"He wants a role as your advisor," Tyrion summarized. Sansa was taking Illyrio and his friends on a tour of Winterfell which afforded Daenerys the opportunity to speak freely to those she trusted.
"Yes, he thinks he can be of use to me," Daenerys said, thinking back to the labored conversation she had with the Magister.
"I don't trust him," Jorah said to everyone.
"It's not about trust," the Lannister countered. "We need his gold."
"That gold will come with strings attached," Jorah responded, not giving an inch.
"Of course, it will, but for Arya's sake, perhaps that's a risk we have to take."
Daenerys let them argue in peace. At least until she heard Jorah say, "Maybe the price is too high."
Tyrion looked away from the knight to Daenerys, expecting a heated outburst. She didn't keep him in suspense for long. "I don't care if I have to fill my court with fishmongers and Illyrio's favorite whores, I'll do it, if that's what it takes!" she roared.
"Khaleesi, you must be careful," he said trying to sooth her with honeyed words. "You've made great strides in showing the Lords of Westeros you're reasonable and fair. You mustn't throw that away now. Not like this."
What he really meant was - 'not for her.' "Remember which of us is the Queen."
"No one is suggesting we abandon Arya," Tyrion supplied smoothly. He was an excellent mediator. "If you agree to Illyrio's terms we'll support you, if not, we'll continue searching."
"What happens if you say no?" Missandei asked.
"He didn't say so outright, but I expect his offer of support would disappear when he did," Daenerys guessed.
"A wise prediction," Tyrion assumed. "Varys knows Illyrio far better than I. Should I send word to King's Landing and ask if he can be trusted?"
"We don't have time for that." Arya didn't have time for that. She'd deal with Illyrio when the time was right.
"It may…" Tyrion started.
The conversation stopped abruptly when Sansa and Brienne appeared with the group from Pentos. "Thank you for the lovely tour Lady Stark. I enjoyed myself thoroughly.
"It was a pleasure," Sansa replied, "and the least I could do given all you're doing to help my family."
"I'd do anything for Daenerys," he declared boldly.
The woman in question resisted the urge to roll her eyes. In an attempt to hide her feelings from the man she still needed, she turned to Grey Worm. "Any luck?" He'd been involved in the latest search.
"No Arya, your Grace," he said with his eyes downcast.
"And the courier?" Tyrion asked. Since they needed a way to contact the kidnappers, they'd been searching for the courier who dropped the ransom letter. So far, he too was proving elusive.
"You are looking for a courier?" Illyrio verified.
"A note was left," Jorah explained, "detailing the price owed for each prisoner's release."
"I do quite a bit of business in this part of the world," he announced, "I could reach out to my associates if you like and see if any of them know who kidnappers might hire to deliver such a note."
"If the Queen wishes your help, she'll ask for it," Jorah replied sternly.
"Who among you would be here without me?" Illyrio inquired passionately. "Without me Jorah you'd be just another sell-sword. I sent you to Daenerys and gave your life purpose."
"Hey," Daenerys called roughly. She refused to let anyone speak to her advisors that way. She didn't care how important Illyrio thought he was, Jorah was a knight who deserved respect.
"Let's try and stay calm," Tyrion urged.
"Who's home provided you shelter Tyrion, on your first days in Essos?"
"Yours," he admitted.
"Her dragons were hatched from eggs I gave her. You see me as a new arrival, but the truth is, I've been helping Daenerys longer than any of you."
"You're right," Daenerys said even as the words tasted like acid on her tongue. "Please forgive my friends, they are very protective of me."
Illyrio's anger was gone, his smile once again in place. "Think nothing of it, my dear."
"Please speak to your friends and see if anyone knows this courier. Grey Worm can introduce you to the gate guards who got the best look at him. They should be able to provide you with a description of the man we seek."
"Of course, your Grace," Illyrio accepted. "The gold should be here in the next few days. In the meantime, I'll do what I can to discover the name of the courier."
Daenerys prayed Arya could hold out that long.
R-C
For the first time since Arya was taken Daenerys felt they were making real progress.
Illyrio's spy or source, whatever he was, he came through. Bribes were paid, more gold than Daenerys wanted to think about changed hands and they got the information. They learned of the existence of a courier who didn't concern himself with the contents of the packages he carried. To him it didn't matter if his cargo fell within the strictest interpretation of the law or not. He only cared about his fee. Pay it, and he'd deliver anything to anyone.
Illyrio's wagons of gold were a day's ride outside Winterfell, if the weather held. Daenerys was too busy thinking about the good news to question the details too heavily. Tyrion had no such problem and that's what made him so vital to her success. "How can the gold be so close? It couldn't have made the trip from Pentos so quickly."
