Awake she tried to live in the moment, from one second to the next, and then the next. Asleep was a different matter all together. As she dreamt, she was often visited by the ghosts of her past; her family, those she killed, others she couldn't kill.
She was dreaming of Harrenhall when an unknown voice worked its way into her memories. Years after leaving, she could still recite in gruesome detail all the horrible deeds that happened during her stay there. The faces hadn't left her, the innocent and the guilty alike. She remembered everyone, victims and rapers, murderers and corpses. This new voice, it didn't belong and that was enough to wake her.
"Who is she?" the voice was asking. He was unhappy.
She lifted herself up as best she could, in the direction of the voice to hear better. Luckily for her, they were speaking loudly and with the barn door partially open. "She claims she's a Stark," Ben said.
"It's not the redhead you told us about, Sansee, it's not her." That voice belonged to the man who'd greeted them near the barn when she arrived. He reprimanded Ben for making him wait, which meant he was more important than Ben and his sell-swords in the hierarchy.
"Sansa!" the first man corrected. "For fuck sakes, her name is Sansa and she's the fucking Queen in the North. No, it wouldn't be her, the Gods don't like me that much."
"No one laid a hand on her, just like you asked," Ben said, trying to placate the one she didn't know. She'd thought Ben smart when they met, now she was beginning to doubt her judgement. The lie would be revealed when this man got a look at her. She'd been knocked unconscious several times since she surrendered, and her bruises were hard to hide without clothes.
"There is no useless information," Jaqen used to tell her. "Perhaps it is of no use today, but a girl should hold onto it for tomorrow."
The fact that he once sent the Waif to kill her aside, she couldn't discount the value of his teachings. Hearing Ben lie to try and please the mystery man may not have told Arya who was after Sansa or why, but it did tell her Ben feared this man, whoever he was. She could use that.
None of the people she'd interacted with seemed angry enough at her family to concoct this plot, until now. The unknown voice was furious when he spoke of Sansa. As Arya knew better than anyone, you don't pray to the Gods to bring you someone unless your hate ran deep. Like her earlier observation, it wasn't useful in the moment, but maybe she could twist it to her benefit later.
"What makes you think she's a Stark?"
"She said she was," Ben said. Correctly realizing the weakness of his argument, he hurried to try another. "She has the look."
"Let's go see if you're right, shall we gents?"
While they were opening the door the rest of the way Arya was doing what she could to ready her sleeping muscles in the event of a fight. She was already facing the front of the cage, so now all she had to do was wait. She was a Wolf and her prey was coming to her.
She looked at the man for several long seconds. She tried to memorize as much about him as she could. He was younger than she expected. He had dark hair, a clean face and a thin scar on the back of his right hand, from a sword. He wore no armor, no markings, just a fur-lined cloak over a shirt and pants. He was armed with a wide sword hanging from his belt. The blade was hidden but she could see the golden grip, decorated by several gems. An expensive tool for a bandit. She noted also that the right leg of his pants didn't hang naturally, giving it an unusual shape. Arya understood immediately, she'd seen this before. In addition to his sword, this man also had another weapon, likely a dagger strapped to his leg.
"My friends tell me you're Arya Stark," he said casually, as though he wasn't keeping her captive. "Looking at you now I wonder how a Stark, any Stark could get so many scars."
When he spoke, she saw his teeth. They were well maintained and white. They weren't stained or chipped which had to mean he was a man of some import. This fit in line with his flawless use of the common tongue. He was wealthy enough to be educated and well cared for, but not so rich that he didn't need to work. His hands belonged to someone who engaged in manual labor. She guessed many hours spent practicing with that fancy sword would cause the callouses she saw.
"I fell down the stairs," she retorted, "lots of stairs."
He considered his next move for a time. "You really are a Stark then? Would that be the Starks of Winterfell?"
"Do you know of any other Starks?"
Instead of getting angry like the sell-swords were prone to do, he chuckled humorlessly. "No, I suppose not." He took another step toward her cage. He was getting a better look. Sunlight came through the open barn door and made it easy for them to see one another. "I was certain you couldn't be a Stark. I know all the Starks, the living ones at least."
More of Jaqen's lessons echoed in her ears. "If a girl wishes to hold her secrets, learn to lie or a girl should cut out her tongue." She thought then he was encouraging her to master lying and he was, but there was a second point he was trying to make- the more you talk, the more you reveal. If Jaqen was right, and he usually was, she'd learn more about what was going on, if she could keep him talking. Against other men she would force a confrontation, question their manhood, get them angry and then listen to what spilled out. With someone like this she had to be more delicate. He'd be much more likely to talk if she kept things civil, polite even.
