DAVOS
He stayed there long after the body had gone cold.
Someone had closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. His skin was pale and sagging, almost translucent, and all of the muscles in his body were tense, permanently frozen. Silent Sisters had come to clean the body and one of them had washed the blood from him, a cloth wrapped around his punctured throat. Davos untied it, his finger reaching to touch the hole in Devan's neck, where the crossbow had gone straight through. It still did not feel real. He looked at that pale, frozen face, trying to imagine Devan's brown eyes in that face, to imagine it adorned with one of his rare smiles. This isn't Devan. Davos thought. This isn't my son…
He'd lost four boys before. Matthos even died before his eyes, just as Devan had – but he hadn't seen any of their bodies. There probably were no bodies, in truth, after the wildfire explosions that ended his boys' lives at the Blackwater. Any remains that might've survived the blast surely sank to the bottom of the bay, the fish devouring their flesh, their ashes scattered on the sea breeze…
He'd lost four boys and yet he'd never buried a son before.
Davos would've laughed, had he been able. The universe was cruel. He wanted to rage, to curse, to cry, to demand to know why it hadn't been him instead, but Davos did not know if he had the strength to do anything. He felt empty.
He reached out and touched Devan's dark hair, plastered against his clammy face. "Oh, my boy." Davos whispered. He did not know why he was speaking – Devan could not hear him, and he was not sure if he believed in any afterlife – but the words came pouring out of him all the same. "I remember the day you were born. As clearly as if it were yesterday. After your four brothers, I thought you would be a girl, but your mother was certain that you were a boy. She'd had your name picked out since her third moonturn – she's always been smarter than I am, your mother. You were so small…" A lump was rising in his throat, but he pressed on. "You were so small, but you were strong. The first time I held you, you looked up at me, and you wrapped your tiny hand around my finger, and just like that I knew I was in love. I know fathers aren't supposed to have favorites, and I wouldn't say I did but…but I was always so proud of you, Devan. From the very first moment. You were always such a good boy, until the very last…" He lifted Devan's limp hand to his lips and kissed it. "I am so proud of you."
He was still staring at Devan's dead face, trying to find any trace of that strong, smart, good boy he'd raised, something, anything, when he heard the door open and a man's boots tread lightly across the floor. Due to the high-vaulted ceilings in this particular chamber at Storm's End, each footfall against the stone echoed, even though he was practically tiptoeing.
"Ser Davos." Gendry Baratheon's hushed voice broke through his contemplation. "It's almost time."
Still, Davos did not move. Even as he heard Gendry walk up behind him he did not turn, because he feared that when he looked away from Devan's face, he would never see it again. He had been cooped up in here for hours, and the Silent Sisters needed to take the body away before it began to rot, but still Davos did not move.
From the corner of his eye he could see Gendry lift his hand, moving to touch his shoulder, but then he dropped it and pulled back. How were you supposed to comfort someone whose son had just died? You can't. Davos thought.
"I know it's difficult." Gendry finally said. "I know he was your son."
Tears pricked Davos's eyes. "Is," He corrected. "He is my son."
Gendry glanced down at the body laid out on the table, and nodded. "Aye." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Davos placed a trembling hand over Devan's chest. Even through the black doublet the Sisters had dressed him in, Davos could still feel the coolness emanating from his skin. "I'd say that I pray that should you ever be blessed with children, you will never know the pain of having them taken from you." He said to Gendry. "Though I do not pray." How can there be gods in a world where the innocent can be taken away so cruelly? What kind of merciful creator would make the best people in this world suffer, while evil people could continue to breathe another day?
Dale. Allard. Matthos. Maric. Devan. Shireen. They were all gone. Now they were nothing but Davos's ghosts. He wanted to weep but he did not know if he had any tears left.
A lump rose in Lord Baratheon's throat, and he swallowed it. "I'm so sorry. It should've been me – "
Even in his grief, Davos did not allow Gendry to finish that sentence. He finally forced himself to tear his eyes away from Devan to look at his lord. "Don't say that." Because as much as he mourned for his son, he would not allow the young man to carry around that burden. This was not his fault. "I am glad you are alive, lad. I only wish that Devan…" His voice broke. "That Devan were still here too."
He only noticed the rolled up scroll in Gendry's hand when the Lord of Storm's End tentatively lifted it. "With your permission," He said. "I'd like to have Devan's body transported to Cape Wrath, to rest at the site of your new keep. I've had the plans drawn up for a few weeks now – I wanted to show them to you under better circumstances, but…" Gendry trailed off, glancing at Devan's body, and awkwardly placed the scroll in Davos's hand. "Here."
Davos unfurled the parchment and a reluctant smile came to his face as he took in the sloppy, childish handwriting that could only belong to Gendry. The letters were lopsided and uneven, but he could not help but smile through his watery eyes when he saw how vastly his pupil had improved. Shireen would be proud. There was a rudimentary sketch of a castle, with a round bailey and a single tower. "You did all this?"
"Not all of it – Arya helped. She knows more about castles than me. She used to want to build them when she was little."
"Well, she is the blood of Bran the Builder, that one." He looked at the words Gendry had written across the top of the page – one of them was misspelled, crossed out and then corrected, the other barely legible, but Davos thought he understood what he was trying to say. "Treasure Trove? An appropriate name for the keep of an upjumped smuggler…"
Tentatively, Gendry smiled. "You took an onion for your banners. Let people say what they want, and we'll throw it back in their faces."
"Well, I always have had a dry sense of humor…" He glanced up at Gendry. "The Onion Knight and the Smith Lord. Who would've thought?"
They stood there in silence for several moments longer, until the door opened again. Davos thought perhaps it was one of the lords or the maester to drag them out of the room, or perhaps even an impatient Silent Sister, but when a woman cleared her throat both he and Gendry turned around at the noise.
