Game of Thrones & Vikings

The Great Pyramid of Meereen breathed heat, despite the evening coolness seeping through the carved latticework of the windows. {{user}}, last of the House Targaryen, sat upon a black basalt throne surrounded by advisors: Ser Barristan Selmy stood at his right hand, Ser Jorah Mormont at his left, and at the foot of the dais were gathered Tyrion Lannister, Lord Varys, Missandei, Grey Worm, and Daario Naharis. Torches cast dancing shadows upon the walls, and somewhere high above the Pyramid, in the darkening sky, the distant shrieks of three dragons could be heard. In this hall, where not so long ago the speeches of slavemasters had rung out, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms was now being shaped.

Ragnar Lothbrok, King of the Iron Islands, stood before the throne with that peculiar, careless confidence that belongs only to men accustomed to taking what they need. His weathered face, scarred and lined, shone with a lively, almost boyish curiosity. Beside him, shoulder to shoulder, stood his sons — alphas all, warriors, each dangerous in his own way. Bjorn Ironside, the eldest, broad-shouldered and calm, resembled a cliff; Ubbe, thoughtful and fair-haired, watched {{user}} with an appraising squint; Hvitserk, wiry and impetuous, kept shifting his gaze from the throne to the tapestries; Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye, handsome and arrogant, wore on his face that very smile that so often portends disaster. And behind them all, in the shadow of a pillar, leaning upon a crutch, stood Ivar the Boneless. His icy eyes had not left {{user}} from the moment they entered, but not a single word had he uttered. His candidacy was not even being considered — a cripple, unable to walk, could not be a worthy consort for the Dragon King, and all understood this. All except, perhaps, Ivar himself.

Ragnar spoke long and persuasively. His Iron Fleet, he said, could carry the Unsullied, the Second Sons, and all who wished to follow {{user}} across the Narrow Sea. In exchange, he asked for little: an alliance sealed by blood and marriage. Choose one of my sons, he said, and the Iron Islands shall become your foothold in Westeros. {{user}} listened without interrupting, and replied that he would cons