"That was your mistake," Arya said with a smirk. "I was dead."
"Fucking cunt," the man with Ben roared. "Stop jerking us 'round. You ain't dead, you're here."
This was the same man that didn't know Sansa's name and apparently his employer was tired of him. "Leave!" he ordered.
With a grumbled curse he turned to go. Arya didn't wait for him to be out of earshot before she said, "Not the smartest lad, is he?"
"What can you expect from sell-swords?" he asked dismissively. "They are tools, necessary but blunt."
Ben blushed upon hearing his boss's opinion of his kind. Wisely he said nothing. Arya's smirk only grew. "Good help is hard to find."
"You have no idea," he gushed, commiserating with his prisoner. None of the others in the barn had even coughed or cleared their throat since the conversation began. "I thought for sure sell-swords would be easy to find. We're in peace time now," he informed her. "Plenty of talented men in need of work."
"And you had work that needed doing?" Arya verified.
He chuckled darkly, as if he'd figured out her game. "My turn to ask the questions. Why did you surrender?"
"To meet you," she stated plainly.
"Now that you have, is it worth your life?"
"I still don't know your name," Arya pointed out. "It's really rather rude of you. Obviously, manners didn't come with that education."
"You think I'm dumb enough to tell you my name?" he asked. It was subtle, but she detected a slight ripple in his smooth, even delivery. She'd unsettled him by mentioning his education.
Arya shrugged awkwardly in her small cage. "I don't see why you wouldn't. If you mean to kill me, what's the harm in telling me who it is that's ending my life?"
For an instant she thought he would rise to the bait and take a bite, but he caught himself. "Nice try. You remind me of Jon actually. You look like him for one, it's how I know you are who you say you are."
Every word was better than gold for Arya. This man knew Jon and was mad at Sansa. She just needed to push a little more. "What's the second thing?"
"Excuse me?"
"You said, 'for one,' that means there is a second thing about me that reminds you of Jon."
"He was smart like you too," the man said with a hint of appreciation in his tone. "He could talk in circles and make you do what he wanted. He nearly convinced Ramsay to face him in single combat."
And there it was. The reason for all this. Ramsay Snow, the Bolton bastard who abused Sansa and killed Rickon. She swallowed down her hate and thought through the meaning of all this. She hadn't been in Westeros then, but she heard Jon did defeat Ramsay in single combat after knights from the Vale arranged by Sansa turned the tide on the battlefield.
"I thought Jon did convince Ramsay to fight him in single combat?" Arya asked, eager for any detail that might leak out.
"After," he corrected, "that was after the battle. Your brother challenged him before, but Ramsay was too smart to fall for it."
More information. This confirmed that this man not only fought at the Battle of the Bastards but was close enough to Ramsay to overhear Jon's challenge. There couldn't have been but a handful of men there and it was unlikely many survived. She still didn't know his name, but she had enough.
She tried to knock him off balance again with the things she'd learned. "You were at the Battle of the Bastards," she said confidently. "You fought for Ramsay and were close enough to him to know Sansa and Jon. Ramsay is dead. He got exactly what he deserved, so why the fuck are you doing this for him?"
His face burned red at the mention of Arya's sister. He really was pissed, even after so long. "If the cockless Iron Islander hadn't helped her escape, Ramsay would be King in the North and I'd have a title and lands of my own! I was promised Dreadfort."
His admissions cleared up a lot, but not everything. "Get on with it then!" she urged. "Kill me, kill all of us, it isn't going to make Ramsay-fucking-Snow a King and it sure as shit won't get you Dreadfort."
For the first time since they started talking, she saw rage. It was visible when she was commenting on all the things he wouldn't have. He was angry, the easy, almost friendly conversation was over. She thought he would kick the cage, but he restrained himself. "There is more than one way to get a title," he said with fire in his brown eyes. "I'll get what I'm owed and you Starks will learn your place at the same time."
He turned, Ben with him but Arya wasn't done. It was very possible this would be her one and only chance to talk to this man. So, she tried to provoke him. "Just who do you think is going to give you a title?" Only two people wielded such power and as it happened Arya knew them both fairly well. "Sansa would never give you lands or a title, you'll be lucky if you can avoid the headman's axe."
Mentioning her sister was enough to get him facing her again. "I wouldn't take a thing from Sansa if she spread her legs for me first. Ramsay said she wasn't very good, but that didn't stop him from getting some use out of her."
Lashing out she grabbed the bars of her cage and shook, rattling them as she tried to get out. She was unarmed and weak, but she could kill both he and Ben with her bare hands.
