were saying.

"If the ponce ain't lying to any of us," Kylmer grumbled.

"Ryjar says he's telling the truth."

"Ryjar hopes he's telling the truth," Kylmer corrected.

"Most like, he is lying," Another guard said, "What kind of name is Woodman?" Woodman? Jon didn't recognize that name, maybe they had meant House Woods. Then again, they were speaking the House name in Westerosi while the rest of their speech was in Valyrian, and perhaps they had mistranslated the words.

"It wasn't 'woodman' you daft cunt," Kylmer said, "It was Forest or Forestling."

Jon spoke before he could think, "Forrester?"

The guards turned to him, "Aye, that's the one!" Kylmer said, then his eyes narrowed on him. Shit.

Three of them advanced towards him, and Jon braced to receive another beating, "Wait!" Jon looked to see Ryjar staring at him, "How do you know this name?" Jon looked down, trying to think of a way out of this. When he didn't speak, he felt the whip of the Belt to the stomach, and Jon felt the familiar pain and tried to stay upright. "I will ask one more time. How do you know this name."

"Father was from," Jon took a deep breath, "the North."

Ryjar studied him like he was seeing him for the first time.

Kylmer spoke up, "He has some of that look, of the Northmen."

Pero spoke up, "Only the eyes! The rest looks like he was bred in a whore house in Lys!"

Ryjar ignored the last remark, "Have you seen them before?"

Jon thought for a few moments, knowing this could lead to trouble . But I have to know. "Aye, it has been some time."

Ryjar frowned, "How long?"

Jon shook his head, his ability to recall his time on the galleass was still hampered. The Belt struck him again, this time on his back, and his lashings and sore back caused bright white spots to multiply in his vision. "How long?" Ryjar asked again.

"Two months before I was taken, I was in the Northern city, and some of them fought in a tournament." The memory of the tourney flashed quickly before him. Fighting next to Robb, Harmond, Cley, and Asher. Winning the squire's tourney, fighting again with Tamir, Medvjed, and Arridos. Dancing with Ella. Lenfred's hands. Holding a bloodied girl.

Jon cuffed his eyes, a few tears had escaped. He wasn't sure if it was from the memories giving him a sense of joy or pain. Maybe it was both.

"Could you recognize him?"

"Maybe."

He felt the Belt again as Szen shouted, "He asked yes or no!"

"Enough Szen, maybe, is adequate. We'll know the truth one way or another. Ryndellos!" Someone shouted back in response. "Signal The Parçalandi, Ventarro will want to hear this."

Jon knelt there, the sting slowly fading as he picked up his fallen meal, sopping up the spilled stew with the last bit of his biscuit, and slowly ate it off the deck. He had barely finished when he was roughly picked up. Ryjar spoke again, "Take the small Braavosi one, just in case this one starts lying." Jon looked to Jorcho, whose eyes started to widen in fear, but Jon just nodded to him. At sword point, they were marched over to one of the skiffs. Jon and Jorcho sat side by side in the rowboat, and two men held swords to their back as they were lowered down to the water.

Jon had a bizarre sense of panic as they hit the rolling waves. Six other sailors climbed down to row them over, but Jon couldn't focus on them. All he could think was that this was the first time he had been taken off the boat since Lys, and he felt his heart start to pound in his chest. Sweat gathered on his brow, and Jon fought to control his breathing while the rhythm of waves jostled him as oars sliced through the saltwater, propelling them towards the Parçalandi .

Jon looked back to the galleass and could now see Xano, Daleth, and Larris standing there, looking at him and Jorcho. Jon raised his shackled hands in a fist. A red line appeared on his right wrist, followed by the pain as the blade disappeared behind him again.

Jon groaned as he grasped his right wrist with his left hand as he felt the flat of the blade strike the back of his head. "Keep your hands in front of you, sikilmis orvorta !"

Jon put pressure on the cut, blood welling between his fingers. It wasn't deep, but it was bleeding enough to annoy him.

By the time they made it to the deck of the Parçalandi , darkness had started to envelop the sea. The caravel wasn't as long as the galleass, but it was much taller, with a forecastle and aft castle. Both were equipped with two scorpions each, all four of them manned. The aftcastle, however, contained a quarterdeck with three separate doors. Ventarro came out of the center with black trousers and a striped tunic with a sword at his waist. It was shorter than a longsword with a slight curve and ornate sheath, and Jon racked his brain if the captain had it on him the day the Pearl's Kiss was attacked.

It didn't matter as the Captain was wearing a frown, "What is the small one for?"

"Incentive for the truth, Ryjar says," Szen said.

Ventarro's eyebrow lifted, "Cocksuckers?"

The crew laughed, and Jon shook his head while Szen shrugged, "Ryjar thinks this one is another holy man."

Ventarro became slightly amused, "So nothing permanent? Fine, Ryjar does love his helpers. His arm?"

"Distracted the oarsmen."

Ventarro shook his head and snapped his fingers, and a small man handed him a threadbare tunic and threw it at Jon, "I need some sleep tonight, throw him down below with the others."

"But sir!" one of the guards spoke up, "We need them back on the oars."

Ventarro was already turning around when he shouted, "Grab two of the Braavosi cinselsi !" Some of the pirates chuckled as Jon pressed the tattered clump of cloth to his wrist. Then he and Jorcho were led down to the lower deck. Jon tensed as flashes of the leading his men below deck came to fore. Before Jon knew it, they were down below, walking through the crew's quarters. Some were all hanging up their hammocks for the evening, while others were changing.

They continued to march as Jon held the tunic to his arm. It had too much fabric, and holding like a clump, although effective at stopping the bleeding, was becoming a hassle for his left hand. When he looked forward, he could see the galley as the cook was yelling at two younger-looking men. No, not men, they were hardly more than children.

Jon wanted to get a better look, but his wants didn't matter as they descended another ladder to the hold. Jon thought they must be at the end of the ship as it was a small space with only fifteen or so barrels of supplies that were stacked and roped to the hull. It was dark save for a lantern, rocking back and forth. A couple of pirates passed them, smiling and adjusting their breeches with a mouthful of biscuit. They finally reached a locked door surrounded by wooden walls that split the hold, where a man sat on a stool.