"Does it matter? It's here and…"
"And nothing," Daenerys interjected, "answer his question. You told me you knew of the kidnappings and came to help me." She said the last two words with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "We didn't receive the ransom until you were already on your way to Winterfell, so how could you possibly get money from Pentos so suddenly, unless you knew ahead of time that you'd need it."
Illyrio thought for a moment. When he did speak, he was choosing his words carefully. A wise decision since anything he said would be highly scrutinized. "I knew the men were taken. I thought even if you didn't need ransom, gold would still be beneficial."
"How?" Tyrion asked from Daenerys's side.
"Gold is what keeps the world spinning, for mercenaries and bandits more so. It seems to be the only reason many of them wake in the morning." When no one laughed at his attempted joke he moved on. "Whatever they planned to do with the captives, I was positive there would be a profit in it for them. I brought the gold so that I could make them a better offer."
"What of the courier?"
"One of my men has arranged a meeting with him for midday tomorrow."
"Is the letter ready?" she asked Tyrion since he was the one who drafted it.
"It's finished," he confirmed.
"What does it say?"
He moved around some papers on the table until he found the right one. "That we agree to their terms and will pay at a time and place of the kidnapper's choosing provided the hostages remain unharmed."
It was to the point, exactly how Daenerys wanted it. There was only one thing missing. "Add that they must take their gold and leave Westeros. If they return, they'll face the Queen's justice."
As she anticipated, her advisors were strongly opposed to the addition. Jorah went first. "Khaleesi, perhaps we should wait until after the Stark troops are safe to share such a message."
"Negotiations like this are fragile, it might do more harm than good," Tyrion continued.
"I think she should threaten them," Illyrio proclaimed. "She's their Queen and they attacked her allies. She may be paying them, but if they're free to remain in Westeros what keeps them from doing the same thing and asking for more, next week or next month?"
"Put it in the letter," she instructed Tyrion. "They get the money in exchange for Arya, the men and their promise that they won't return."
"I fear you're putting too much faith in the word of a sell-sword."
"Speaking from experience?" Illyrio asked Jorah snidely.
She huffed at the childish back and forth. "Do it," she said with finality. "As for the meeting, I'll be joining you."
This time the disapproval of her idea was universal. "That's too dangerous," Jorah said. "The courier may bring friends and if he does, they're likely to be the same men holding Arya."
"Good," Daenerys said without thinking it through. "I am looking forward to meeting those men."
"No Daenerys," Tyrion tried, "I think what Mormont was trying to say is that for men like that, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms might be too good a prize to ignore. You could end up where Arya is."
Did he think she didn't realize that? That was one of the primary reasons she was suggesting it. Free or not, she'd be with Arya soon, the rest was just noise.
It was Illyrio's turn to waste his breath. "I agree with Tyrion," he said calmly. "I know you wish to help, but you must take your emotions out of it. They are just people, you are a Queen."
Her right hand actually twitched as she considered slapping him. How dare he say such a thing? Arya wasn't just some woman, she was the woman Dany loved. The soldiers weren't interchangeable pieces that could be swapped out by the newest crop to finish their training. They had wives, parents, friends, and children. Daenerys and Sansa had met with many of them. She heard their anguish and promised to do everything in her power to return their loved one to them as soon as possible.
Daenerys stood up, effectively ending the discussion. "I've made up my mind. Hopefully by the time the gold arrives, we'll know where to take it."
R-C
She was on the battlement, above Winterfell's entrance. She started coming to this spot when Sana told her it was a favorite of Arya's. Apparently, she would stand where Dany was and think about her problems. Daenerys could understand the appeal. She could see for miles. Such a view had a way of making everything else seem smaller in comparison.
Arya was out there somewhere. She probably didn't expect Daenerys to come and get her, but she would anyway. Daenerys would find her, and she was prepared to forgive her. The days without Arya provided the Queen with a glimpse of what her life would become without Arya in it. It looked a lot like the life she had before she ran away and ended up in a tavern where a woman fought snakes. Each day she was quicker to anger than the one previous. Any viewpoint that opposed hers, no matter how valid, infuriated her. So far, she'd been able to keep the worst of her impulses buried but if Arya left her life permanently, she doubted that trend would continue. How long could she rely on memories to satisfy the part of her that needed to feel normal?
She thought of the day she met Ronan and sentenced him to death. It was Arya and only Arya who had subdued Daenerys's darkness. What happened next time if Arya wasn't there to pull her back? Would she fall and become as vindictive and cruel as her brother, as paranoid and deranged as her father? That wasn't the future she wanted, for herself or her people and Arya alone could help her prevent it.