"Pardon me, m'lord," Marya could not meet his eyes as she spoke. "But might I have a moment alone with my husband, if it please you?" And my son. She did not have to say it – Davos knew they were both thinking it.
Gendry did not hesitate to nod. "Of course, m'lady. Allow me to offer my sincerest condolences once more."
"I thank you, m'lord. You have been the most kind."
Davos handed him the scroll back and Gendry gave him an awkward attempt at a comforting squeeze of the shoulder, before fleeing the room. Now he and Marya were left alone with their son's body.
Tears rushed to Davos's eyes as he looked at his wife. "Oh Marya," He breathed. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry…" And, finally, Davos allowed himself to cry.
His wife crossed the room in a moment and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into her embrace. While Devan's skin was cold to the touch, she was warm, filled with life. "Hush now." Marya said to him. "This is not your fault, Davos. So no more apologies, I will not hear it…"
He pulled back to look at her once his tears were under control, and Marya's hands moved to rest over each of his cheeks. "Five sons." Davos said. "Five sons we have lost, Marya – and they all died following me. Their blood is on my hands. I am so sorry, Marya, if you were never to forgive me I would not – "
"Davos." Marya repeated. Her own eyes were still faintly red, her chin quivering with emotion, but she was unmoving, a pillar of strength. "Stop talking, you old fool. This is not your fault, do you hear me? I do not blame you for any of it. Devan was a grown man, as were his brothers before him. We raised him to be brave, to never balk in the face of fear, and if you must blame yourself for that then blame me too, because I was as responsible for raising him as you."
Davos shook his head. "I could never blame you. You are…a wonderful mother, Marya. The greatest there ever was."
"Then do not blame yourself either, Davos. You are a good man. I would not have had seven sons with you, if I was not comfortable with the fact that they may turn out like you. In fact, I hoped they would…" She trailed off, a steely look in her eyes. "There is only one person I blame, and that is Cersei Lannister. She sent this assassin after Lord Baratheon. I swear Davos, if I ever lay my eyes on that woman, I shall wrap my hands about her throat myself – "
Davos shushed her, and pulled her into his arms. "Do not speak like that, my love. She will pay for what she has done. The king and queen are going to take the city back. But you…" He sighed, and kissed the top of her head. "You must take Stannis and Steffon, and go with Devan's body back to Cape Wrath. You will be safe there."
Marya pulled back to look up at him. "I won't go." She said determinedly. "Not without you – "
"But you must. Stannis and Steffon are boys yet, they will need you with them, to protect them – and they need their father to fight for them, to make sure they have a future. Cersei Lannister's world is the one their brothers died in. Jon and Daenerys Targaryen's world is one they can live in." Davos may not have been born a high lord, but he had been around them long enough to know it was innocents who suffered the most in the game of thrones. Never again. He silently promised himself.
Reluctantly, Marya nodded. "All right. For Stannis and Steffon, I will go. But promise me you will come back to me, Davos Seaworth."
Trembling, Davos lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against it. "I always do, don't I?"
YARA
"Is this what the Iron Islands look like, Aunt Yara?"
At her nephew's words, Yara glanced around, admiring the docks and wharves of Saltpans. The Riverlands town was no more than a village, in truth – the seat of House Cox, their simple, single-towered keep was the center of the town. It reminded her of the Iron Islands in the fact that the air smelled like fish and the salt of the sea, but Saltpans was small, with some shops along the harbor, a few places of worship, and several inns with pastel colored exteriors. Though there was one merchant vessel docked – called the Emerald Elephant, it was dropping off shipments of Dornish strongwine, Lysene citrus fruits, and glassware and carpets from Myr – Saltpans was no great trading port. Though it was more colorful than the Iron Islands, it was smaller, quieter. Yara looked at Asher and shook her head, drawing her hands apart. "Bigger." She mouthed.
Asher's eyes went wide. "Will it be like Oldtown?" He asked excitedly. "There were so many merchants and traders there, and markets with so many fruits I couldn't name them all. The Hightower was the prettiest building I'd ever seen! At night I used to watch the light from the lighthouse sweep the harbor. My mother used to say it was a castle fit for a king."
Theon turned away from staring off the edge of their ship to lift his son into his arms, causing Asher to chuckle as he was lifted high into the air. "Pyke is not very much like Oldtown, no. The Iron Islands are small and rocky, and we do not have many people there. It's hard for foreign ships to dock in the rough waters – it takes a true Ironborn to navigate those seas."
Asher lit up. "I'm a true Ironborn, aren't I? I could do it!"
Yara smiled at him, brushing some of Asher's wild, dark hair out of his face. Regardless of where he had been born, her nephew was a Greyjoy. He was the blood of the kraken, and she would see to it that everyone knew it.
"Of course you are." Theon answered. "You are my son, and nephew to the first Queen of the Iron Islands, remember? Perhaps Pyke is not as bustling as Oldtown, but it's your home. It's in your blood. And if you ever get bored, that's what we have ships for. When you rule the seas, you can go anywhere you heart desires."
"Someday I will be a great sailor!" Asher said confidently. "I'll go to faraway lands and bring back long lost treasures, in the name of my aunt the queen!"
"Of that I have no doubt. Perhaps someday you will rule the Iron Islands after your aunt." Theon said to Asher, and Yara smiled. She wanted nothing more. "You could be king, and sit the Salt Throne, and all throughout the isles men will want to be you and women will want to be with you."
At this Asher's smile turned into a frown, and he wriggled out of Theon's grip to stand on his own two feet again. "I don't want women throughout all the Iron Islands." He said. "I just want one girl…"
Yara's smile turned into a frown. She'd hoped her nephew's childish crush on Loreza Sand would not last once they left Sunspear, but it seemed Asher had not stopped thinking about the pretty bastard girl who had tossed him an orange and whispered sweet words into his ear. He will grow out of it. She told herself. Yara could not even count how many times Theon had fancied himself in love when he was Asher's age, and he'd always found a new plaything sooner or later. She took Asher's hand and led him below deck for supper.