It was damp, and Jon was hit with a terrible smell that must have emanated from behind the door of iron. The hold where he had lived for so long had a distinct smell, but it seemed like these individuals must have done everything in here. Why in hells did I speak?

The guard, who was wearing a padded gambeson and was armed with a cudgel, a dirk, and a couple of small knives, and Jon noticed this man had a short boarding ax leaned against the wall. The guard looked up, and behind the scarf covering his face were hopeful eyes, "Am I relieved for the night?"

The two that had led them down laughed, "Don't think so. They all chained up?"

The guard glared at the two of them, "Of course."

"Well, we need two of the new Braavosi, they are taking these two shits' places at the oar."

"Alright, alright, you have the keys?" One of the two that led him produced a ring of keys and unlocked the door. When it opened, the smell hit him in force, and Jon coughed, and Jorcho gagged, and the darkness enveloped him as the light of a lantern was blocked by his jailor.

The sight that greeted him caused him to clench his fists, causing pain to radiate from the cut on his right forearm. There were five men huddled in the front, but fourteen women, freefolk women in the middle and twenty, maybe twenty-five children, emaciated and huddled in fear in the back of the hold.

Four of the men looked up with bloody faces, and the two guards pointed at the front two, "You and you no sudden moves, or you'll be gutted."

The two Braavosi were unlocked, and Jon and Jorcho took their places and were soon chained. The fifth man laid motionless, but before the door closed, taking the light with it, he saw the man shift. Then they were left in the damp darkness.

"Why the hell am I here, Toli?" Jorcho said in Valyrian, and he must have leaned against the wall as there was a sound of something against the wood.

Jon slowly laid down flat on his back, and a contented sigh escaped him, then he gave a small chuckle.

"Toli?" Jon didn't answer right away, enjoying how his back stretched then relaxed for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. "Toli!" Jorcho shouted.

Someone banged something against the iron door, and the echo pounded within their prison. Jon turned to where Jorcho's voice came from, "They think if they hurt you, I'll talk truthfully. For some reason, they seem unwilling to hurt me too badly."

"Fuck you, Toli."

Jon shrugged, but realized in the dark Jorcho couldn't see him, "Sorry Jor, this won't take long, either this man is an imposter, and he'll get killed in front of us. Or this man really is from a minor Northern House, and they'll keep him separate and decide to kill him or sell him to someone else for ransom."

"How do you know about Northmen?" Jorcho asked.

"From there, fought in a tournament with one, and saw the older brother and a sister. Regardless I don't know how a Forrester would end up here," Jon told him in Valyrian, but when he said the name Forrester, someone stirred sharply.

That someone then spoke in Westerosi, and Jon was greeted with a Northern burr, one that seemed somewhat familiar, "Which one of you foreign fucks said my name!"

Jorcho spoke up in Valyrian, "What did he say?"

Jon responded in kind, "He's angry, I'll talk to him." Then he switched to Westerosi, "I was brought over from the galleass to identify the one claiming to be someone named Forrester."

"How the fuck would some foreign asshole be able to recognize me?"

Jon sighed, "Honestly? I don't know why they think so, but it will be in the morning, and I'd like some sleep."

The potential pretender sighed, "Good luck."

Jon didn't know what that meant, so he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, hoping that he would dream of being a bird or a cat instead of his usual nightmares.

His hopes were naught as this time, as Ella was chained and screaming prayers, and instead of Ryjar taunting him, it was Lenfred Rykker.

The sound of a door slamming open thrust him out of his nightmare. The light from the lantern blinded him for a moment.

Their guard led two sailors in, "Remember, none of the children or the younger of the women. Any of those five are free to be used."

One of the two who were led in spoke, "Come on, I've been on edge since we took the Braavosi cog and trying to outrun that small storm means one or two days of work straight, need a clear head."

"Ventarro's orders."

"No, it's that white-eyed fuck, Ryjar's."

Their guard snorted, "Maybe, but we've been paid well since he'd come aboard."

"Half my week's pay, for the younger woman with a bit of red in her hair."

There was silence as their guard nodded, and the two men grasped forearms in agreement. They grabbed one of the younger freefolk women. She had dark-red hair. D arker than Robb's . She thrashed wildly, and when her hand connected with one of the sailors, they struck her across the head, and the women stopped fighting, dazed.

"Can't believe you want that one, Tylo," One of the two said to each other.

"Ha! Still has a little fight, and that red shade in the brown seems a bit of fun." Jon tensed, feeling his anger rise and sensing it in Jorcho as well. However, the one claiming to be a Northerner jumped to his feet, his chained legs stopping him before he could reach either of them.

He shouted in Westerosi, "You filthy fucks! If I get out of these chains, I'd rip your godsdamn throats out and stuff your-" A cudgel hit him on the side of the head, and the man crumpled, and something settled in Jon's mind. Could it actually be?

Then the two grumbled as they hit the man high on his back, and the man laid still. The two said nothing and took the woman away as the door shut.

Jorcho eventually croaked out, "What...what, are they doing with her."

One of the sailors responded, "What all evil men do to powerless women."

Jorcho was silent, and Jon spoke, "How often?"

"Every day for those five, sometimes multiple times a day."

Jon felt bile rise in his throat. He had thought his life had been a living hell, he couldn't imagine what these women had gone through. The disgust started to melt and reform into malice, a black hatred threatening to overtake him and consume him. Lock that away. He told himself. Unleash it when there is an opportunity.

Jon spoke up in Westerosi, "Women, children." A few people rustled in the dark. "Are you all Freefolk?"

No one answered, so Jon tried a different tactic, "I've rowed with Toregg. Are you all Toregg's people?"

"Toregg?" A small girlish voice pierced the dark. "Toregg is alive?"

Jon smiled at the question, "He is rowing on the galleass. Are you Munda, his sister, and Dryn, is he here as well?"

"Yes," the girl asked, but it sounded like she was close to tears, or had already succumbed. "He's alive still?" Like she didn't trust her own voice like she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

"Yes," Jon affirmed. "I saw him not more than a couple hours ago. He is alive and is thinking about you."