The night before Missandei brought wine to Daenerys's chamber and they talked about Arya. Not about the future and what might happen, but the past. Through her innocent inquires she had Daenerys remembering all the reasons she fell in love with Arya in the first place. The only advice came when she said, "Love is rare. I never thought I'd find it, and with a soldier, but I did and I'm grateful. I'm grateful to you for bringing us together, grateful to Grey Worm and the Gods. You're a fighter Daenerys, fight for this." She promised that she would, not only to appease Missandei, but because she made sense. Love like the kind she felt for Arya was special. She couldn't rightly expect it to come around again in her lifetime. The question then became a simple one – Were Arya's crimes so great that they were worth throwing what they had away? Forgiveness had never been her first instinct but for Arya she'd need to do it, even if it was hard.
She heard him approach but didn't acknowledge him. "The gold will be here by the time we return from our appointment. Everyone is ready to go."
Appointment? He made their meeting with a courier for kidnappers seem so official. "How did your man convince the courier to meet with us?" Daenerys asked, not breaking eye contact with the horizon.
"He paid him" he said decisively. "The courier will be there, but only today."
"Let's go then," she said finally turning. Illyrio wore a fur-lined cloak she hadn't seen before.
"Yes, well before we leave, I thought it best to discuss a few things," Illyrio started casually.
"Such as?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I have been committed to putting a Targaryen on the throne for most of my life."
She didn't roll her eyes, but she wanted to. This again? What did he want, a pat on the head for all his good deeds? "And yet a Targaryen took the throne without you."
"Without me?" he repeated becoming red in the face. "How can you say that? It was my idea to wed you to Drogo. The army you led after his death, came from that introduction. The Unsullied you bought in Astapor were paid for with Drogon, a dragon you wouldn't have had without my gift. I may not have been in the small council meetings but don't imagine for a second you'd be where you are today without me."
He wasn't saying anything new. The difference was that he was visible frustrated by her unwillingness to agree with the value of his contributions. "Is that all?" Daenerys wondered, her voice colder than the wind.
"You are hours away from being reunited with your lover, because I came here in a ship filled with gold."
It didn't surprise her that he knew. She assumed when he commented on her necklace that he knew where she got it and why she wouldn't sell it. The fact that she and Arya shared a bed was no longer a secret. If it wasn't common knowledge yet, it would be soon. "I'm grateful for your help Illyrio, truly."
"Did you know your brother once gave me his word? Viserys promised me on the night before your wedding, that when he had the Iron Throne and Usurpers were dead, he'd name me Hand of the King."
"I already have a Hand, I'm sorry but that position is not available," she said as diplomatically as she could.
"I understand," he responded kindly. "Tyrion is a fine choice and if you're happy with his work, I won't insist you honor your brother's pledge."
She sensed they were getting closer to the point, so she treaded carefully. "Thank you for being so understanding."
"I'm willing to accept another suitable position in your service."
"Such as?"
Time wasted talking was time the courier could use to disappear. If he left before they got there, it could take days or weeks to find him again. Every second increased Illyrio's bargaining position and he was too smart not to know it.
"Master of the Coin, perhaps," he said doing what he could to stay relaxed. "I'm aware that position is also occupied but what if I were to fill the treasury with the remainder of the gold I brought from Pentos? You'd not only get a surplus of money, you'd add someone well-versed in all manner of financial and business dealings to your service."
This was it. The question they'd been dancing around since he showed his face. If they were going to parlay, she needed to hear the terms. "And if I say no?"
"My people and I will bid you goodbye and return to Pentos," he said with a smile. He did a good job of making it sound like it wouldn't bother him to go back empty-handed. Daenerys knew better than to believe that. He'd come all this way to get a spot in King's Landing and Illyrio Mopatis was not the sort of man used to failure.
"With your gold?" she asked bluntly, forcing him to say it.
"Yes."
Normally Tyrion, Missandei, Jorah and Grey Worm were present for negotiations. Different as they were. they each provided unique insights she valued. She was glad they weren't present for this. They'd only disapprove of her choice to let Illyrio force her hand to save Arya. They'd try to change her mind and when it was over, everything would be as it was now.
She actually thought she was getting off easy. As a bonus she learned something significant about Illyrio. He coveted the role of Hand but didn't demand it. Likely he didn't think she'd comply. When she declined, he moved on quickly. He had his second choice ready and waiting, one he thought Daenerys could tolerate. If only he knew how highly Daenerys valued Arya. No price was too much. If Illyrio had insisted on being Hand, she would have made him ask a few more times, but she would have relented. She would have let him be King if that's what it took.
"Deal," she said.