They sat together at the table in Yara's cabin, their dinner consisting of ale and fish – the bay was called the Bay of Crabs for a reason, and they had very good shellfish here. Yara let Asher have a cup of watered down ale. "It's good," The boy said. "But not as good as the wine I had in Dorne…"
From across the table, Theon and Yara exchanged a look. "Asher," Theon said to his son. "Did I ever tell you about all the places your aunt has sailed?" Asher shook his head no, looking excited for Theon to continue. "She's been all over Westeros. When she was only eight-and-ten, she went on a trading voyage to Fair Isle, Lannisport and the Arbor – the Arbor has very good wine and peaches. Perhaps she'll take you there someday when you're old enough. And there was the time when she and her crew fought off a band of Lyseni pirates in the Stepstones – "
Asher looked at her. "Were they really pirates, Aunt Yara?"
Yara nodded. There was also the sailor from Lys she'd encountered when she was but six-and-ten – he'd given her heaps of tapestries, perfumes, silks, and some freshly forged dirks to bring home, and she'd given him her maidenhead. But she did not think that was an appropriate story for a child.
Asher's eyes sparkled with delight. "Someday I'll have a ship, and I'll go to all those places too! I'll go to the Bay of Dragons, and Sothroyos, and Yi Ti. And I'll go to Dorne to visit Loreza, and I'll bring her jewels and silks as presents! Do you think she'd like that?"
Yara took another long gulp of ale at her nephew's words, while Theon only smirked. "And what will you call your ship?"
Asher thought for a moment, and then his face broke out in a grin. "The Queen Yara! For my aunt, the best sailor in all the Iron Islands!"
Yara smiled at him in return, but she silently thought to herself that he was much more likely to call it the Princess Loreza.
They ate in silence for several moments, until one of Yara's sailors came below deck. "Your Grace," The man said. "There are battleships approaching. Come quickly."
Yara and Theon both immediately bolted upright. "Stay here." Theon said to his son, but as they both ascended to the deck, Yara turned to see Asher running after them on his shorter legs. He truly is a Greyjoy…
Yara looked out from the bow of the Black Wind and exhaled when she saw the sails on the approaching fleet. Their orange sails boasted a gold spear piercing a red sun. The Sand Snakes. She and Theon descended from the ship to greet them, Asher chasing after.
They stood on the shallow beach as the greatest of the Martell ships docked, a pristine-looking longship called the Red Viper. Yara watched as a beautiful, tanned woman with long dark hair in an off-the-shoulder orange dress descended from the ship, glimmering like the sun.
"Princess Elia," Theon greeted her. "We were not expecting you."
The Princess of Dorne came to stand before them. Her sister Obella was closely behind her, accompanied by a man about Arya Stark's age in a purple tunic, with blonde hair almost as pale as Queen Daenerys's. Bounding along behind her was a young girl in a dress of floral silk, and Asher grinned at the sight of the object of his infatuation. "We were." Princess Elia said. "But my sister Loreza was begging to see our friends from the Iron Islands again."
Little Loreza turned to Asher, beaming. "How are you, Asher?"
Her usually bold nephew opened his mouth, stumbling over his words. "Go – good. You…you look really pretty, Loreza. I mean, it's nice to see you." Obella and the man with her both smiled and laughed, while Loreza blushed.
"Loree," Elia said. "Why don't you and Prince Asher go run off and play? Perhaps put your feet in the water, it should not be too cold." Asher did not need to be asked twice, allowing Loreza to grab his hand and drag him off towards the bay.
"They are very sweet together." Obella said, taking the blonde man's arm. "Don't you remember the first girl you fancied, Ned?"
"Indeed." He agreed. "There is nothing as pure as first love. Though that cannot last forever, I fear…"
"Sometimes it does." Elia Sand said, smiling. She looked back at Yara and Theon. "You remember my sister, the Princess Obella. Allow me to introduce her betrothed, Edric Dayne, the Lord of Starfall and Sword of the Morning."
Dayne nodded. "Pleasure."
Yara raised a single eyebrow at Elia. She thought of the handsome but daft Dickon Manwoody, the lover Elia had at Sunspear – if Obella brought her betrothed, why did Elia not bring hers?
The princess seemed to know what Yara was thinking. "As for our other sister Dorea, she was left in charge of Sunspear. My betrothed Lord Dickon was left behind to watch over her. Though knowing what I know of Dorea and Dickon, bless them, I fear it is she who will have to take care of him. Dickon needs the supervision of someone with a little more sense."
Theon chuckled. "And a fourteen-year-old girl has more sense than he?"
"This particular fourteen-year-old girl? Yes." Elia laughed. "I do love Dickon, do not get me wrong. But part of the reason why I love him is because I know he will never stand in my way." Yara could not help but smile at that.
"Prince Theon," Obella Sand said. "Allow Lord Dayne and I to show you around our new warships. We named the Red Viper for my late father."
"If she is as fierce as Prince Oberyn was," Theon said. "I have no doubt she shall bring us success in battle. Lead the way." He followed Obella and Lord Dayne onto the ship, the couple clutching each other's hands as they did so. Now Yara and Princess Elia were alone together on the shore, Asher and Loreza wading into the bay several feet away.
For a few moments Yara watched as Loreza Sand led Asher to the water's edge, holding up the skirt of her dress with one hand and holding onto him with the other. The tide rolled in and soaked their feet, Asher clutching Loreza's hand desperately. She looked down at him and smiled, the sunlight falling just so on her dark hair. Perhaps his infatuation is not so hopeless after all. Yara thought to herself. It was still just childhood puppy love of course, but though Yara had dreamt of her nephew someday becoming king with an Ironborn wife, she thought to herself that perhaps the youngest member of House Martell might have the noble strength befitting a queen.