A little child raised his quivering voice, "Why isn't he here? He said he would protect us." Jon wasn't sure how to respond to that and instead stayed silent.

One of the Freefolk women interrupted him, "Damn fool got us all captured. Others take him and curse him and may what has come upon us be done to him a thousand times!"

A clang on the iron door came again, and the red-headed freefolk woman was dragged back in and tossed roughly to the ground where she whimpered in pain. She was chained back into place, and even before the two men closed the iron door, Jon could see the other women crowd around her.

Jon sat there in anger as the Northman's words came back to him. "Forrester?"

No one responded, but Jon heard the ragged breathing, and he let the man stay unconscious. What seemed a long time later, his eyes closed as new nightmares came to him.

Jon stared at the spread of food in front of him. There were no utensils, and the fare was quite plain—stale bread and stew old enough that some film had built upon it. Jon still ate it with his left hand. His right arm had the large clump of the cloth tied tightly around his wrist, making it unwieldy and awkward, but not necessary to continually hold. Jorcho ate as well while the third slave at the table stared blankly, unwilling to partake. Jon had a few bites left when he was interrupted.

"So, now that you have seen him in sunlight, what do you think, slave? Is he a son of that Lord?"

Jon shifted his view from the third slave to Ventarro, leaning back in his ornate chair, fork in hand eating some sort of beef that smelled incredible. The chair was made of rich, dark wood with ornate carvings of various beasts that Jon had never seen before. It fit well in the captain's private quarters, where the captain seemed to store a part of his worldly wealth. There were silks, velvet garments, silver, and gold furnishings, including the cup he held in his other hand. Jon wasn't sure if it was pure gold or was covered in gold leaf, so he decided it didn't matter. Ventarro's fingers were covered in jewelry, nothing ostentatious, plain bands made of gold and silver, and Jon thought one might have been jade.

Still, Jon kept returning his eyes to the sword that was within its ornate sheath. The blade hung on the wall, and Jon couldn't help but look at the hilt made of some black material with silver inlay.

Jon felt his back bloom with pain as an instrument similar to the Belt hit him across his shoulder. The wounds from the lashings were mostly closed, but they were still very tender. But Jon wouldn't show weakness here, so he absorbed the pain, and let it feed the malice that was locked within him.

"Captain asked you a question!"

Jon looked back at the pirate, the man named Tylo. He was the one who woke him and, with force, took Jorcho and the groggy slave and marched them all out of the slave hold. When they reached the main deck, the cloudy sky greeted them, and they all entered through the middle door that led into what must have been the officers' cabin, then walked into the captain's lush quarters behind it where Ventarro had greeted them.

Jon looked at the third slave, to the Forrester, to the young man. A young man near his own age who stood with him in a line against the best young fighters in the North. Asher sat there staring at his food, anger in his eyes, mixed with regret and despair. All feelings that Jon knew well.

Jon turned back to Ventarro, "Yes. His name is Asher Forrester, second son of a Lord of the North."

"Oh?" Ventarro said, raising an eyebrow and corner of his mouth, making the scar on his lip more visible. While Asher looked at Jon and studied him, trying to place his face, looking for something familiar. Then Asher's eyes widened.

"Aye," Jon said. "Saw him fight in a tourney at White Harbor."

"And when was this?" Ventarro asked, mirth and feigned interest dripping off the words.

Jon shook his head, "One...maybe two months before I was captured." Jon said, unsure of how long ago that actually was.

Ventarro didn't seem to know either and was silent for a while before he spoke again, "You...you were taken from the Pearl's Kiss?" Then Ventarro lifted his eyes to Jorcho, and the captain slapped his forehead, then Ventarro hit the table. "And you are the merchant's son! Ha! Marcelino, no?" Ventarro turned to the seven other pirates in the room. "How long ago was that, five...no six months?"

"Six closer to seven, I believe," One of the officers answered.

"Six!" Ventarro exclaimed. Jon felt his stomach turn hollow. Six months? That is all it has been? Jon struggled with that number. Or was that longer than I thought? Jon couldn't be sure. His body and mind couldn't understand it as his fugue state seemed to have been an eternity, or was it a blink?

Ventarro ignored Jon's rumination, "Good haul if I remember right. The two girls sold for a good price, the one in Lys and the one we sold in Bloodstone." Jon glanced at Jorcho, whose face was turning purple, and Ventarro cocked his head at him. "Your sisters, no?"

Jorcho said nothing, but his shoulders shook while Ventarro must have thought the scene amusing and just laughed and focused back on Jon. "So, slave. You expect me to take your word at seeing this man once eight, nine months ago?"

Jon shrugged, "It doesn't matter, does it."

Ventarro smiled and switched over to Westerosi and spoke to Asher, "This slave says he recognizes you from a competition of some sort."

"Aye," Asher said, his voice hoarse, "To celebrate a wedding between a Manderly and a Grafton."

Ventarro's brow furrowed, "That...that seems familiar."

Asher's expression seemed to relax a fraction, "A lot of lords of Westeros attended." Ventarro nodded along.

Ventarro then spoke in Westerosi to Jon now, "And why were you there?"

"I was-" Jon started, but Asher interrupted him, and Jon looked at him.

"He was there because he is-" Jon's eyes widened, and he started to shake his head when Asher finished, "The son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Bastard son at least, Jon Snow." Jon closed his eyes.

However, Ventarro looked at Jon, really looked at him. His expression shifted to perplexion and surprise. "Unbelievable."

"He is!" Asher said with more enthusiasm.

Ventarro shook his head, "All this time. A son of a Stark!."

"Lord Stark would pay handsomely for the return of his son!" Asher said again, and Jon hung his head.

Ventarro stood up, and switched to Valyrian, "The son of a Lord, on my ship for months and never mentioning it. A fortune lying in wait!" Ventarro was smiling now. "Incredible day! Wondrous day!" Ventarro started to pace, then reached for the sword and tied it around his waist. He then walked around the table and placed his hand on Asher's shoulder. "And I have this one to thank for this information! Get these two men wine to celebrate our inevitable fortune. They deserve a gift." No one moved, and Jon felt a chill crawl down his back.