His smile widened and he nodded in confirmation before pulling her into a hug. "We're going to do great things Daenerys."
She pulled away and the polite, fake smile she'd been holding dropped away. "We're already behind schedule. Let's go."
R-C
The fifth time the beaten sell-sword yelled for Stanley without success Arya could tell he was becoming nervous. He was afraid of what would befall him if his boss didn't heed his call soon. She considered easing his burden by telling him his fate was decided. Nothing that did or didn't happen could change that.
She had his sword so close to his throat that ever breath he took was a risk. "Try again!" Arya barked.
Ozwick came to her side. "The men are as ready as they can be. The wagons and horses are in the next building over."
She extended her right arm for an awkward shake. It wasn't her dominant hand, but it seemed like Ozwick appreciated the gesture. "Captain Ozwick, m'lady. Pleased to see you again, though last time you were just a girl, and I, was a much younger man."
"I'm Arya and thank you for your help."
They yelled for Stanley again with no result. "Perhaps he's not there m'lady. The only time he ever came to the barn was to see you and that was after you'd been with us for several days."
Arya was starting to worry Ozwick was right. The Captain had the look of an old soldier. It made her smile. He reminded her of her father, not in physical appearance, but in the quiet determination with which he carried himself. That, and the kindness in his eyes that revealed a goodness inside. "Maybe. When the fighting starts you take the men, steal the wagons, steal the horses and go. Ride for Winterfell and don't stop for anything. Your Queen anxiously awaits your return."
"I pledged my sword and my life to your father when I was barely old enough to know what that meant," Ozwick told her. "I fought for your brother Robb and would have died with him at the Twins had he not sent me on an errand. When Jon came down from the Wall, I joined his cause and fought beside him against the Night King and Ramsay Snow. When your sister pledged her forces to the Targaryen, I went to war against the Lannisters in King's Landing. My place is with you, between you and what awaits."
"We only have one sword," she pointed out. "I'm not letting you all get killed because you're too proud to run."
"We do not need swords to be dangerous."
Arya liked this man. She didn't see even a flicker of fear in him. He was prepared to die fighting beside her, just because she had Ned Stark's blood in her veins. "Do you have a family?"
"Aye," he confirmed with a smile. "A wife and two daughters, nearly grown now."
"You've served my family for a long time. You've done enough. When someone comes through those doors, I'll attack, you take these men and you go." He was going to protest, she could tell, so she ended it with an authoritative, "That's an order Captain."
"Someone's coming," one of Ozwick's men whispered as he peeked through a gap in the barn's warped wall. The wood had separated just enough for him to see.
"How many?" Arya asked.
"Three, he said, sounding unhappy with the news he had to give.
"Stanley?"
"Can't tell," he admitted.
In truth it didn't matter. He couldn't hide from her forever. It was time to get started. "I did what you wanted…" the sell-sword at her feet said as if that might save him.
"You did," she agreed, before she ended his life with a smooth stroke of the sword. She abandoned him before his body fell, moving toward the door.
"What the fuck are you yelling for!? Stanley's gone!" The man died without realizing why no one answered. He crossed the threshold and unknowingly stepping within reach of Arya's stolen sword. She plunged it into his chest and then used her foot to kick him away, already getting ready for the next kill.
The two survivors were startled. Arya didn't see Stanley or Ben, but she did recognize the man who'd embarrassed Stanley so much that he was sent away, the one who didn't know Sansa's name. If Stanley was gone, that man would know where Arya should go next.
She backed up into the barn, making the men to follow. When the door was clear, she waved for Ozwick to begin escaping with the men. If the sell-swords noticed the dozens of Stark prisoners free they didn't show it. They're focus was Arya and her bloody sword.
They were well-versed in combat. They attacked together, from different angles, forcing Arya to alternate between the two. She used the sword to block one strike and then pushed that man back to rotate and meet the other.
"I knew you was trouble," one of them said. "It was in your eyes, the momen' I saw ya." He punctuated his statement with a swing of his sword. The blade she was using was heavier than she was used to, it slowed her a bit. Days of surviving on slop, unable to stand hadn't helped her condition either. She twisted out of the way and brought the tip up to cut the underside of his wrist. She got him but couldn't pivot fast enough to block the incoming blow. She was cut above her hip. The burn of the slice was familiar. and she could feel blood flowing down her side. Her heart pounded in her ears as she battled the pain. Another blade was coming for her.
She ducked under the outstretched sword-arm of the man who cut her, widening the gash as she moved. She gritted her teeth and hurried past the pair until she was behind them both. They turned as one. She had two or three steps at most before they were on her again. She needed to even the odds before that could happen. She'd have to be quick.