She looked back at the feeling of Princess Elia's hand coming to rest gently on her upper arm. "Your Grace, I would love to see your ship. I love the waters – I have the soul of an explorer, you know. In another life I think I may have become a vagabond, traveling all over the known world and collecting treasures, finding lovers in every port. Perhaps you could take me back to your cabin for a glass of wine?"
Yara gave her a look. You hate wine that isn't from Dorne. She traced on Elia's palm.
Elia smiled in response. "In truth, I have a taste for something better than wine." She grabbed Yara's hand. "Come – let us talk, one ruling lady to another."
Once they were inside the privacy of Yara's cabin, Elia immediately made herself at home, sprawling out on Yara's bed. She rested on her elbows, her legs crossed at the ankles, her dark hair cascading down one shoulder. Yara could not deny it: that woman knew how to make herself irresistible.
"You Iron Islanders are so very dreary." Elia mused as Yara poured them each a cup of a dry white wine imported from Lys. "Grey blankets, black clothes, brown walls…and all your sigils! Krakens and fish and scythes and skulls. Where is the light, the joy?"
Yara smirked and pressed a metal cup full of wine into one of Elia's hands, while she grabbed the other. Dreary or not, She wrote. Your sun and spear could not stand a chance against my kraken. In response, Elia laughed, light and airy.
"We'll see about that, Your Grace." She lifted herself into a sitting position and looked up at Yara, eyes twinkling. "If you ever get bored of your cold isle, you can come visit me anytime. Bathe in the Dornish sun, drink some fine wine, perhaps…have a sleepover. Dickon won't mind. He does whatever I tell him to do, so you're more than welcome. At least until you find some boring husband who tries to take you away from me."
Yara shook her head. Marriage was not for her. Elia Sand seemed content enough with her arrangement with Dickon, but even if Yara did find some man who would let her mind her own affairs, she was still not interested. She'd never wanted a husband or children and that was a decision she had never wavered from. Even if they lived in a world where a marriage with a beautiful woman like Elia Sand was an option, Yara still did not know if she would take it. She did not think she was made for commitment.
Elia Sand smiled that enchanting smile of hers. "As for tonight," She drawled, standing up and leaning in closer. "I think I want to visit the Iron Islands…" She captured Yara's lips with her own, but this kiss was different from the goodbye peck they'd shared at Sunspear. This was a long, deep kiss, and Elia's tongue slipped into her mouth. Well, Yara thought dryly. I suppose she is serious about wanting to go exploring…
Elia Sand's slender hands tugged on the strings of Yara's brown leather jerkin, pulling it off, and Yara jerked back. No one had touched her like this in quite a long time. Elia opened one dark eye. "What is it?" She asked. Yara wondered if she should make some sort of joke about this being the first time she'd had a tongue in her mouth since Euron cut hers off, but she did not move for Elia's hand.
Elia smiled and stepped backwards, slipping off her dress. "Don't worry, Your Grace." She said. "I'm not going to proclaim my undying love for you, or offer to have your babies. I simply thought perhaps you might like to spend one night in Dorne…" Her dress fell to the floor in a puddle of orange silk. She was wearing nothing underneath.
For a long moment Yara simply stood there staring at every inch of the princess's perfect flesh, from her small, naked breasts to the tuft of dark hair between her thighs, from her tanned, toned legs to the golden sun bracelet around her ankle. Oh. She finally thought. Fuck it. She picked up her cup and drained the rest of her wine in one long gulp, then crossed the room to grab Elia's face and pull her in for another long kiss. They kissed until their lips were swollen, until they'd exerted themselves so much that they could scarcely breathe.
Elia pulled back to look at her with a shit-eating grin. "Is that a yes?" She asked teasingly. In reply, Yara pulled her in for another kiss, her rough, calloused hands enveloping Elia's small breasts, the nipples pebbling under her thumbs. Elia moaned into her mouth but Yara surprised her by shoving her naked body down onto the mattress, before removing her trousers and climbing on top of her.
Elia Sand was not the only woman here who went after what she wanted, after all.
DAENERYS
"Go ahead – you can touch him."
Emma's hand was trembling as she reached out to tentatively pet Drogon's snout. The dragon puffed, causing Emma to jump, but then he pushed against her touch and closed his eyes, rubbing against her hand like a kitten. "Ni…nice dragon." Emma mumbled. "You're a nice dragon, aren't you?"
Daenerys bit back her laughter, while behind her Missandei, Jhiqui and Ornela all giggled good-naturedly. "There is no need to fear." Daenerys assured her little handmaiden. "Drogon is my mount, and Rhaegal is my husband's. The relationship between a Targaryen and their dragon runs deep – who I like, Drogon likes. My desires are his desires. Neither of them will hurt you." While Emma now began to stroke Drogon's nose, Rhaegal rubbed his face against Daenerys's shoulder and she smiled, patting him on the head. Though Rhaegal was bonded with Jon, he had still been Daenerys's son first, and she still loved him.
"The first time I saw a dragon," Ornela said with a laugh. "I feared I may faint."
"I never thought I'd see one." Emma said, her eyes still wide in wonder as she pet Drogon. "They're magical."
"No one thought they ever would." Daenerys responded, a smile on her face. "Would you like to feed them, Emma?"
The young girl stepped back and shook her head. "With all due respect Your Grace…I do not think I am quite there yet." The other handmaidens smiled and laughed.
"It takes some getting used to, surely." Missandei agreed, retrieving the basket of some freshly slaughtered rabbits and chickens for the dragons' lunch. She whispered to them in High Valyrian and threw the first rabbit in the air, causing Emma to jump back in fright as Rhaegal snapped forward to catch the animal carcass in his jowls, devouring it in two bites.
"Do they eat people?" Emma asked warily.
Daenerys shook her head. "No, my sweet. And they will not hurt you either – the dragons only hurt the people I want them to, bad people." She tried not to think of the little girl in Meereen, whose burnt corpse had been laid out before her. She would not allow something like that to happen again.
