Grey Worm's POV
We left the piles of dead bodies rotting away at our capture of Casterly Rock, the place of tricksters, and marched onward, watching the grounds on all sides for immediate danger.
My anger over the destroyed ships turned to fury, adding kindling like sticks for a fire. I don't mind the walking. It was that food and supplies were on those ships and Casterly Rock had been purposely emptied of everything we needed. We took a few tents and foods just in case, but it wouldn't be enough for all of us. I let my men eat first and we hunted through the lush wilderness for whatever appeared edible.
I led the sudden rough terrain trek to King's Landing on heavy guard, my intuition- my Missandei taught me this word- on high alert. They must have schemes afoot, traps to ensure that we not make the journey. We were tired and surviving on limited food supply. Very vulnerable to those who vowed to keep themselves on the throne. I was all too familiar with ambushes, a tactic used mostly by cowards.
"We should stop here," I said, looking at the fresh, clear waters to fill our near empty vessels, attend to minor cuts and scrapes, and clean ourselves.
"I will check the water, Commander," said Blue Dusk, my second-in-command.
He sank down to the ground, dipped his finger into the blue-green pool, and tasted the small sample. Afterwards, he nodded and packs of the Unsullied followed suit, alternating between stripping their leathers and gathering drink. There was no telling if we would find any more good water before reaching our final destination.
I kept an eye out, inspecting the tall trees gathered together, the thick green bushes surrounding them. Anyone could be hiding behind the overwhelming majesty of nature, waiting for the perfect time to strike.
"I see something!" A fellow soldier called out.
The other Unsullied rushed out of the water and quickly grabbed their staffs. I took fighting stance, the anticipation of a fight compensating for weary boned weakness.
A modest army, much like the size of the red coats at Casterly Rock, emerged out of the dense forest, weapons raised. They came at us like animals, pink in their cheeks, white teeth bared.
As I pierced and stabbed any man that sought to kill me first, I thought only of returning to the one who told me, showed me the meaning behind love. Dragonstone was cold and windy, a greyer place than sun glowing Meereen or Astapor where I was trained, stolen from the hot Summer Isles. I could see Missandei from the island of Naath so clearly. She was right before me, a warm beacon, gently wishing me "good fortune" in the most beautiful, awing light. Many weeks passed since my leave. Time stretched so slow and violent under the foul stench of war. I still remembered her indescribable softness, her pleasing taste on my tongue, how my hunger grew for more of her. Yet her care for me, her tender affection touched my soldier heart and soul. I never imagined anyone could ever see me, caress and kiss me like I mattered, like my body was meant to be more than a weapon. That night kept me sustained, kept me alive. Yes, she was my weakness and my strength at the same time.
We fought enemies through the nearly pitch black evening, grunting and clashing against swishing swords until the waters and grounds stained a dark red.
I lost only a few men.
Another night of no sleep was on the horizon for me, but my opened eyes would feast on the most pleasant thoughts to occupy the duration of my watch. Such distraction wasn't wise, especially for a commander of a large fleet.
/
I held my helmet beneath my arm, standing with my brave Unsullied, all lined up and militant, rolls and rolls of them, watching the cowardice Lannister red soldiers aiming bows, filling cannons.
The Dothraki came seconds later, howling on their horses, carrying circular bladed swords.
The Lannisters underestimated us.
/
Our queen was here. I saw her two dragons flying high in the sky, Rhaegal and Drogon- the largest and most rebellious. I wondered if something bad fell to Viserion.
War was my only purpose. Or so it seemed.
Until I met Missandei from the Island of Naath.
We were both owned by Kraznys Mo Nabloz- us for weapons, she for translation. From the first time, through the narrow eye space of the tin helmet, she hit me in a way that began to change my thinking about people, about women in general. It was like repeating training, a new regime. In order to pass this test, I must refrain from this strange attachment. Yet whenever Kraznys took her away from Astapor for a time, I always felt despair and hoped for her safe return.
Then Queen Daenerys came, conquered, and freed us all together.
Missandei no longer wore her collar and spoke around a perverse master's language. I no longer hurt innocents at the beck and call of those same barbaric masters. I could sense her pride and pleasure every time she introduced our queen to strangers, the sound of a woman free to do as she chooses. We both served our queen because she treated us as equals, not as property.