She moved to her right, closer to the man with the injured hand, farther away from his partner. Arya swung at his middle, not expecting to hit her target. She didn't. He squared his shoulders and used his sword to block. With their blades locked he began pushing her toward his friend. Instead of going where she was being sent Arya suddenly stepped back, lowering her sword and ending the connection. He'd been leaning into her so heavily that without Arya to press against he faltered. Squatting down she gripped her sword with both hands and angled it up. As she straightened, she thrust the length through his chest before he could regain his footing.
She felt it, the resistance as she tried to tear the weapon free. With a grunt that inflamed her wound, she pulled harder, but the blade barely shifted. "Fuck!" she cursed. The longsword had gotten caught on a rib, it happened sometimes and usually wasn't a problem, but weapons were in short supply. She was out of time. The space she'd earned was gone. The remaining sell-sword was close enough to strike, his sword was wet with her blood and it was coming for her again.
She abandoned the sword lodged in her opponent and dove back in a wild attempt to keep her head attached. It worked only barely. She rolled, slowed by the pain in her side and ended up several feet away from the nearest weapon, flat on her back, with a man who never liked her closing the distance. "Stanley is going to give me a title for this," he said as he prepared to kill her.
Her eyes swept the room, looking for anything she might use. There wasn't much. The bucket of water was just out of reach. She could go for it if she wanted but didn't like her chances of avoiding a sword in the back. "Stanley wants me alive," she told him, wondering if that might halt him enough to create an opening. It worked once before.
"He'll get over it," the man said. "Your sister'll still pay for your corpse."
He was right above her now, savoring the victory. She didn't mind. She'd been dead for a long time. Valar Morghulis. She closed her eyes and thought about Dany. She regretted that she'd never get to apologize for the secrets she kept, and that she'd never see the new world Dany was going to build. She had faith in her though. She'd do it, against any and all challengers. "I'm sorry, goodbye," she whispered to her Dragon. She pulled in a deep breath, steeled herself for what was coming and opened her eyes to look at the man who would kill her. He was pulling his sword back for the final time.
"Charge men!" Ozwick yelled.
All at once, unarmed Stark soldiers flooded in like the tide. Some were holding sticks, one man had located an axe and another was wielding a lock from one of the cages. She'd told them to go, ordered them to, and they disobeyed. If Arya needed proof she wasn't meant to rule, now she had it. She couldn't even get men loyal to her family to do what she instructed.
Their leader was holding the sword of one of those Arya killed. He came straight for them, distracting Arya's attacker as he did. She didn't need to be told twice. She scurried away and hurried to her feet. Her first act was to find a weapon. She heard the clash of steel, and it propelled her faster. The only thing available was in the sell-sword's chest, so she got it and then prepared to use it. She was oblivious to her pain and the large pool of blood forming under her.
The blood that remained in her body ran cold when she saw Ozwick and three of his men down. His troops had attacked the sell-sword with whatever they had available and paid a heavy cost. They looked like they'd live, though Ozwick wasn't so lucky. He was pressed back against an empty cage, a limp sword in one hand while he pressed his other to an injury that started on his shoulder and stretched across to the other side. It was deep and Arya knew, fatal.
The unarmed men were doing what they could to keep Ozwick safe using their massive numbers, but they couldn't hold out much longer. There was no need for them to die senselessly. They should already be on the road to Winterfell.
She ran the length of the barn, her pain fading to the back of her mind. She pushed her way through the crowd and when she had a clear path to her target, she pounced. She came down with all her weight on the sword's leading edge. She growled like the Wolf she was as her blade sliced through the air in a grisly arc. He got his weapon up in just enough time to mount a defense, but he was overwhelmed by the momentum and it caused him to lose his hold. She hit the ground at the same time as his sword. Her landing wasn't graceful or controlled, she struck with a thud. On one knee she recovered, calling of years of practice to push past the pain and the weakness. Ozwick's men swarmed the unarmed man and knocked him to the ground and holding him there. "Don't kill him. I want to ask him something!" Arya commanded.
She went to Ozwick then. A few were tending to him. "You idiot," she said, with a sad smile. "You shouldn't have done that."
He had collapsed into an awkward sitting pose with one of his legs bent under him while the other stretched out in front. "Ga…gave you…your father an…an oath," he said before he stopped to cough up blood, "p…promised to prote…hi…s…fam…ly."
Although his final words were unclear, she understood his message perfectly. "You did your job well Ser Ozwick. The North will remember you." With blood stained fingers she closed his empty eyes.
"Your wound m'lady," one of the men said. "Let me help you."
"Don't!" she snapped. She looked at the dead Captain and his injured troops. They gave for her, and she didn't deserve it. "Go outside, ready the horses and wagons."