"Bad people?" Emma repeated. "So like…rapists? Murderers? Slavers?"
"Exactly." Missandei said. "Queen Daenerys saves us all from monsters." She wrapped an arm around Emma. "While the dragons finish eating, why don't we see if our own lunch is ready?"
"Ooh, might we have some of those apple tarts again today? They were the best thing I've ever eaten."
Missandei smiled. "We'll see if they have any left. Come." Missandei passed the basket off to Jhiqui, then returned to the tent with Emma and Ornela.
Daenerys and her Dothraki handmaiden continued to feed the dragons in silence for several moments. Each time they tossed some meat, Rhaegal would eagerly snatch it up and devour it, but Drogon looked completely disinterested. The dragon laid down and rested his head on the ground, shutting his eyes like he was going to sleep. It was not like Drogon to show so little interest at mealtimes. "Jhiqui," Daenerys asked her handmaiden. "Did Drogon eat this morning when you brought the dragons breakfast?"
Jhiqui shook her head, tossing the last of the meat the dragons' way. Once again Rhaegal ate greedily, while Drogon snorted as he tried to nap. "A little, khaleesi, but he did not seem interested. I thought perhaps he had gone hunting on his own."
"Yes," Daenerys said. "Perhaps…" But she could not shake the feeling that there was something deeper going on with Drogon. He was her mount, and their connection ran deep. She reached out to touch Drogon but he shook her off, turning his head away. The bond between a Targaryen and their dragon was a spiritual one, something that you had to experience to truly understand – Daenerys could feel in her soul that something was bothering Drogon, but she did not know what it was.
She did not have more time to ponder it, however, as she heard Jon shout her name. "Daenerys!" She and Jhiqui turned around to see Jon and Ser Jorah approaching them – Jon in his crown, Ser Jorah in his white cloak of the Crownsguard. That was odd – Jon never wore his crown unless forced. "Lord Tyrion has received a response from the Golden Company. They are willing to meet us in a field about five miles from here, but we will have to move quickly."
Daenerys nodded. That explained why Jon was wearing the crown – it was a statement, a political maneuver, and she silently praised her husband for his smart thinking. "Jhiqui, fetch me my crown and my cloak – the silver one will go best with this dress, I think. Please tell the others that I'm sorry I will not be able to lunch with you all today, but I will be back soon. Also, make sure that Emma does not eat toomany apple tarts and upset her stomach."
"Yes, khaleesi."
"Thank you, qoy qoyi." Daenerys kissed Jhiqui on both cheeks and then sent her off.
"What was it that you said to her?" Jon asked, his brow wrinkled. "At the end?"
"Qoy qoyi." Daenerys repeated, and she smirked at his confused look. "It is a typical form of Dothraki address, for a khal's bloodriders, those who have vowed to protect you, those you hold dearest. It means 'blood of my blood'. It's meant to signify that the two of you are one, to live and die together."
"Ahh. Then I suppose you are my…" Jon trailed off. "Quay quay-ee?"
Daenerys giggled, and pressed a light kiss to his lips, while Ser Jorah – as a fluent Dothraki speaker – also barely suppressed a smile. "Your pronunciation could use some work, but I appreciate your sentiment. Blood of my blood."
Jon smiled back at her. "Blood of my blood." He repeated, before pulling her in for another kiss.
"Come now," Daenerys said, taking his hand. "We'll ride horses out to meet the Golden Company, but I want Drogon and Rhaegal to fly along behind. This is to be a peaceful meeting – but I want them to know we have them."
Ser Jorah smirked. "Any mortal man trembles when he sees a dragon for the first time."
"Yes," Daenerys agreed. "That's what I'm hoping for."
They rode out to meet the Golden Company, Daenerys and Jon at the helm, both now wearing their crowns. Had Daenerys known she was going to have this meeting today, she would've dressed herself in black and red, the colors of a true Targaryen. Ser Jorah and Lord Tyrion rode along behind them, followed by Daenerys's bloodriders, while Drogon and Rhaegal flew along overhead. Daenerys wanted to appear gracious and accommodating, but she also wanted to make it clear what she had at her disposal, and that she was not afraid to use it.
The Golden Company were already waiting for them in the field where they were scheduled to meet. There were at least a hundred commanders and generals, all of them clothed in rich golden tunics over their suits of armor. While Daenerys and Jon were relatively unadorned save for the crowns on their heads, the soldiers of the Golden Company had no qualms about showcasing their wealth, whether it be through their jewelled swords, their gilded armor, or the heavy chains of rubies, emeralds or sapphires they wore about their necks. One even wore a helmet that looked to be encrusted with diamonds. The man at the front of the pack – who had to be their leader – was not as ostentatious as the others, but Daenerys recognized that his tunic was made of cloth-of-gold, a very costly fabric, and his armor was decorated with a small, gilded skulls and crossbones. Out of all of it, what impressed Daenerys the most was the elephant. It was a great, hulking creature, with a saddle of cloth-of-gold draped on its back and a dangling headpiece made out of gold and jewels on its large head. And this is only one of them, Daenerys thought. They have more.
"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen," Ser Jorah proclaimed. "First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons. As well as her husband, Jon Warborn of the Houses Targaryen and Stark, First of His Name, the Resurrected, King of the Andals, the Rhonyar, and the First Men, 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Friend of the Free Folk, Protector of the Realm, Lord Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Slayer of the Undead, and the White Wolf."
"It is a pleasure." The commander said. "Unfortunately I do not have anyone to introduce me, nor do I have any fancy titles – but I trust you remember who I am, don't you Jorah, old friend?"
"I do indeed – did not know they were letting you run the thing, now. How did you manage that?"
"Dumb luck, I suppose."
Jorah looked at Daenerys. "This is Harry Strickland, Your Grace. I knew him when I once served in the Golden Company."
Daenerys nodded at Strickland. "It is a pleasure to meet you, ser."