He laughed at the reaction. "Temper, temper, temper. Sansa had a temper, until Ramsay rid her of it."
"The Dragon Queen is Sansa's ally, she sent thousands of men here to find you. She won't give you a title either. I'm not worth that much, none of us are. Your plan won't work."
He was going to the door again but the last thing she heard was him issuing orders to Ben. "Count up the men, and make note of their ranks, then send the courier at once."
"And the girl?"
"She hasn't outlived her usefulness yet. Once the letter is done send word to our friend and tell him it's time."
The barn door closed, and Arya slumped down into the hay. She'd met with the man behind all this and had answers to almost all of her questions. Now it was time to prepare for her escape.
R-C
She could tell she wasn't going to like what he had to say when Tyrion came in. Given how everybody was waiting for even the slightest bit of good news, he would have entered with a wide grin if he had any, waving the proof proudly. His posture was rigid, and he gave Daenerys the same sad smile she received when he opposed her plan to send the Unsullied out to search.
Under normal circumstances she would have let Sansa ask but that would have taken an extra second or two and Daenerys's patience had evaporated days ago. "What have you heard?"
"A courier arrived. He never got closer to the gate than one hundred feet. He dropped a bag off his shoulder and turned and sped off, ignoring the gate guard's calls for him to stop."
"What was in the bag?" Sansa asked.
"A letter from our kidnapper." He looked to Sansa and gave her a weak smile. "The writer claims he has forty-one uninjured Stark men, and seven more with nonlife-threatening wounds."
"They're all alive, really?" Sansa verified in disbelief. "Even Arya?"
"If this letter is to be believed, yes."
"Do you think it's fake?" Daenerys inquired.
He shook his head slowly. "It has names, dates they were taken, ranks of the troops and even in some cases the name of a man's wife or child. It's authentic."
Very well then, they had their confirmation, Arya and the others were alive. Now they just needed to arrange their release. "How much do they want?" It had to be about gold, it always was.
"It's more than we have, isn't it?" Sansa predicted, while Tyrion struggled to find the proper words to respond.
Maybe if she wasn't sleep-deprived, terrified and aching for revenge she might have understood sooner. The kidnappers making contact was good news, the best they'd had in days, so why had Tyrion come in like he was going to ruin the Queen's day?
"They want nearly a million gold dragons."
"That's madness!" Daenerys erupted, jumping to her feet and yelling. "No one has that much, not even me."
"According to the letter the kidnapper calculated the value of each prisoner. Less for the injured and the young, more for the experienced men of higher rank."
"And Arya?"
"The total is nearly a million. I may not be the Master of Coin anymore, but I know we don't that much."
"Even if we could raise it, there's no guarantee they wouldn't just take the money and kill everyone," Jorah added.
She ignored Jorah in favor of Tyrion. "I asked you a question!" She looked suggestively to the pin he wore, a reminder of his obligation to her as Hand. "What price did they set for Arya?"
"Three hundred thousand gold dragons," Tyrion admitted in a low voice. Daenerys could understand why he wouldn't want her to know that, but it got worse. "According to the letter, the fee for a Stark is two-hundred thousand. They're charging more to compensate them for having to put up with her."
It was disgusting that someone had put a value on Arya of all people. She was priceless in Dany's opinion, even with her secrets. It turned her stomach and made her want to cry but Arya didn't need Dany, she needed Daenerys the Queen. She was the one with power and access to the royal treasury.
While Daenerys had been managing her fury and getting the truth from her advisor, Sansa had been thinking. "The Northern treasury doesn't have much right now, we're still rebuilding but Winterfell is full of expensive items. I'll get my people started right away on trying to estimate the value of everything."
"Sansa this is your family home. You can't sell it," Tyrion said softly.
"I'll keep the house," she assured him, "I'll just sell the meaningless shit inside. There is art on the walls, mother's jewelry…"
She was a little ashamed she didn't think of that. The Red Keep too was filled with golden trinkets of the finest quality. They would fetch a good price. "Send a raven to Varys at once. I want to know exactly what's in the treasury and an estimated value of the goods in the keep."
"I will, and I'll send word West to sell off what remains of the Lannister holdings. There isn't much left, but what there is, is mine and you can have it."
Tyrion always made a point to say just how cynical he was, how bitter and hardened. He played the part well most of the time, but then occasionally he revealed the truth underneath. He did care, and he wasn't as unfeeling as he pretended to be. When she met Sansa's eye, she could tell she was as honored by his offer as Dany was. "Thank you, Tyrion," Daenerys said. "I'll see you paid back every coin, double if you wish."