Asher looked at Jon, relief now flooding his face. Ventarro then slammed Asher's head onto the table in an audible thunk. Then did it again and again. "You think I am fucking fool you līve's orvorta !" Asher laid there dazed. Blood started to pool on the table from what must have been a cut that opened on his forehead. Ventarro looked at Jon and pointed at him, "I put you in the slave's hold last night. I knew you would pull some half-minded shit like this!"

"No!" Jon cried in surprise, "No, we did-" something hit him in the back of the head, and lights exploded in the corners of his vision.

Jorcho looked on in fear, and Jon tried to reach out to him, and someone kicked him. His stool slipped over. Jon fell and knocked over his bowl, and Ventarro's plate and utensils spilled onto the ground.

"You think I'm a fucking fool!" Ventarro shouted and then pointed at Asher, "I'll take your fucking lying tongue and arms and chain you to the prowl you fucking piece of shit."

Asher was too dazed to respond, so Ventarro looked at Jon and Jorcho, "You two will lose fingers for your goddamn lies, then we get to Dramar's I'll feed you to the pits." Ventarro moved quickly to Jorcho.

"Hold his hands, we'll take his middle two fingers on his left hand first, then take Ryjar's pet's next before we send them back." Jorcho's hands trembled as he unsuccessfully fought the pirates closing all but the middle two fingers. Jorcho then stopped fighting and stared at the pirate captain with so much hate that the captain paused and studied him. "More fight then your father."

Jon was shoved and coerced until he was kneeling as Ventarro unsheathed his blade. Every eye was drawn to the sword. It was nearly pitch black and waved. How did…

Before Jon could think any further, Ventarro slammed the Valyrian Steel into the table, as two fingers were taken from Jorcho's hand.

Everything was still for a moment as Jon stood still in shock and surprise. Jorcho looked numbly at his fingers for a breath. Then he screamed in pain.

"No!" Jon wrenched forward and got to his feet, "You fucking bastard!" Jon felt a pair of hands on his shoulder, but threw his head back and felt it connect against something, and the pressure on his shoulders disappeared. Jorcho slumped to the ground whimpering in pain, and Jon was about to lunge towards the captain when five swords pointed at him. Ventarro's wasn't one of them, as it was buried in the table, two cleanly cut fingers right next to it.

Jon felt a blow on his back as Tylo hit him, and he fell to the ground. Ventarro just laughed, "I love his fight! I'll enjoy watching him die in the pits!" Then he shrugged, "minus two fingers, but what do they matter." Jon was forced to his knees, and his hands splayed on the table.

Shouts erupted from outside the captain, and someone burst into Ventarro's quarters. "Captain! Capt-" The man stopped at the bloody scene.

"What is it!?" Ventarro shouted.

The pirate took only a moment before he looked at the captain, "Sails! Purple Sails on the Horizon!" Tylo let go of Jon, and he slumped to the floor as everyone looked at Ventarro.

Ventarro's anger faded, but determination set in, "How many? The fleet the captain spoke of couldn't have caught us yet." No one paid attention to Jon as he laid on the floor.

The pirate shook his head, "Just four!"

Ventarro shook his head, "Just four? What kind? Can we tell?"

Jon saw Ventarro's utensils, including a cutting knife.

"Two galleys, two...they aren't cogs, but they are sailing ships. Tall and long, look fast." Jon reached out and grasped it. Then looked at the bulky tunic tied around his wrist. It was almost long enough to hide a knife.

Ventarro nodded and wrenched his blade free from the table. Jon looked at it briefly. The blade was made like a falchion. Single-edged and slightly curved and as short as an arming sword. The sword widened a bit towards the end before tapering into a deadly point. Ventarro wiped the blood off on Jorcho's dirty tunic, then sheathed it as he shouted. "All hands! All hands! Send the signal to the other ships. I need to see them, but we will need to split apart, forcing them to split as well, and have them give chase." Jon slid the knife against his skin and adjusted the bulky tunic to hide the blade, an inefficient process with his arms chained.

"The storm?" One of the officers asked.

Ventarro looked at them all, "How bad is it?"

"Probably small, rough waves, not fun. We'll need some luck."

Ventarro nodded then smiled, "No storm has ever sunk me, and this one will be the same. Head for the storm. Signal Jyndylo to take his ship and split to the east, for Tyrosh. Ryjar and Ryndellos will be able to outrun them south. If we chart a southeasterly course, we can try to make it into the storm, and if the Braavosi ships are as thin as you say, they won't follow us. "Then Ventarro pointed to Tylo, "Take them below deck, guard them with Ryto for the duration of the storm, or until we relieve you." Tylo nodded. Jorcho continued to mewl like an injured puppy staring at his hand with only three fingers. Asher was dazed, shaking his head, trying to clear it while Jon felt the blade unsecure in the tunic wrapped around his arm. Jon pressed the tunic firm against his arm like he was trying to stop something bleeding.

"Move!" Tylo shouted.

They walked down below deck to the sailor's quarters as pirates flooded out like ants, shouting and handling ropes, and putting on coats, and covering themselves in what looked like fat and laying stores of crossbows and bolts on the deck. As they walked down the path, even the cook and his two young assistants were above, helping the other pirates prepare.

They descended into the hull, Jorcho first, stuffing his left hand into his armpit, crying while he tried to stop the bleeding. Asher was next, initially unsteady, but slowly becoming more sure-footed, while Jon followed lastly with a blade against his back. The few storage areas next to the slave hold were abandoned save for their guard this morning, Ryto. The man had a scarf covering his face to block out the smell. He also had a padded doublet and was armed with a short sword, cudgel, and dirk on his person, the same as Tylo. Though Jon noticed the boarding ax was missing.

"Oi!" Ryto said as he pulled off his scarf, "What's going on?"

"Four Braavosi ships, all hands, heading into a storm, and we guard the slaves for the duration."

"Thank gods," Ryto said, and Tylo agreed as he produced the keys.

They opened the iron door, and Ryto entered first, followed by Jorcho and Asher. Jon stumbled and fell to his knees, a coughing fit overtaking him. "Fucking move!" Tylo shouted, but Jon stayed his hands and knees, coughing so hard he felt his muscles contract hard enough to hurt.