Strickland laughed hollowly. "I am no ser. In fact there are probably some in these parts who would like to have my head on a spike, but that is no matter."
"Strickland," Jon repeated. "That is a Westerosi name, is not?"
"It is indeed. My ancestors once ruled as lords in this country, until they chose the wrong side of a rebellion and were driven across the Narrow Sea. Now we've been gold for four generations." He spoke this as if being driven from your homeland in disgrace and joining a sellsword company was something to be proud of.
Tyrion leaned over. "The Stricklands were a noble house from the Crownlands who sided with Daemon I Blackfyre in the First Blackfyre Rebellion." He whispered to her. "After the defeat of the rebels at the Battle of Redgrass Field, the Stricklands were stripped of their lordship and they fled to Essos with Aegor Rivers, the founder of the Golden Company."
Daenerys nodded at him, then sat up straighter in her saddle and cleared her throat. "The past is the past." She proclaimed in her clearest, most queenly voice. "You all have paid a hefty price for the actions of your ancestors, and when my husband and I sit on our rightful thrones, we shall welcome all of you back to the Seven Kingdoms with open arms. All we ask is that you fight with us, the rightful monarchs, in this battle to come. Cersei Lannister may have promised you money, but King Jon and I can promise you everything you've ever wanted: lands, titles, riches, and honors. Your families' rightful titles will be restored, you shall be able to return to your ancestral keeps, and you shall be welcomed home as true Westerosi heroes. Join us now, and it shall all be yours."
There was a long moment of silence. Most members of the Golden Company did not react to her words, did not even flinch – it was like Daenerys had not spoken at all. Then, tentatively, one young, pimply-faced man on a brown horse rode out of formation. He spurred his horse forward, trying to cross the field towards Daenerys and Jon's side, and Dany smiled. Then, Harry Strickland barked a command. Before Daenerys could even process, another one of the mercenaries drew a bow and fired. The arrow whizzed through the air and stuck through the young defector's throat, sending him falling out of the saddle, dead before he hit the ground. Daenerys could not help but gasp and next to her Lord Tyrion winced, while Ser Jorah looked away.
The archer nonchalantly put his bow back, while Strickland smirked. "Any other man who tries to defect will meet the same fate, is that understood?" He told his men, some of whom shuffled in their saddles and looked away, while others remained stone cold.
"We meant what we said." Jon told him. "Cersei Lannister is an evil queen with no right to the Seven Kingdoms. Join us, and together we'll win – you will be able to return home, my lord. Anything your heart desires, it is yours."
"I have all my heart desires." Strickland replied immediately. "I have enough wealth to last a lifetime. I have my brothers here fighting alongside me. And most of all, I have my honor. Do you know what they say about the Golden Company? Our word is as good as gold. I will not sell my word for anything on this earth, no money, lands or titles. It is not a matter of what I want. It is a matter of what honor demands."
Jon glanced down. Daenerys knew he could not argue with that. He, too, prided himself on being a man of his word.
"Strickland," Ser Jorah said. "Please. I know you – you're not a bad person. We were friends once, remember?"
"We were more than friends." Strickland said. "We were brothers-in-arms. There was a time when I wanted to be just like you, Mormont. Then you left all your brothers behind. I used to think that you were an honorable man – now I see you have no loyalty at all."
Though he tried to hide it, Daenerys could see from the look in Jorah's eyes how deeply these words wounded him. He always strived to be a loyal man, and Daenerys could not help but reach over to clasp his hand. She hoped he knew his past was forgiven and she considered him a true and loyal friend now.
"There must be something we can offer you." Tyrion said. "The Golden Company was founded by a man of Targaryen blood. You say that your company is a brotherhood, and that means Aegor Rivers was your brother – shouldn't honor compel you to fight for your brother's kin?"
"And Aegor Rivers's kin cast him out. Bittersteel created the Golden Company to be respectable, to be revered. There is nothing you can offer us to make us change our position in this war."
"So why even agree to meet with us then?"
Harry Strickland shrugged. "I was bored." He kicked his horse and turned to head back. "Good day to you, Your Graces, good sers. I wish you the best of luck in the wars to come."
They rode back to their own camp in silence, Jorah alongside Daenerys, Tyrion alongside Jon. "It is not a lost cause." The Hand was saying. "We still have plenty of men to defeat Cersei – "
"But it will be more difficult if the Golden Company stays with her." Daenerys interrupted. "I do not like to be made a fool of, Lord Tyrion."
"No one thinks you a fool, Your Grace." Ser Jorah assured her. "You made them a very generous offer. They are the fools not to take it."
Even still, Daenerys was not satisfied. She was going to make the Golden Company turn: she did not know how, but she was determined.
And once Daenerys Stormborn set her mind to something, nothing was going to stop her until she got it.
JON
When they returned to the camp at Harrenhal, they were surprised to see the Baratheon banners were once again now among their ranks. Jon felt excitement bubble up inside him. "Arya's back." He mumbled, mostly to himself, pulling his horse to a halt and jumping out of the saddle.
His little sister burst out of the crowd at the sight of him. "Jon!" She looked well, her hair braided off to the side, and she was wearing a jacket Jon did not recognize, black leather with Baratheon gold silk lining the inside. Arya took off running and Jon raced to meet her, opening his arms for her and pulling her into a crushing hug. He lifted her up and spun her like he had not done in a long time, and Arya laughed into his neck.
"It is so good to see you, little sister." He whispered, kissing the crown of her head before putting her back down on the ground. "I am glad you are well."
"You too." Arya said, smiling up at him. "I got to Gendry in time, thankfully." Her smile faltered. "Unfortunately, Davos's son…"
Jon cut her off. "Sansa told me. I am truly sorry, but know it is not your fault."
Arya nodded. "Thank you."
Jorah offered Daenerys a hand to help the pregnant queen down from her horse, and Tyrion got off his own mount with only a minor bit of difficulty. "Goodsister," Daenerys greeted Arya warmly. "It is lovely to see you so soon. Is my cousin with you? Is he well?"