"Me too," Sansa interjected. "You don't need to do this for me."
He was working hard to appear emotionless, but Sansa's words tore down his barriers. "I don't want my father's money, I never have. If I could use it helping one of the many families he wronged so terribly, then I will." He paused and clarified a little further. "If I could use it to help you, I will," he said to Sansa.
Sansa hurried to the dwarf and hugged him fiercely. Whispered words were exchanged on both sides. Daenerys was always told their marriage was one without emotion, arranged by his father. Witnessing what she was now, she couldn't help wondering if there was more to it than Tyrion led her to believe.
"Building the orphanage cost us a lot," Jorah said. "And the Iron Bank doesn't care who has been kidnapped, they'll expect their payment on time."
"What about them?" Daenerys inquired. Tyrion was no longer in Sansa's arms, but they remained side by side, his cheeks as red as her hair. "Can I get a loan?"
"Khaleesi," Jorah cautioned, "a loan of that size would take most of your life to pay off, perhaps your whole life."
"Is it possible?" she asked Tyrion.
"If they have a representative in Westeros, maybe, but if they have to come from Braavos, it could be months,"
"Arya doesn't have months!" Dany shouted. She pressed her thumb into the diamond of her pendant so hard it almost broke the skin.
"We'll do everything we can, your Grace?" Missandei said to comfort her.
"I'll send the letters right away," Tyrion said.
Their plan didn't feel like enough to her, but it was all they had. Sansa's face mirrored hers, with its fear and barely controlled tears. "We're going to bring her back to us," she promised.
R-C
She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept for more than a few minutes or ate more than a handful of bites. How could she do such things with Arya lost?
Since receiving the ransom letter, Daenerys's main obsession was finding the gold to secure Arya's release. Sansa was working tirelessly too. She looked even worse than Daenerys felt, and the Dragon could understand why. She'd heard Sansa's confession about how she'd taken her family for granted, she just got Arya back and now she was gone again. Tyrion and Varys had their people seeking a representative of the Iron Bank from both directions, Tyrion in the North with her, and Varys from King's Landing, neither was successful yet.
She rejoined the conversation with Tyrion, Jorah and Grey Worm discussing what Sansa had been able to get out of Doyle, again. "… find the sell-swords and maybe…" Jorah was saying.
"It still doesn't help us!" Daenerys shouted, releasing her frustrations on all those around her. "Doyle told us everything he knew and we're no closer to finding Arya."
From the faces nearby Daenerys could tell they agreed with her bleak assessment. "Some of the Unsullied have already begun searching for the couriers the prisoner spoke of," Jorah said, trying to cheer Daenerys with their limited supply of positive facts. Next to him Grey Worm nodded in confirmation.
"If they're the same mercenaries attacking the patrols," Tyrion predicted, "we won't find them."
"We have to do something!" Daenerys said loudly. "Why don't we summon the rest of our allies here? With all the armies of the Seven Kingdoms together we could search and find them."
"That would take months to arrange," Tyrion said, informing her of what she already knew. They both also knew that the kidnappers wouldn't wait months for their gold.
"Where are we at with the gold?" Sansa asked more calmly than Daenerys could dream to be.
"It's a work in progress," Tyrion said. "Few people could afford to purchase the kinds of things we're selling, fewer still want them, it's going to take time."
Patience? The Gods were cruel indeed. Since she met Arya at the tavern, the Northern woman had been insisting Dany needed to learn patience. Now that she was gone, she was being tested to see if she listened to Arya or not. Was she any more patient now than the first night she snuck out of the Red Keep?
She fully planned to tell all of them just how little time they had. Arya had been with the kidnappers for days already. She was strong but everyone had a breaking point. Daenerys feared what would happen if Arya reached hers before they could save her. As she looked around the room, she knew they'd all pay a price if Arya couldn't be rescued in time. Sansa would lose a sister, Daenerys a lover, and everyone else their Queen because whether they realized it or not, Daenerys couldn't survive losing Arya this way.
Podrick came in and gave Tyrion a brief smile before he ducked his head to Sansa. "Apologies m'lady but there is a visitor at the gate,"
He wasn't speaking to her, but Daenerys couldn't find her manners or her restraint. "Are they carrying bags of gold?" she asked sarcastically.
Not surprisingly Sansa was more diplomatic. "Who is it Podrick?"
"Wouldn't say," he replied, "just asked to speak to the Queen, said it was urgent."
Sansa stood from her seat and Brienne stepped forward from where she'd been standing, clearly intent on going along. "I'll go see who it is."