"They're ready m'lady, Ozwick had men doing that."
Of course, he did. She ignored the eyes on her and the obvious need for urgency. Some things took priority over even escape. She moved Ozwick's body, so it was lying flat. She folded his arms over his chest and then set a bloody sword between them, just in case he needed it where he was going. "God of Many Faces," she prayed, kneeling in blood with her hands clasped, "greet this brave hero at the gate. Honor his sacrifice. Reunite him with those who met You first and watch over his wife and daughters until they can be together again. Protect him from the flames and keep a legion of Your Faceless Men between him and his enemies. It would be me meeting You now if not for him."
Satisfied she'd done all she could, she stood tall, wincing as she did. She blinked back tears she refused to cry and tried to plot her next move.
"I've never heard a prayer like that," someone said. "Were you asking the Old Gods to take him?"
"No," Arya answered sharply. "Take his body to the wagon and head back to Winterfell.
"What about you?"
"I need to find Stanley," she said as she pressed her hand against her side to see just how much blood she was losing. The answer was undeniable, too much. As the adrenaline from the combat waned the effects became more pronounced.
"We'll remain with you, help you," the young man offered.
She wasn't having this argument again. She'd told Ozwick to go, he refused and now he was dead. She wouldn't be responsible for the deaths of even more innocents. Her conscience was crowded enough.
She turned quickly to send them away, but she staggered, and his arms were the only thing that kept her from falling. Fuck, she'd need to tend to her wound before she could chase Stanley.
Rage was a friend she knew well. Hate her ever-present companion. Even after her List was empty of its names, they stayed with her. Arya embraced them now, welcomed them. They fueled her. She leaned on the sword a bit as she limped to the beaten man. "I'm only going to ask you this once, where is Stanley?"
He spit on her in reply. "Fuck you, you stupid cun…"
He didn't get to finish his insult. She shifted her weight off the sword and raised it just high enough to insert it into his stomach. It was a slow push, inch by inch, feeding him his death in a deliberate, painful way. He gripped the blade feebly and tried to fight, but it was useless. She withdrew the sword and assessed her work. It would kill him without question, but it wouldn't be quick. He didn't deserve quick, he killed Ozwick. Now he'd have an hour at least to think about his choices, surrounded by the bodies of his friends, choking on his blood, trying to hold his guts in place. He could yell but she didn't think he'd have the strength to get anyone's attention. No matter who found him or when, they wouldn't be able to save him.
Her hate and rage basked in her dark thoughts. Rationally she knew this man had information she needed, he could direct her to Stanley or share other useful knowledge, but logic was far below her more primal desires. She'd find Stanley one way or another, because she wouldn't stop hunting him until she had. He'd pay for his crimes, just like every sell-sword he employed. If it took years, she'd spend years. It needed to be done.
Arya didn't fight as the troops helped her out of the barn. As promised the wagons and horses were ready. Arya saw two bodies, both sell-swords. She didn't know which of the men killed them or how, it didn't seem important enough to ask. She checked each face for Stanley and was disappointed he was not rotting yet. Perhaps he was gone as the one sell-sword said. Before she climbed into the wagon, she took a look around. She didn't have much of a chance to examine her surroundings on the way in. Oddly, there wasn't a homestead anywhere she could see. Just the barn and the building she now knew to be the stable. Where were the sell-swords living? They had to be close enough to go back and forth from the barn, but far enough away that most remained unaware of the escape. She saw nothing that would suggest they were nearby
She did what she could to remain awake for the ride back to Winterfell. One of the men took off his shirt and offered it to Arya to slow the bleeding. The shirt was filthy, but it was better than nothing. She should be dead. That was hardly a new feeling, but she was uncomfortable with the fact that Ozwick died for her. Oath or not, he should have left her behind.
R-C
Daenerys wanted to take Drogon to get to the meeting faster but was warned against doing so. If she flew while the others travelled by horse, she'd get to the courier first and be vulnerable to kidnap or assassination before her guards could catch up.
Sansa, Missandei and Tyrion remained in Winterfell with Illyrio's servants. His guards, the Magister himself, Grey Worm, a contingent of Unsullied, along with Jorah and Brienne of Tarth were all accompanying Daenerys to the meeting. Sansa insisted Brienne go along and the Targaryen didn't mind her attendance. She was capable and cared for the Stark sisters. Daenerys trusted Brienne would be on her side if she had to fight to get Arya back.
When they were close, Jorah steered his horse to Daenerys's. "Stay back Khaleesi, Grey Worm and Brienne will make contact with the courier and ensure there is no danger."