"Gendry is fine, and yes he is back at our tent."
It was only then that Jon noticed the freckled, dark-haired little girl standing a few feet behind Arya. She was a timid little thing, and could not look him in the eye. "Hello," Jon said gently to her. "What is your name?"
The girl looked nervous. "Elinda Trant, Your Grace, if it please you."
"Elinda is my new handmaiden." Arya informed them.
Jon laughed instinctively. "You have a handmaiden?"
"It's not funny!"
"My lady," Little Elinda said. "Do you need anything of me? Should I go turn down your bed? Or order some supper?" Jon laughed again, causing Arya to scowl at him.
"That's quite all right, Elinda. Go run off now." The little girl did so, and Arya promptly whacked Jon on the chest, whilst Daenerys, Jorah and Tyrion watched on in amusement.
"You would strike your king?" Jon joked with her, which only caused Arya to hit him again.
"You may be my king, but you're also my brother. It's my job to keep you in line." Arya said. "The Stormlanders wanted to make the poor thing a prisoner after the battle, so I took her on to look after her."
"So now you have someone to braid your hair and call you 'my lady'? You're practically Sansa."
"Shut up! I'm still fully capable of washing and dressing myself – she's more of a companion than anything else. I brought her with me so I can start teaching her how to fight." Teaching a little girl self-defense? Now that sounded more like Arya. His sister grabbed his arm. "Come on now, you can come say hello to Gendry and Davos."
When the five of them entered the Baratheon tent, they found Gendry seated at the long table set up in the center, Ser Davos next to him, while Sandor Clegane was sitting in the corner of the tent sharpening his sword. Across the table from Gendry a young, blonde lord who Jon did not recognize was seated, and standing nearby was a tall, fifty or sixty-something year old lord with graying blonde hair and blue eyes which looked very familiar. When Jon and Daenerys stepped inside, everyone immediately rose to their feet, but Jon gestured for them to sit back down. "No need for that, please."
Daenerys moved towards Gendry. "I am glad to see you are well, cousin." She said, greeting him with a hug. "We were all worried about you."
Gendry hugged her back. "It is good to see you too, Your – " Daenerys pulled back, raising an eyebrow at him before he could finish. "I mean, cousin."
Jon greeted Gendry with a brotherly clamp on the shoulder, then turned towards Ser Davos. He smiled sadly at the older man. "The queen and I were sorry to hear about your loss, Ser Davos."
"Thank you, Your Graces. I am grateful for your sympathies, and all I can do now is take comfort in the fact that my Devan died bravely." He was trying to maintain a brave face, but Jon could tell that he was struggling to hold it all together.
Daenerys rejoined Jon's side, and gently squeezed Ser Davos's hand. "Please give our condolences to Lady Marya as well – if there is anything we can do for either of you, just ask."
"Lady Marya has remained in the Stormlands with our sons for safety, Your Grace." Ser Davos told her. "But I will tell her about your kind words the next time I write to her. As for your offer, there is not much to be done. I'd just like to keep moving onwards, and focus on building a better world for the sons I have left."
Jon nodded in understanding, and Arya stepped forward. "Brother, goodsister, allow me to introduce Lord Arstan Selmy, Lord of Harvest Hall – " The young blonde lord bowed his head. " – and Lord Selwyn of Tarth, Lord of Evenfall Hall, called the Evenstar." She gestured towards the older lord, and Jon suddenly realized why he looked so familiar. Brienne's resemblance to her father was remarkable.
Lord Selmy walked around the table to clasp Daenerys's hands. "My queen," He said. "It is an honor to finally meet you. I have heard many stories of your goodness and your courage."
"You are too kind, my lord." Daenerys said, smiling. "From the bottom of my heart I thank you for the loyalty you've shown me. Your great-uncle was an absolutely wonderful man, and I considered him one of my truest friends and supporters. I hope I can always count on your friendship as well – has anyone ever told you that you have Ser Barristan's eyes?"
Jon had never met Ser Barristan Selmy, but with the way Lord Arstan's blue eyes sparkled in that instant, Jon bet that he looked very much like a young Barristan the Bold. "Thank you, Your Grace. There would be no honor greater than to be considered a friend of yours. I hope I can serve my queen half as well as my great-uncle served you."
Meanwhile, Lord Tarth approached Jon and they shook his hands. The much taller man had a strong, firm grip. "Your Grace," He said. "I have heard nothing but praise for you."
"Same to you, Lord Tarth. It is nice to finally meet you – your daughter speaks so highly of you. I hope you know what a cherished friend Lady Brienne has been to my sisters, to all of us really."
"She is a special one, my girl. I am very proud of her. I look forward to seeing her again today." The Lord of Evenfall Hall paused, a queer smile on his face. "Forgive me for this strange question, Your Grace – but tell me, how much do you know about the Lord of Casterly Rock?"
"You mean Jaime Lannister?" Tyrion piped up, having overheard their conversation. "He is my brother. What of him?"
"I've heard many conflicting reports about him over the years. I figured those who know him personally would be the best to ask if I wanted an accurate picture."
Jon supposed that the things Lord Tarth had heard about Jaime Lannister could not be good. He did not know if an honorable Tarth would think very highly of a man who was still called Kingslayer. "What does a lord from the Stormlands need with the Warden of the West?" He asked.
The older man shrugged. "My daughter has mentioned that he is…to borrow your turn of phrase, Your Grace, a cherished friend. I simply wanted to know what you think of his character."
"My brother has a very strong character, I assure you Lord Tarth." Tyrion said defensively. "He is not perfect, but he has always done right by your daughter, I assure you. If you don't believe me, ask her yourself."
"I believe I shall."