"Tylo, get him moving," Ryto said, locking Jorcho in place. Jon felt an arm under his left armpit, and he allowed himself to be lifted up, then went to grip the tunic and grasped the hilt of the knife. Jon wrenched it from the hiding place and felt the blade cut his wrist as it was unsheathed. Jon turned, gripping the cutting knife with his left hand, and shoved Tylo back into a wall with his right forearm and ran the table knife through Tylo's neck.

"Tylo?" Ryto asked. Jon shifted, ripping his weapon free as Ryto turned, the lantern light lighting the man's widening eyes. Jon saw his hand gripping his sheathed sword. Asher kicked the man's knee, and Ryto fell to the ground. Jon drove forward and kicked the man in the head, then he fell on the man and stabbed the man in the neck and covered his mouth and nose with his right hand.

Blood dripped from Jon's newest cut on his wrist and flowed onto Ryto's face as the man's eyes were panicked. Jon held his right-hand firm and stabbed again with his left. Ryto stopped struggling under his grip, while Jon took a breath and sat on his ass.

"Others take me, Jon," Asher said as he stared at the dead men. Jorcho, however, while in a lot of pain, nodded his approval. The two Braavosi sailors and the freefolk women all stared at him with awe.

Jon spoke then, "Sorry for not talking to you last night, it seemed you needed sleep." Asher didn't say anything, still staring at the dead men. Jon then looked at Jorcho. The young man was now fixated on his mutilated hand, "Jor." His friend didn't say anything, "Jor!" Jon hissed. Jorcho looked at him, "We'll make them pay, and soon." Jorcho didn't seem to understand him, so Jon went back to the dead man. He patted the man for the keys and found them, and unlocked the shackles on his wrists and ankles. The skin had been rubbed raw, and he noticed the scabs and scars as he was free from chains for the first time in months. Jon ignored the relief. Not yet. Jon started to unlock the rest of them.

The red-headed freefolk woman was inpatient, "Unlock me so I can climb up there and cut off their cocks and force them to eat it!" The threat came out as a pained cry.

"Shut up!" Jon nearly shouted. Luckily for them, all hands were on deck, and they were two levels down. They could barely hear the crew shouting orders to each other as they tried to flee from the purple sails chasing them. "Now, we need to be calm and patient. This will be our best chance to get free, we cannot waste it in our haste! First, strip the two of all their clothes and give the one called Ryto's clothes to me."

"Why you?" One of the sailors asked in heavily accented Westerosi.

Jon ignored him and hissed, "Follow my orders, so we aren't all slaughtered!" When none of them moved, Jon nearly yelled in frustration, "I need to pretend to be him, and I need one of you to pretend to be the other one."

"Why not take the ship now?" One of the Freefolk women asked, "All us freefolk women know how to fight."

Jon continued to unlock them, "Listen to me. Four ships are chasing us. Every one of the sailors could be armed right now, but they are on edge. Ventarro is splitting the ships and sailing his ship into a small, but fierce-looking storm to try and lose them. If they are caught and engage in battle, we will attack from below. If they make it into the storm, they will ditch their weapons to work. If that is the case, we will wait until they are exhausted, and then we will attack."

One of the Braavosi nodded, "It could take a few hours."

Jon nodded, "I know, me and Asher here will wear the uniforms and take the swords. Distribute the cudgels and knives amongst yourselves. I'll grab some of the rations stored outside. Eat as much as you can, we will need as much strength as possible."

"If someone comes down to check on us?"

"We cut them down and pray that some god somewhere is on our side." All of them grudgingly accepted this, and soon even the children were free. Terrified, but free.

They had found a barrel of salted fish and fruit and had rolled it into the hold and let all of the slaves eat as much as they could, and after ten minutes, Jon and Asher were in the bloodied clothes and sitting in front of the closed but unlocked iron door. It was nearly too dark to see as they had left the lantern with the rest of them.

Asher leaned against the hold, eating his fill while Jon had rolled up the sleeves of his gambeson and worked to tie a piece of his slave's tunic around his new wound. His self inflicted cut intersected the oars and chains tattooed on his forearm. He covered it and tightly wound a scrap of cloth around his new cut and the one inflicted yesterday.

Asher must have gotten bored, so he asked, "How did you get here?"

"I was taken as a slave, chained, and forced to row ever since. You?"

Asher told him about Gwyn, about their plans to run away and wed in Braavos. How he had traveled to White Harbor first, and how Gwyn was caught before she could leave to meet him, and then him being exiled. He took the first cog out of White Harbor, intent to join the Demons of Braavos as there was a rumor they were preparing for an assault somewhere and were taking on more men.

After he was done, he just stared at Jon, "How. How are you alive?"

Jon shook his head, "I shouldn't be. For a long time at the oar, I thought I was dead."

"We...your family...they think-"

"I'm dead," Jon said while Asher looked solemn. "Still might be," Jon finished.

"They...they didn't take it well, or so I heard. Your father offered gold for any information, they sent eight ships with seven Braavosi a month or more before I left to attack the Stepstones." Jon just nodded, but he didn't give a damn about Eddard Stark and his empty gestures, especially not now. "Your brothers are well last I saw, your sisters I am not so sure. I'm sorry." Jon couldn't think about his family now, couldn't hold hope to see them again while he'd still probably die.

"Enough, Asher," Jon grit out. "I...I can't, not right now." Jon unsheathed the short sword and held it, it felt foreign, but still comforting in his hands. Jon stood and ran through some forms he remembered. "I'm out of practice."

"I could probably beat you now," Asher said and smiled.

Jon didn't, "Unfortunately for all of us."

Asher frowned, "You took care of those two. I've never killed before, but for your first two kills-"

"They weren't my first," Jon said.

"Lenfred-"

"Isn't who I'm talking about."

Asher was silent for a few minutes, "How many?"

Jon thought about it, "Nine. Ten? Maybe eleven now."

"What's it like?"

Jon thought back to the first few and compared them to these two, "Thrilling, horrifying. You feel a rush of power that lasts up until it's done, then you feel nothing but disgust. Then you live with it."