That would take more time than Daenerys was willing to spend. "Fuck that!" She squeezed her thighs and pushed her horse forward, galloping past the Unsullied meant to shield her. She dismounted and left the horse loose for someone else to tie up as she hurried ahead. Jorah yelled for her to come back.
Illyrio was at her side before Jorah. "Be cautious, your Grace," he said softly. "These men are dangerous."
"It's they who should be wary of me," she told him seriously.
Grey Worm found the courier first and approached his table. The tavern was mostly empty and reeked of sweat, alcohol and sex. Whores plied their trade shamelessly while half naked serving girls delivered drinks.
The Unsullied commander dropped a pouch of gold in front of the courier. He was roughly Tyrion's age with light hair and sharp features. His dark eyes were devoid of any feeling. He looked at the pouch and not the man who presented it. "Who the fuck are you?"
Daenerys stepped forward, ignoring another of Jorah's attempts to reign her in. "My name is Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You left me a message several days ago outside the gates of Winterfell. I'm here to give you my response."
Slowly the courier looked up from the table. He raised his glass to his mouth and took a gulp. His shrewd eyes moved from face to face, assessing the state of things. Daenerys didn't interfere. She wanted him to see them, to realize he was backed into a corner. He needed to understand helping her was the only way out. "I don't know what you're talking about," he finally said.
He was a poor liar. He'd agreed to this meeting. She didn't blame him for changing his mind given the intimidating characters she brought. She doubted he would have consented if Illyrio's man had been honest about their numbers. Violet eyes studied the room, looking for the hired soldiers the courier surely employed to keep him alive. Two tables on opposite sides of them seemed likely candidates. They were trying to look disinterested, but their eyes kept finding their way back to the Queen. Four more, five in total, if the courier could be included, nowhere near enough to oppose Dany's group.
"You are going to tell me what I want to know," Daenerys informed him. She leaned in and put both her palms flat on the grimy table. His face was close enough to hers that she could feel his breath. "You can sell me the information, or you can scream it to me when one of my dragons is eating you for dinner."
The courier would have been a fool to think her threat wasn't genuine. It absolutely was. "Easy now," he said, backing away.
She didn't give him any quarter, leaning forward to keep invading his personal space. "Last chance. I have fifty men outside and another ten in here," she exaggerated.
"I still don't know what you're talking about." This denial was even weaker than his first.
"How do you think this ends?" she asked. "Do you really think the sell-swords you hired are going to be willing to die for you? Are you paying them enough to battle my Unsullied, and my knights?" She gave him a moment to think things over, then forged ahead. "You can be my friend or my enemy, but one way or another your life will never be the same."
"It was just a job," he said, avoiding Daenerys's eye to watch the warriors for any sign they might attack. They had orders not to use violence without Daenerys's express consent. The only one he needed to worry about was her.
"Who hired you?"
"A Northmen," he said, "Stanley was his name, he hired me to deliver the letter, that's all."
"Where is he now?" she asked. She was close to finding Arya, she could feel it. Her heart was racing.
"Don't know," he muttered.
She didn't want to believe him but sadly she did. She wished he was lying so she could beat the truth from him, but she was starting to fear he didn't have it to give.
"Where did you last see this Stanley?" Illyrio spoke, separating himself from the group of soldiers. "Where and when did you get the letter?"
"I'll show you." The courier turned away from his audience and reached for a bag on the floor. Illyrio's guards moved in front of him while Jorah and Grey Worm blocked off Daenerys from both sides. It was needless. He came out of the bag holding only a poorly drawn map. As he spread it out on the table, Daenerys slipped past Jorah to get a better look.
He pointed with a quivering finger. "Here. I got the letter here," he said.
"What's there?" Jorah wondered.
"A burned farm," the courier replied, "an old place that didn't survive the war. The lands are ash, the house is falling down and no one's around for miles."
"Good place to plot a kidnapping," Illyrio remarked.
"Or hide prisoners," Brienne added.
Jorah memorized the map from over her shoulder. "It'll take days to get the gold there," he predicted.
"Have you heard from this Stanley since?" Illyrio wanted to know.
He shook his head. "No, not a word, I swear."
"Did you see any prisoners while you were there?" Brienne inquired, speaking for her Queen.
"No, only Stanley and a few of his men."
"How many?" It was clear they were already calculating their odds in combat.
"A handful maybe. The plot of land was huge. There coulda been a lot more I didn't see."
Daenerys had heard enough. She nudged the gold Grey Worm had set out with her pinky finger. "I want to hire you to bring a reply to Stanley for me. Tell him you met with me and tell him I agree to his terms." She held out a hand and waited for Jorah to pass the document Tyrion prepared. It was sealed with the Targaryen stamp, confirming its authenticity. "Can you do that?"