"That's the thing m'lady," Podrick said, uncomfortably. "He wishes to speak to the Targaryen Queen."
R-C
They were a party of five. Two guards, one young man and one woman who were clearly servants, with their Master. She gave little thought to who'd come calling as she and Sansa led their advisors outside. She didn't care who it was, if they could help, she'd welcome them with open arms. If she had eternity to guess she never would have gotten it right. He was older, his face more wrinkled, his belly bigger, and his hair greyer with spots of white but he was still a man she'd recognize anywhere. She'd lived with him after all. Those months in Pentos felt like a lifetime ago, if not two.
She heard Jorah say something but didn't spare him a glance. He quickly moved to position himself between Daenerys and the potential danger.
"Is that…" Tyrion's voice trailed off from her left.
"Illyrio Mopatis," Daenerys said.
She gave no thought to how her advisors knew him. That didn't matter now. When he saw her, he smiled, looking genuine in his happiness. After a moment the Magister took a knee in the dirt. All of those with him did the same. "Your Grace, you look even more radiant than I remember."
Daenerys waited until they were standing, before providing introductions. "Lady Stark allow me to introduce Magister Illyrio Mopatis from Pentos. When I was young my brother and I lived on his estate before he helped sell me to the Dothraki."
Illyrio chuckled, unbothered. "You've learned to unleash the strength inside," he noted, "good. I'm pleased to see you no longer keep it bottled up."
Daenerys felt uncomfortable in Illyrio's presence. He'd never been anything but kind to her, generous even, still she knew better than to trust him. Her lips parted to rebuke his claim that he understood her, but Tyrion interceded. She had to duck her head so her Hand could whisper to her. "How does he know you're here?" he wondered.
That was a fair question. Her trip to Winterfell hadn't been widely known yet Illyrio knew where to find her. "How did you come to be here?" she asked. "Problems in Pentos?"
He laughed again. He was the picture of ease and that made her nervous. "Pentos is fine. You're welcome to visit anytime you like."
"You didn't come across the sea to invite her to your home," Jorah said in Daenerys's defense. "So why have you come?"
Illyrio finally took his eyes off Daenerys. "Jorah Mormont, I assure you my motives are purer than yours were when you spied for Robert Baratheon."
Jorah's face contorted in hurt and shame at the mention of his betrayal. She hadn't forgotten it, and she never would, but Jorah had redeemed himself. "That was long ago," Jorah said. "Things have changed."
"They certainly have," the Magister agreed. "Daenerys Targaryen sits on the Iron Throne. She is the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker of Chains and the woman who united the Realm." There was something strange about the way Illyrio was speaking, as if they'd seen one another last week instead of years before, as if there was nothing unusual about him travelling thousands of miles to find her without warning. "Hello again Tyrion, it's been a long time. I'm happy to see you here, with Daenerys."
The Hand of the Queen was formal in his response. "Illyrio," he said with a nod.
"You look much better than the last time I saw you," he observed.
"It would be hard to look worse," Tyrion retorted. "What are you doing here?" He picked up right where Jorah left off and the Magister still didn't answer.
He was looking at Daenerys again. "I'm proud of you."
"He asked you a question."
"I came to help," Illyrio said.
"With what?" Jorah asked.
"I don't have time for this," Daenerys decided, interrupting whatever game Illyrio was trying to play. "It was nice to see you again Magister, I'm pleased you're well," she said without feeling, "now if you'll excuse us, we have business to attend to."
He'd been dismissed but he didn't move an inch. "Yes, you must find Lady Stark's sister and her missing men."
There were audible gasps when he showed them the extent of his knowledge. Jorah took a long stride to Illyrio. "How do you know about that?"
"It's hardly a secret," Illyrio said with a smile that had her skin crawling. "Tyrion there has been sending ravens all over Westeros for information."
"You weren't in Westeros," Tyrion noted.
"No, but I still hear things."
Daenerys didn't care how he'd come to know, she only wanted to hear what he'd learned. "Tell me."
From several feet away, his eyes shined, and he grinned. "I heard about the missing men and then upon arriving in White Harbor I learned Arya Stark was among those taken. I came to offer my assistance."
"How can a man from Pentos be of help to us here?" Tyrion asked.
Daenerys was less discriminating. She'd take help from anywhere. "We need money, a lot of money."
"My resources are at your disposal," he promised. "Shall we go inside and make the arrangements."
"We didn't say how much it would cost," Tyrion realized aloud.
"It doesn't matter," Illyrio countered. "I've worked for years to put a Targaryen on the Iron Throne. Now that there is one, I will do anything in my power to help her succeed." Addressing Daenerys, he added, "I wanted to come sooner but business in Pentos delayed me."