Asher looked disappointed, and they sat there in silence, ready for the pirates above them to enter into battle.

Battle never came, but the storm did.

Jon didn't know how long it had been as the ship rocked back and forth. It wasn't the worst storm Jon had been in, and not being in a galleass made it shifting of the waves easier to bear. Still, Asher looked worse for wear, and Jon hoped that the pirates were at least tired, as their sea legs were at home on rough waves, which gave them an advantage. Another advantage.

They had been left alone in the hold so far as the pirates were too busy to check in on a pair of lazy guards. Jon regretted killing both of them, he needed to know if their weapons were stored anywhere else as only a fool would keep them in the small store near the slaves. Yet Jon knew traveling through the crew quarters would be a death sentence. Hence they had only two swords, two cudgels, two dirks, and a kitchen knife for eighteen fighters. Five older women, nine younger women (barely older than himself), the two sailors, himself and Asher. Jorcho and the children. But Jon didn't want Jor to fight, and he needed the children to stay safe.

After speaking to the Braavosi sailors, Adaridos and Gyllido, they both agreed to the plan and said for a ship this size, the crew would be anywhere from thirty-five to forty-five. Seven poorly armed fighters, and eleven unarmed ones against at most forty-three men. Surprise is the only chance we have.

The angry red-haired Freefolk woman, Yrna, opened the iron door a crack. "Cockless cowards," she whispered. The nicknames she gave to them weren't the most charming, but Jon didn't care, Asher, however…

"Fuck you," he grumbled.

Jon could only see part of the woman's head and thought there was a sneer, but he knew it was most likely a trick of the light. She continued, "We have sat here for an eternity, let me up and kill those bastards!"

Jon noticed Asher looking at him when she said the last word, but Jon didn't hear it anymore, and instead responded, "Soon. Hours of ship work in the rain will tire them." A crash of thunder overtook the sounds of the waves and rain.

As the thunder faded, there were sounds of someone walking above them, and Jon held his hand out to silence any remark. Another clap of thunder.

"Tylo! Ryto!"

Jon felt a pit in his stomach and readied to imitate one of them, decided against it, and gave a general, "Eh?"

The man must not have noticed, "Me, Syno, and 'Los are taking your place. Your turn in this fucking mess!."

Jon looked at Asher and nodded, and Jon received one in return as Asher hit behind a stack of barrels. Footsteps echoed through the hold, while Jon hovered his hand above the hilt his side-sword.

Jon covered his face and hair with cloth, similar to how Ryto had his and looked down, knowing his eyes may give him away. Luckily, the lantern was inside the slave pen. Covering Jon in darkness with only enough light to see shapes of men. "Ryto! Where is Tylo?" Jon pointed to the iron door, and the three laughed. Jon stood slowly as the first knocked on the door and started mocking Tylo, "Letting the ship do the work for you? You lazy shit."

The door cracked open, light spilling into the dark hold, and the man gurgled as a dirk pierced through the throat. The other two staggered back, and Jon stabbed one in the back and through the heart as he held his mouth. Asher gutted the other, pushing him back towards the wall.

Thunder roiled as the man groaned in pain. Jon moved quickly and covered the dying man's mouth, and his wide eyes emanated terror, and Jon didn't look away as the life left his eyes. Forty more at most.

Jon turned and opened the door and handed out the dead men's weapons. Three hatchets, a few more dirks, and some more knives. They were soon armed one way or another, and Jon looked at them all, then noticed Asher, who was pale-faced.

"Asher, if you are going to be sick, do it now. Get it out of your body as there will be more death tonight." Asher turned to the corner and vomited for half a minute before standing back up, looking a little more steady. A ridiculous thought passed his mind. He was probably the youngest of his gathered group, yet they hung on his command.

"When we move up, me and Asher and three of the women will move toward the crew quarters, and Adar and Gyl will clear out the galley with two more. The rest follow us as best you can. Do not hesitate, kill any you come across and try to do so quietly if possible."

The thunder was so loud they all flinched. "We need to delay them knowing we are free for as long as possible."

They all nodded, but Jon felt apprehension and fought it from showing. They were still severely outnumbered, and if the rest were still armed like the dead men, this would be a short fight. He was about to turn when Jorcho stepped through the door, his three-fingered hand was bandaged but bloody. "Jor, stay inside, keep the children safe," Jon said in Valyrian.

Jor glared at him and shut the door behind him, "I have more a reason to kill these bastards than you do, Toli." A dozen arguments sprung to Jon's mind. His pain will slow him, his blood loss would compromise him. He had never swung a blade. Instead, Jon just nodded and turned to the ladder and climbed up to the crew quarters.

It was oddly serene while the heavy rain shuddered against the hull, and shouts of men above them became more evident. It was interrupted by a white flash from where the ladder led to the deck. A loud clap of thunder came soon after.

Asher came behind him, as did Yrna and two others. The two Braavosi were next and shuffled to the galley. Jon moved forward quietly but with a determined purpose. A crash was heard behind them as well as a muffled scream. Jon ignored it, hoping his men had taken care of whoever it was.

Four pirates appeared from seemingly nowhere, and Jon didn't think and struck hard and fast, hoping he could rely on those with him. It was sloppy and quick, but Jon felt like a warrior again as he killed one, then another. He got his sword out of the second's chest when he turned to the next one, but Asher and Yrna had taken care of the others.

"Gather the weapons and hand them to the others. We have but a few-"

"Slaves!" Jon turned to see a younger pirate sopping wet and struggling to get his blade free as he yelled as loud as he could.

Jon said nothing but starred with cold fury and charged the young man. Another bright flash and clap of thunder swallowed the young pirate's scream as he died without drawing his blade.

Jon grabbed it and now held two swords. Then he saw four men rush down the ladder, weapons ensheathed, and soaked to the bone. Jon recognized two of the men as those that had visited Yrna the night before.

A flash of dark red hair moved forward before he could and rushed them. Jon joined her moments later with a burst of steel on steel. Jon stabbed one in the gut and another man in the leg, who was finished by someone else. The four were dead, and only one of the older freefolk women suffered a significant injury.

Thirty- one at most.

