Chapter Text
Arbor was dying. The town alongside scarse Redwyne fleet set on fire, only screams reaching higher than soaring flames around Sansa, but she never turned to look. Her eyes were set on the docked Kraken.
Huge black drapes, tens of wooden tentacles piercing it's belly to row forward, the iron Maiden forged numb as her soul. The monster opened her mouth, painted red and swallowed her in silence.
The hall was dimly lit, people gathered closer to watch when she was brought to the Great Hall of Pyke. She saw Victarion standing close to the empty throne, a fierce tall man, partly greyed black hair and beard.
Men present were noble Ironborn, wearing their sigils like in a conclave. They were staring at the empty throne, Sansa allowed her gaze to follow theirs, and she saw something move in the shadows.
Shiny black hair, one black endless eye and for a moment the Krakenchair was alive making Sansa gasp in terror. Euron sat the Seastone Chair like he was forged of oily black stone. He leaned forward from the shadows,
"Bow to your king, lady Sansa."
Sansa dropped to her knees, it was easy, like for Geoffrey,
"Your grace."
Euron stood up from the seat, and walked to her. He lifted her chin, he looked nothing like Geoffrey,
"So sweet."
Sighing, he pushed her head down, rested her forehead to his pelvis. She heard mutters and laughs, but they were not like at Geoffreys court. Sudden, high pitched gasps were missing. This was a low, steady, relaxed murmur, almost exited, almost urging him on, like waiting for a promise to be filled. There were no ladies present. Sansa repressed a sob, her heart pounded with fear, feeling him hard against her face. He stood still a time that felt like forever. She could not see, but heard men moving about, booted steps, clack on an armour, harsh words whispered.
"My sweet lady Sansa, what am I to do with you?"
Sansa sobbed, but Euron held her head against his pelvis.
"Should I accept the ransom offered?"
Font of mercy, let him, she prayed, let this be over.
"Others prefer you follow lord Blactyde, torn apart in seven pieces..."
Font of mercy, let me follow him, let this be over.
Euron caressed her head.
"Some say, lets have fun with her, first..."
She found a sudden strenght to pull her head free and courage to tear his crotch with her claws,
"You beasts!"
She felt a blow to her cheek, Eurons slap threw her across the hall, and her lip cracked. Her ear was ringing, and she could not get up.
Euron jumped at her, forced her up and tore open her green silk gown. Sansa screamed,
"Burn in seven hells!"
Her kicking and screaming did not even seem slow Euron down and through her tears met a gaze of an old man. He shook his head a little, vast grey pools of eyes reflecting endless pity. He shook his head again and looked around him. The lords had gathered around them, lust gleeming in their eyes. Sansa realized that her horror had urged the ironborn on, and relaxed completly still. She had learned how to swim, after all. Old man nodded. Sansa pulled her eyes off the cool grey pools to look at his chest. His sigil was a scythe against black.
Eurons voice was as soft as ever,
"Look at her sweetness..."
He tore the rest of her gown off, cupped her round teats and played with her nipples. Her flat stomach and firm hips framed the smooth, silky fold between her legs. Euron held her still, but his hands did not bruise her. Sansa felt him hard against her back.
Men were grinning and making crude jests to each other. Euron looked at them, and let his hand slide in her folds, rubbing her nub, pushing a finger inside her. Pleasure surged over her. Hearing Sansas soft gasp, Euron laughed,
"Who of my captains would have her first?"
Victarion took a sudden step towards Euron, but said nothing. A young, sturdy man shouted,
"Is her cunt wet?"
Euron laughed, lifted his hand from her nub, licked his fingers and traced Sansas cracked lips with them,
"Pouring honey."