Maybe the Gods weren't as vengeful as she thought. She needed money and one of the few men in the world capable of affording the outrageous ransom arrived at the gate. She couldn't let the opportunity slip through her fingers. Arya was counting on her. "Come inside then," Daenerys encouraged. "You must be tired from your trip and we have a lot of catching up to do."
R-C
The hours that followed Illyrio's arrival were busy for almost everyone. Illyrio's servants had gone with Tyrion and Sansa to arrange for the gold. Jorah, Grey Worm, Brienne and Podrick were in another part of the castle discussing how to inform the kidnappers they agreed to their terms. The letter had been less than clear about how Daenerys could contact them. As Queen she should have been there to oversee and lead, but she just couldn't do it.
It was late when Illyrio found her. She was drinking rum in large, needy gulps, desperate for the oblivion of a dreamless sleep. Early in Arya's absence she prayed for dreams of her. Multiple nights she received a mixture of memories and fantasies. They were so real, so intense, so perfect that Daenerys wanted to remain there forever. When she woke the pain of not having Arya beside her was crippling. She wanted her to yell at, to fight with, to make up with, to kiss and to love.
"The girl I remember would not be drinking that," Illyrio said. For the first time since he arrived outside Winterfell, his words felt like criticism.
"If you're looking for that girl," Daenerys informed him bitterly, "you're in the wrong place."
"I think not," he said, taking a seat next to her without invitation. "Your brother may have been older, and male but you were always the stronger of the pair. This is made obvious by the fact that you're here and he's not."
Daenerys had her faults but being stupid wasn't among them. She knew it wasn't coincidence that Illyrio was here, and with the coins she needed. Illyrio's wealth should have been across the Narrow Sea in Pentos but it wasn't. It was with his ship and the bulk of his soldiers in White Harbor, like he knew it would be required. He'd come for a reason, and it wasn't generosity. She didn't need to know his motives to be certain he had them. He intended to use her for some unknown purpose, and she was fine with that, as long as she got to use him and his gold first. Speaking of Viserys made Daenerys go back in her mind to his final day. "Do you know how he died?"
"Your husband killed him," Illyrio stated factually.
"No," she disagreed. "Drogo gave Viserys exactly what was promised, a golden crown worthy of a King. It wasn't his fault Viserys couldn't stand the fire." Maybe the rum was to blame but Daenerys was overwhelmed with a desire to show the Magister she wasn't the naive girl he once knew. "Do you think Viserys would have sold me to the Dothraki if he knew how it would end? Perhaps he got what he deserved for trying to trade me like a common whore, then again, he wasn't alone in that was he?" Her message was cold and harsh, but it served its purpose. The Daenerys Targaryen from Pentos would never have said something like that to him, even if she thought it.
"Viserys had his faults, but he loved you."
Dany scoffed. "He loved me when it suited him, when it was convenient and beneficial."
"That's still love," Illyrio tried to justify. "Viserys wasn't perfect but few of us are."
She would much rather be drinking in peace. She made a bold move to end the conversation. "Why are you really here?"
"I came to help," he said, repeating his earlier claim. "I thought you'd be glad, given how sincerely you need it."
She emptied her glass before she responded. "You don't give a fuck about the Starks, so try again and this time, the truth."
Illyrio laughed lightly, with one hand on his belly. "I like this Daenerys better," he decided. "This one has what it takes to rule. She doesn't need her brother or anybody else."
Daenerys didn't believe that for a second, but didn't correct him. The list of people she needed grew larger every day. She needed Missandei to offer friendship and kindness, she needed Tyrion to remind her of her obligations to the Realm, she needed Jorah and Grey Worm for protection. The Dothraki reminded her of all she'd survived, and then there was Arya. She needed Arya badly. She toyed with the pendant she'd been given and thought about how blessed she'd been. The odds were difficult to comprehend. That she could run away from the Red Keep on that night, go to that tavern and meet the one woman who could help her find herself.
"That necklace is beautiful," Illyrio said when he noticed her touching it.
She smiled slightly. "It is."
"I spent some time reviewing the list of items you are considering selling to raise the necessary gold. Most of your jewelry was on it, even things I know were given to you by the Khal and Viserys. There was no entry for an item like the one you're wearing however."
She worked hard to keep her face empty. He was right, she was prepared to part ways with almost all of her jewelry. The two exceptions being one piece given to her by Drogo shortly before he died, and the one she was wearing. "It's not on the list because it's not for sale."
"That necklace is more important to you than arranging the release of Lady Stark's soldiers and sister?"