Once our queen was determined to better my Westori, in the private tent, fires crackling between, I thought it penance to see Missandei from the island of Naath often.
Daario Naharis knew it first. He of the Second Sons, a murderer of his officers- one of which I wanted to kill myself for treating Missandei, a Naath goddess, like a common whore and talking to our queen with foul tongue.
Missandei had witnessed Daario and I betting at midnight, staring at me with those huge brown eyes caught between outrage and something new- interest. I thought perhaps I was being naive. Hope will make anyone believe in anything.
Daario looked at the both of us, his black eyes darting back and forth with increasing mischief, and said nothing in the hours we held our weapons on stretched out forearms. Although she long since retired to bed, she was on my mind heavily, coming back with our queen the next morning, beautiful as ever.
"You like this girl?" Daario asked after we failed to ride by our queen's side. "Must be frustrating."
"You are not a smart man, Daario Naharis," I said.
"I'd rather have no brains and two balls."
Despite the humor behind the intended jab, it was still a humiliation that most men spoke of on my army. His comment added onto my determination to silence growing feelings, feelings that were not fit for a cut soldier. She deserved a full man. Yet, secretly I wished we could be together, in some way, however small.
"How are your lessons coming along?" Jorah of Andal asked, looking curious weeks later. I respected the older, brown haired man, our queen's trusted advisor.
"Well," I said.
"Yes. And?"
I looked at him, confused.
"I see the way you look at her. We all do, Torgo Nudho. There is no shame in what transpires in a man's heart."
"Transpires?"
"It means the thing that happens."
"Does our queen know?"
"Yes."
I lowered my head, ashamed.
He touched my shoulder.
"It is alright. You were trained to feel emotional attachment only to war. And now you have been changed by that of which does not often strike a man twice. What do you feel after each lesson with her?"
"Beyond happiness. I don't have any other words."
"Precious comes to mind."
"Precious?"
"It means sacred and holy, like something rare and of value, like the god you and your Unsullied were sacrificed for," Jorah said, then pounding his reddening fist against his heart, "you feel it mostly here."
"Precious," I repeated.
Jorah nodded.
"I can tell you about other words, Torgo Nudho, words that she will not tell you about, the words from great poets and romantics."
Thus, he taught me "tenderness," "heartsick," "poignant," and "sorrow."
If he and everyone else could see the feelings that I tried burying beneath duty, I was already forsaking an honorable position for an idle pleasure and as an Unsullied that was a great wrong. I vowed to try harder, to commit to being a better Commander to my queen.
Even without words Missandei from the island of Naath continued to invade me, invade me much differently than a sworn enemy across a bloody battle field. I fought against the unwelcome tide of emotional waves and lost. I lost once we started traveling together, standing side by side, chosen personal advisors to our queen, those precious common tongue lessons, her naked form at the Meereen waters. Unlike the red of war and death, she was a gentle spirit, a breath of pure, calm air whose wide brown eyes, full budded lips, soft spiral hair, and sweet-natured voice could make a man fall to his knees and cry for having been gifted her heart.
The first I ever heard of love was the day of Jorah of Andal's exile. He collapsed at her feet pledging his self to our queen's cause in light of his exposed betrayal. He came closer. I had to draw near and raise my staff at him, at a former slave master that I believed changed due to our queen's good graces. He was a man I fought alongside, a teacher of new words about my feelings for Missandei from the island of Naath. His dishonesty blighted my regards for him, but his love for our queen never wavered. He kept coming back, willing to risk death over and over again to show his sorry.
When Missandei said, "I love you" to me that night, I repeated her not just of obligation. They were the truest words that I ever spoke, words that spilled out of me like blood from a gaping wound, untrained words that voiced everything I felt in her presence. I would never lie to her and she would never lie to me.
I pulled back from my reveries, resuming my place as leader to a large force, looking up at the foes protecting King's Landing castle, hoping that I would see Missandei from the Island of Naath soon. Very soon.
I know that our queen will defeat the Lannisters and sit on the iron throne, ruling the seven kingdoms, bringing peace and justice to all.
"Commander," Blue Dusk said, coming up from the rear, "our queen requests a word with you."
I nodded, gave a last look up at the Lannister soldiers, let Blue Dusk stand in my place, and headed in the direction of my summoning led by Jorah, who had once again returned for our queen.