Jon started to go up the ladder to the main deck but saw Yrna yelling and stabbing the already bloody corpse repeatedly.

He wanted to stop, wanted to pull her away as the dead man's chest was opened by dozens of cuts before she started to work on the head. But Jon had more to kill and felt the bitter rain and harsh wind bite into him. Two of the freefolk women rushed ahead of him as he stood frozen on the steps.

Then the bright hammer of an angry god rent the night apart with a flash of light and a crack of thunder. Time itself stopped as Jon was rendered blind and deaf as he stumbled on the wooden steps.

It was a breath or an hour when Jon's vision returned, and as the dull ringing in his ear subsided, he was overwhelmed by the cacophony of shouts and the red flame battling against cold rain.

Jon climbed onto the deck and saw the two freefolk that rushed ahead, both were pierced by shards of wood. One had three in the chest, and the other had one in the leg.

Jon examined the source and saw that the main mast had a red stripe of fire through the wood. The sails that were gathered at the top were aflame, and Jon saw some of the riggings were as well. A few men struggled down them quickly as others on the deck, five or more, fared no better than the two freefolk, while the rest scrambled away some bearing wounds, but all were dazed.

Jon thought he heard the sound of thunder, and Jon grabbed Yrna, who had rushed to get past him. Jon ducked in fear for another bolt of lightning. However, the noise wasn't thunder, but of wood splitting, as Jon watched in horror and fascination as what was left of the tall mast split and fell sideways into the sea below. The entire ship lurched to the side, dragged by the weight of the mast. Jon threw himself and Yrna to the ground as rigging, keeping the mast attached to the boat pulled and snapped apart as the cries of a few pirates were swallowed by the waves, and the ship lurched in the opposite direction free of dead weight. A spray of water crashed over them and seemed to douse any remaining flames.

Jon looked up to see fifteen or so pirates who were already starting to recover, and then he saw Ventarro standing tall, shouting and giving orders.

The rain was starting to lessen, but the wind still howled. Lightning exploded in the distance, and the thunder bellowed soon after.

Jon got to his feet as the last sound of thunder faded and turned to those below deck, still finding their feet. His voice was steady as he shouted. "The storm is on our side! Take this gift and earn your freedom!"

Although they were still a bit dazed, they gave a riotous shout, and Jon turned to the pirates, who had finally noticed the brazen cries. Jon locked eyes with Ventarro, who paused his orders, then shouted something that was carried away by the wind, still staring at him.

Jon found the box filled with his hate, frustration, and anger at what had been done to him, to Cason, to Jor, to his fellow Demons, and opened it and let it take over every thought and action.

Two men were close and met him with nothing but dirks, and Jon felt his muscles readjust to long-forgotten practice, while his foes' tired limbs were slow and unsteady. He took one man's hand and sliced through another's ribs before finishing them off as the deck continued to sway, and the dead bodies rolled aside. Jon looked around at the chaos in the rain and could barely make out what he thought was Ventarro. The man disappeared into his cabin with three others. Someone cried in pain, and Jon saw one woman stabbed through the chest, and Jon rushed the man responsible, who died with two red gashes across his torso and steel in his mouth.

Jon took a moment and saw two other freefolk women cut down, but not before severely injuring their attackers who were finished by Asher. Jon turned to find another opponent and saw Yrna engaged and backpedaling away from a man with a wooden splinter embedded into his left arm.

Jon started to move when something crashed into him from above, and he fell hard against the slick deck as the man, who must have jumped from the rigging of one of the other masts, yelled curses in a foreign tongue. Jon lost his grip on his swords and rolled away from his attacker.

The man who jumped him scrambled to his feet and unsheathed a dagger. Jon rubbed away the rain from his eyes the best he could as a knife thrust down towards him. Jon caught the man's arm and felt the skin tear on his forearm. Jon growled and rammed his forehead into the man's nose, stunning him. Jon quickly thrust the man's own knife into his neck and released the corpse as lightning flashed again, showing the hollowness of the man's eyes.

Jon looked up and saw one of his swords on the slick deck. Jon started to move to it when another pirate swung his blade. He dodged the best he could but felt the cut across his chest, slicing his soaked gambeson and a creating line of pain underneath.

The man positioned himself for a thrust through the heart, and Jon readied to charge him regardless when someone flared across his vision and tackled the man. Jorcho, bloody and screaming, took the man to the ground. Jon rushed over as the two struggled against the dirk Jor was trying to impale the man with. The bloody stump where Jorcho's fingers should have been were bleeding and mixed with the rain as it seeped into the man's eyes. Jon stomped on the man's head with as much force as he could muster. Then he did it again and again, as Jor's knife finally punctured the man's chest.

"Fucking bastard!" Jorcho screamed as Jon got him back to his feet. Jon gathered his sword and surveyed the bloodshed. Bodies littered the main deck, the blood made thin from the rain washing it away. Two more pirates interrupted him. Both were injured, one with a splinter in the leg and another with a gash across his head. Jon advanced, and unfortunately, so did Jorcho as the young man barely parried a slash before Jon grabbed him and thrust him back out of the way.

The two advanced, and Jon struggled to fend them off as they were much more skilled than the others. He retreated, and the two pushed their advantage of numbers, forcing him to work through the pain in his chest, back, and forearm. He received another cut on the left arm, and Jon saw a flicker of disappointment flash across their faces as it didn't affect him. Jon gave a feral smile as the pain just fed his anger. The deck rolled beneath them, causing them to lose their footing, and Jon lunged desperately at the one on the left. His blade slipped past the guard and pierced the man's gut. Jon turned as the other found his footing, but a sword split the man's skull, and blood and brain spilled to the deck as Asher raised Jon to his feet.

"Snow!" Asher shouted, "We've almost done it!"

"How many do we have left!"

"Seven of ours dead! Six wounded, but can still fight!" Before Jon could ask about the pirates, Asher continued, "Most of theirs dead!"

"Ventarro?"

At that moment, Ventarro and three others walked out of the cabin. Ventarro held only his sword as the others bore shields and short swords. Ventarro wore a doublet and chainmail loosely thrown over it and donned a steel half helm while brandishing his Valyrian Steel weapon . The black blade became more apparent as the rain started to lessen its pounding, and the grey clouds began to give way to an evening sky.