Jon did not know exactly what was going on, and based on the way Tyrion was looking at Tarth there seemed to be some sort of subtext he was missing, but he answered nonetheless. "I do not know Lord Lannister well, my lord, but my wife and I would not have named him Lord of Casterly Rock if we did not think him capable. He fought valiantly in the War for the Dawn, and I agree with the Hand that your daughter seems to respect him. If you wish to know more than that, you will have to ask Brienne yourself."
Tarth nodded. "Thank you for your honest answer, Your Grace." He looked at Tyrion. "And you as well, my lord Hand."
Now Daenerys had finished reminiscing about Ser Barristan with Lord Selmy, and Jon heard her invite their new allies to sup with them in an hour, but before Selmy or Tarth could reply the tent flap opened and a squire stepped inside. "A letter for the Mistress of Whisperers." He said, and Arya stepped forward to take a scroll from his hands. "And a Ser Donnel and a Lady Melony here to speak with you, Your Graces."
Jon recognized the man and woman who stepped into the tent now. Ser Donnel was part of the Winterfell guard, and Melony was Sansa's handmaiden. Melony was crying fat, ugly sobs, while Ser Donnel looked serious and stone-faced. "What is the matter?" Jon asked. "Is Sansa ill?" He realized he had not seen his sister all day, though he had not thought much of it at the time. She sometimes broke her fast alone, and he'd left before the afternoon meal to ride out to meet the Golden Company. It was strange that she had not come to greet Arya though…
"Forgive me, Your Grace." Melony said through her sobs. "I…I did not think Lady Stark would get hurt…"
"Hurt?" Daenerys repeated. "Hurt how?"
"When we accompanied Lady Stark and Ser Harrold on their ride yesterday, my queen," Ser Donnel told her. "We…we left them alone for a while. We lost sight of them, so we returned to the castle, thinking perhaps they'd already turned back. Except when Melony went to tend to Lady Stark this morning and found her gone, we suspected that they had actually never returned."
"And what were you two doing when you were supposed to be watching my sister?" Jon barked. Ser Donnel did not answer him, and Melony blushed, which was all the answer he needed. "We should send out a search party at once – "
"We already found Ser Harrold, my king." Donnel told him. "His…his body was discovered by the woods. Some snow fell on top it in the night, so it was partially obscured at first." Melony began to cry harder.
Jon felt a sudden surge of anger. He and Harry were supposed to be protecting my sister. He thought. She could be anywhere by now…someone could've taken her…He did not want to consider the other possibility. "You were incredibly reckless." He told Ser Donnel firmly. "I should have both of you punished for your carelessness."
"My king, it was an honest mistake – " His words only made Jon angrier, and he moved forward with a fist clenched, but Ser Davos yanked him back.
"That is enough."
Jon looked at Davos. "My sister is gone! With last night's snow, now we can't even see which way she might have went – or more accurately, which way she might have been taken. How are we to find her now?"
"She could not have gotten far, my love – " Dany started to say, but Arya suddenly looked up from her raven scroll, interrupting her.
"I think I know where she is." When Jon looked at Arya, her face was pale, her eyes angry. "This letter is from my spy at the Red Keep. Apparently a band of outlaws have promised to bring Cersei a valuable prisoner of war. She is eagerly anticipating the arrival."
Jon's stomach clenched. If this letter was true, there was not a doubt in his mind that this prisoner was Sansa. He did not even want to think about the things Cersei Lannister might do if she had her. "We have to start for King's Landing." He ordered. "Tonight."
"Tonight?" Gendry said. "It's already sunset. The troops aren't ready to march."
"That doesn't matter." Tyrion interjected. Jon and Dany's usually methodical Hand looked like he was barely containing his outrage. "If Cersei really does get her hands on Sansa, she will kill her. Every moment is precious. We can't let her lay a finger on my – " He cut himself off, like he'd just said something he shouldn't.
Ser Davos gave Tyrion a look. "Your what?"
Tyrion gulped. "My wife. Sansa and I recently came to the agreement to resume our old marriage. Apparently the annulment Littlefinger said he'd procured never came." He looked at Jon and Daenerys, the anger in his eyes having faded away into shame. "She went on that ride with Ser Harrold to tell him that she was going to be with me and not him. It's my fault that this happened. I was supposed to protect her, and I may have cost her life instead…"
This was all too much for Jon to process at once, and while he had a million questions he wanted to ask Tyrion, now was not the time. He needed to focus on getting Sansa back, and nothing else. "It is not your fault, my lord Hand." Daenerys assured him. "Sansa is not going to die, I assure you."
Tyrion could not look at her. "You don't know that," He said. "And if something does happen to her, I'll blame myself forever."
"Nothing is going to happen to Sansa!" Arya snapped. "I agree with Jon. We are going to get my sister back, and I am going to slit that bitch Cersei's throat." She reached for Needle, attached to her waist.
"If Cersei really has the little bird," the Hound said, making himself known for the first time in this conversation. "We better damn well move fast." He stood up, holding his now sharpened blade.
"Are you sure this is the smartest decision, Your Grace?" Ser Davos asked gently. "Our soldiers are not ready. Darkness is falling, and it looks like it may snow again – "
"I don't care if it's smart or not." Jon told him. "This is my sister. I won't sit around and debate this while her life is at risk." Arya nodded in silent agreement.
Daenerys touched his arm. "Perhaps we could fly Drogon and Rhaegal to the Red Keep. How can Cersei stand a chance against two dragons? We'll get her surrender and save Sansa."
"Cersei still has the Golden Company, Your Grace." Ser Jorah reminded her. "If she really does have Lady Stark, the Red Keep cannot burn while she may still be inside it – and whether she has her or not, we know for certain that she has Lord Tarly's family."
"That is why we must march tonight." Jon repeated, firmer this time. "There is too much at stake. We march with the men we have tonight, and we do not stop until we get to the city – not to eat, not to sleep. I will not let Cersei Lannister touch a single hair on Sansa's head. We go tonight."
This time, no one questioned him.