There was nothing about Illyrio that entitled him to the truth about Daenerys's private life, so she ignored his question entirely. "Are you going to answer me? Why are you really here?"
"Do you miss Essos?" he asked.
She was more than a little annoyed but his inability to answer her, but she bit her tongue hard to keep from saying something that would undo everyone's hard work. She needed his money until Arya was back, and then she could make demands. "Sometimes."
"You still have friends there. Powerful friends who can provide you with things you never dreamed possible. As I once did." Neither spoke for a moment, they just sized up one another. "I had no idea when I gave you your wedding present just how important they would become. Would you be where you are now, without your dragons, our dragons?"
She didn't like the implication. Her children did not belong to Illyrio just because he was the one who gave them to her. She owed him nothing. Those eggs were beautiful and useless until she took possession of them and hatched them. Illyrio hadn't been there with her in the flames, he didn't watch them learn to fly and he wasn't there when one of them was killed.
"Strange that you come around now. If you truly wished to help, why wait until the wars were won?"
"As I mentioned earlier, my business kept me occupied. I spent some time in Meereen recently. You may no longer be their Queen, but the people there love you still."
Years in power had taught her to recognize when she was being manipulated. It caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. "I'm sure," she spat sarcastically as she refilled her glass. She made no offer to share her alcohol. "Just as men in Westeros plotted and drank secret toasts to help Viserys retake the throne?"
"I told your brother what he needed to hear," he justified. "He needed to think he had allies, and he did, even if they were fewer in number than I may have led him to believe."
She thought back to her first days in Westeros. There weren't many people lining up at Dragonstone to pledge their loyalty and offer their swords to her cause. It had taken hard work for her to gain allies and earn trust. She'd done that not Viserys or Illyrio. "Don't tell me what I want to hear, tell me the truth."
"The truth is, you need me," he said confidently. "Ruling is difficult isn't it? No one understands that until they have real power. People erroneously think its rising to the top that's hard, but as I'm sure you've realized that's child's play compared to what comes after. Staying there is the true test."
Beginning to see what he was after, Daenerys kept her voice even. "And you wish to help me with this?"
"Who better than I?" Illyrio said in challenge. "I knew you when you were young. I supported you, I cared for you and I have plenty of experience."
"I have advisors already."
"Can a good Queen ever have too many?" he fired back. "Your advisors weren't able to secure the gold you needed. It was me who did that." He did have a point, loathe as she was to admit it. "I helped you today, allow me to help you in the future."
She'd heard enough. Daenerys stood, holding her glass level. "You've given me a lot to think about Illyrio. It's been a long day, please excuse me, I think it's time I retire."
He stood when she did, in a gesture of respect. "Of course, your Grace. Rest well. We can speak more tomorrow."
R-C
Arya had never been fond of cages. Too many unpleasant memories. She'd done what she'd come to do. She learned about the people behind the plot against Sansa and now it was time for her to end the danger forever.
She paid attention every time the door opened enough to shine light into the barn. She noted the pile of filthy clothes thrown to one side. She couldn't see the pants or shirt that had been taken from her, but she trusted they were in there somewhere. Her clothes and those of every man in every other cage.
She kept an eye out for any weapons but the men holding them were smart enough to keep the blades somewhere else. Likely the same place that housed her missing armor. She'd need to relieve one of the sell-swords of his weapon if she was going to mount an escape. An inconvenient detail but not impossible. In fact, Arya was looking forward to getting her hands on something sharp.
When the man who'd knocked her out twice came in carrying a bucket of clean water, she knew the Many Faced God favored her still. Inciting his anger would be easier than the others.
He was walking past her cage when she called out to him. "Hey asshole, I need to talk to the man in charge again."
He dropped the bucket he was carrying, spilling water onto the ground as it settled. "Stanley doesn't want to talk to you," the sell-sword said.
Arya smirked. Stanley huh? She did appreciate idiots. They made gathering intelligence easier. "How about you do what I tell you and go fucking get him," she demanded.
He came up to her cage and kicked it hard. The force had her bouncing around the small space. "The fuck did you say to me, you little cunt?"
"Too many big words?" she asked, mocking him with her tone.
"Stanley says you're valuable," the brute informed her. "Said to keep you alive, but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with you."
"You're not my type."
"Handsome, charming, clever?" As he listed off his alleged attributes Arya rolled her eyes.
"A man."
He grinned at his good fortune. "A pussy licker? I shoulda guessed. That's going to make this even more fun."
Listening all around her were Stark men loyal to her family. Ozwick spoke for them. "Leave the girl be!" he yelled.