Jon looked around and found a boarding ax and held it in his left arm, and tightened his grip on the sword in his right. Jon moved forward with Asher and two women, one of the sailors and Jorcho, who ran straight to Ventarro, but slipped on the deck covered in gore and rain.

Jon met one of the pirates who struck at his left shoulder, and he parried it desperately. He then used the ax to hook the rim of the shield and pull it down. The man thrust the blade again at his head, and Jon took it roughly on the hilt while angling his own sword into the man's neck as one of his freefolk stuck him in the side. Jon disengaged to see Ventarro's Valyrian steel blade decapitate one of the Braavosi sailors, Aradaridos.

"Ventarro!" Jon shouted at him as he advanced, but Asher attacked before he could as one of Ventarro's lieutenants charged him. Jon stepped back and slipped on the deck, his foot moving further than he intended. Jon fell to a knee, and the pirate swung too eagerly, and Jon lunged sideways and swung his ax, which connected with the man's side. However, the man still thrust his blade, and Jon felt it slice into his own doublet and cut his shoulder.

Jon yelled in pain, and in frustration, he gave a wild swing, like a butcher cutting a side of beef and buried his sword in the man's head so deep Jon couldn't remove it.

Jon heard a cry of anguish as Asher stumbled to his knee, as a gash had opened in his thigh. Ventarro raised his blade to finish Asher, but Jorcho intercepted him with nothing but his dirk. Ventarro laughed darkly as the winds started to calm enough that Jon could hear the man's words, "The son of a whore!"

Jorcho slashed once, and Ventarro contemptuously knocked it to the side and kicked Jorcho back. "The son of the women who sucked my cock eagerly, begging me to fuck her to ' spare her children.'"

Jorcho cried out in anger as Jon looked around and tried to pull the ax free from the dead pirate's side. Ventarro's voice carried again, drawing Jon's attention back. "No memory of your mother's mouth will spare you now, boy!" Jon pulled desperately at the ax, and it finally gave way.

Jorcho yelled again and lashed out, but the slash was futile, and Ventarro headbutted the boy hard. Jorcho was about to slump when Ventarro held him up. Jon started to move with desperation. Ventarro pointed at Jon with the sword and spoke in Jorcho's ear loud enough for Jon to hear. "When you see your father! Tell him what I have done."

Ventarro shoved the boy back and thrust his sword through Jorcho's stomach, and the end of the blade burst from his friend's back.

"NO!" Jon screamed as his vision went red. He charged madly, gripping the boarding ax with two hands. Ventarro, who was holding Jorcho to him, tried to wrench the blade free, but like a vice, Jorcho's hand gripped the hilt, keeping the sword in his body.

Jon was steps away when Ventarro realized what was happening, and his confident, arrogant, angry eyes widened in fear, and Jorcho's head lifted, the faint words carrying to Jon, "Die with me, muña qogra." Ventarro let go of the hilt and scrambled for the knife at his side.

The captain raised his hand, but Jon's ax cut threw it and bit into Ventarro's doublet and chainmail. Jon kicked him to the ground and wrenched it free, some blood came with it as Ventarro gurgled a cry in pain.

Jon said nothing but bellowed like a demon as he raised his ax again and slammed it down, and Ventarro choked on blood trying to speak, and the memory of Evrett dying in his arms came to him. Jon repeated the motion and saw Vimeras dead on the deck. He swung again, and there was Sylvar with a knife in his eye. Then Haro, with his throat gone and Brachen dead with bolts through his body.

Jon was a woodsman cutting lumber, but instead, he split skin and bone. Jon continued screaming in frustration as his dead friends, the freefolk women, and Marcelino's family flashed through his mind, bringing nothing but pain, and he released it all into his ax as it slammed down, again and again. The light rain and warm-blood splattered him in equal measure, but Jon didn't notice. He only continued his grisly work as his own pain wouldn't end.

"Jon," someone said behind him, but he didn't catch it. As the ruined corpse below him looked more and more like meat for a stew. Jon didn't care. Even as the ax thudded against the wooden deck.

Then a hand touched his shoulder, and Jon turned, yelling and raising his ax, but saw Asher standing there. He was terrified, pale, and flinched back from Jon. The rage and anger left him as he saw the dead around him. The Freefolk women that were left were injured and gathering the others that were still alive. He saw Yrna, covered in blood going around to the pirates and stabbing them in the chest for good measure. Gyl, the last Braavosi sailor, stared mutely at the slaughter. Jon's eyes then landed on Jor, who had a sword through his gut, breathing raggedly and looking back at him.

Jon didn't even look at Asher as he pushed him aside, "Stop Yrna from killing any more prisoners and tie them, we need to search the ship for any remaining crew." Jon didn't wait for an answer and knelt down next to Jorcho, who continued to look at him, then Jor smiled weakly.

"I-I'm s-sorry," Jon sputtered.

Jorcho tried to laugh, but a gurgle came out instead, "I-, It's my own fault." He looked at Ventarro, or what was left of Ventarro, "Gl-glad, I helped kill the fu-fucker." Then he looked at Jon, all joy gone from his eyes. "Find," he coughed and tried to sit up, "Find, my family."

Jon grabbed his hand, "You'll be-"

Jorcho coughed again, interrupting him, blood coming from his mouth as he closed his eyes.

Jon sat down and stared at his friend, someone else he tried to protect, someone he had failed to keep alive. Again .

Jon buried the ax into the deck and walked to the railing to collect himself. Jon wiped his face. There were no more tears, only blood.

Notes:

Well, that was a long painful road and Jon still has work to do. That wasn't the most fun arc to read or write and boy howdy that took longer than I intended (yes I understand that's a running issue for me, I'm working on it I promise).

Anyway, some bad news, work has been kicking my ass and I haven't done much writing over the past few weeks so it may be a while before you get another chapter.

Thanks again for everyone who has kept reading! It means a lot that you all have chosen to even give this story any of your time!

Shout out to my helpful beta's :
Topone
BronzeTitan
MarvellousFaery

They have given me some great feedback have fics of their own so please support them as well!