Arya cursed under her breath when the sell-sword looked like he intended to confront the Captain. She reached through the bars and grabbed the leg of his pants. "Come on tough guy, let's see what you've got."
Easily distracted, he forgot about Ozwick and walked away. Arya thought she missed her chance but luckily, he didn't go far. On the wall, in a shadow, right beside the barn's door he retrieved a big ring of keys. He twirled them on his finger as he made his way back to her.
Seeing the keys was a bonus. It would save time if she didn't have to break open every cage by hand. She remained down on her stomach and tried to appear nonthreatening as he tested one key after another in a futile attempt to find the right one.
His frustration after more than a dozen failures made it easy to take advantage. She listened for the telltale click of the turning lock and as soon as she heard it, she threw her entire body into the cage door. She likely did more damage to her shoulder than to his knees, but it was worth it.
Staggering back while he cursed at her, she crawled out of the cage and into the barn itself. Her legs and arms throbbed from a lack of use as she tried to stand. Her legs were shaking and before she could straighten, he was on her. "Fucking cunt!" he screamed as he pulled back his leg for a kick. She tried to block it but was too slow. He sent her back against the cages, bruising her back and maybe cracking a rib.
He had her by the hair and was dragging her toward the center of the barn. She refused to cry out despite the pain. "You can'…can't kill… me … remember."
That limitation kept her alive. If he had been free to kill her, he would have drawn his sword and done it. Since he couldn't, he beat her with brutal kicks and punches. She tried three separate times to stand but the barrage kept up.
She wasn't prepared for how weak she'd be after so many days in such a tight space. She was paying for that ignorance now. Lying on her side he pulled her to her knees by her hair. Kneeling in front of the sell-sword he pulled back his leg for a kick. She used her limited strength and superior speed and struck first, hitting him squarely in the crotch. His leg never came forward, and his hold of her hair fell away.
He staggered back until he reached the cages and then leaned on one to regain his balance. Taking advantage of the extra space Arya managed to stand fully for the first time. She was readying herself for his next assault when she heard him cry out in pain. Instead of charging her the big sell-sword turned toward the cage he'd been leaning on and kicked it hard. Whoever was in that cage was due a reward. He'd risked his own life to help her. She wouldn't let the opportunity pass.
Every step she took carried her closer to feeling like her old self. The ache in her muscles dulled but didn't disappear and her confidence returned. He had his back to her when Arya arrived. She made a fist and gave three quick punches in rapid succession into his kidney. He was unprepared for her. Both of his hands grabbed the cages to stay upright and again the men in the cages punished him for getting too close. He swung back wildly and managed to make partial contact. She'd come too far to stop now.
Kicking him in the back of the knee as hard as she could, she finally brought the man down to a reasonable size. He didn't fall but his injured leg bent dropping his upper half down. With a grunt of effort and pain she threw herself onto his back. Her ankles closed around his stomach, and she gripped the back of shirt tightly as he tried to toss her off. As soon as his neck was within reach, she wrapped one arm under his chin, pressing her forearm into his windpipe.
Arya learned long ago being the biggest and strongest didn't necessarily mean you were guaranteed victory. She kept squeezing his throat until he collapsed. The fall would have separated them if her grip hadn't been so tight. She stopped short of killing him but did knock him unconscious. She tentatively unwound herself from his body and stretched to get a sense of her injuries. She'd be sore for a while, but she'd had worse.
"Are you alright m'lady?" Ozwick asked her.
Standing over the beaten man she removed his sword quickly. On her way to Ozwick's cage she picked up the keys from the floor. Without knowing how the keys were arranged and with no time to find out, she used the sword to break Ozwick's lock and then passed him the ring. "Get everyone out and get dressed."
He was already working on the tasks she assigned him when he asked, "And what of you m'lady?"
Thinking of Stanley, she told the truth. "I have more work to do."
By the time the last cage was open Arya was dressed and armed. She took the forgotten bucket of water over to the body of the sell-sword and then stood over him. She gripped his hair as he had hers and then plunged his face down into the water. This roused him from whatever perverted or demented dream he was having, and he began squirming until he felt the cold steel of his own sword against the back of his neck. "Good boy," she taunted him. "Now if you want to live, you're going to call for your friend Stanley. Tell him there is an emergency."
He'd comply. He didn't have a choice and he knew it.
R-C
Author's Note: Not sure what people are going to think about this. I feel like Illyrio gets forgotten about, but when I needed someone with money, I thought he'd be more interesting than the Iron Bank. His history with all the different characters helps too.
Let me know what you think.
RC