"Y…yes…" he stammered.
"Be quick," she encouraged, "and when you're done, I strongly suggest you spend some of your newfound wealth to secure passage across the sea. If you come before me again, I won't be as generous as I was today."
On her way out, Daenerys noticed how no one would meet her eye. They were working awfully hard to stay out of whatever brought a furious Queen to their corner of the world. Even the courier's sell-swords were looking away.
"Think we'll ever see him again?" she asked those around her.
"I think he'll be on his way to Essos before Stanley breaks the seal on your letter," Jorah guessed with a chuckle, while Brienne concurred.
Good. She was one step closer to bringing Arya home. Her intention had been to return to Winterfell and wait for Stanley to respond to her proposal. Now, she couldn't think of any reason she should delay that long. Letters were so impersonal. She could go to the farm with the gold and negotiate with Stanley in person. It would speed things up dramatically and shorten Arya's time in captivity by days if not weeks.
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The shipment of gold was safely behind Winterfell's walls, when they got there. Daenerys had seen gold before, tributes, bribes, gifts, but never anything like this. Whatever else he was doing, Illyrio had honored his pledge to pay the ransom.
While the gold was being readied for transport Daenerys met with Tyrion in a private room. There were some things he needed to know.
"You agreed to let Illyrio be Master of the Coin?" he asked without judgement.
"It was the only way," she said in justification.
"I know you want Arya back safely…"
He didn't know. No one knew. She'd erupted at Arya in anger when she learned who she was. She'd let her unstable blood send her over the edge. She lost all reason. She'd ruined the best thing to happen to her in a very long time and then Arya disappeared before she could fix it. The guilt of that was crushing her. She did what she could to hide it, to focus on the task in front of her, but no matter how successful that strategy was during the day, it did nothing for her come nighttime. Alone in her bed she had only thoughts of Arya to warm her. All their good times, all her mistakes, all the things she wished she'd said. Tyrion didn't understand because he couldn't. She loved Arya and never told her so. All she could do now was hope she got a second chance.
Tyrion had been speaking the whole time Dany was lost in her thoughts. She tried not to show how little she heard. He wasn't done. "I learned a lot growing up with my father," he said. "For a man who hated me, he spent a lot of time ensuring I learned to be just like him."
She didn't see what Tywin Lannister had to do with their current situation. Before she could ask, Tyrion filled in the gap. "That man had schemes for his schemes. Nothing he did lacked purpose. He was always doing something to advance the Lannister name. As a result, I got quite good at recognizing my father's attributes in other people. It's why I avoided Littlefinger whenever possible and why even when I was staying at Illyrio's home, I knew not to trust him."
"I don't trust him either," Daenerys insisted, "but I do need him to get Arya released."
"And then what?" Tyrion questioned rhetorically. "Being Master of Coin will give him a lot of power in the capitol, believe me I know."
"He's giving us the gold we need."
"Consider why he arrived now," Tyrion said, voicing one of the many things about Illyrio that had bothered Daenerys from the start. "He hid in Pentos while we waged wars. He didn't offer a copper or a kind word when you were fighting for your life in the Bay of Dragons, in the North, or King's Landing."
Daenerys gave her friend a reassuring smile. "What would you have me do?"
"Be careful Daenerys," he said softly. "Illyrio has been determined to help a Targaryen rule Westeros since you were a child. He's deeply invested and will stop at nothing to get what he wants."
"He is getting what he wants."
Tyrion smirked. "You know as well as I do that a Pentosi Magister didn't come to Westeros to tend to your treasury. He has some grand scheme that requires you."
He was right, as he usually was. "I know, but we'll burn that bridge when we get there. Right now, I want Arya back and Sansa needs her sister."
"You aren't going to wait for a letter, are you?"
"The farm is isolated, it makes sense that they're there. I've waited long enough."
Tyrion's face made clear he wasn't surprised. "Do you plan on paying the ransom or taking Arya back by force?"
She considered the answer. She knew this was a risk. There was a chance Stanley and Arya wouldn't be there, it could also be a trap, but she was willing to proceed anyway. "I'll be ready for both, but I'm willing to pay these men more money than they could spend to give Arya back."
"Start with that," Tyrion suggested with a smile.
She took Tyrion's arm as they went to the yard. She was lucky to have him in her life, as an advisor and a friend. He'd proven intelligent, resourceful and loyal. Even now, after they achieved all they had set out to do, he was still working tirelessly to keep her safe. His methods were different from Jorah, the Unsullied or the Dothraki, but no less important.
It was raining hard when she got outside. A strong wind blew the drops horizontally, right into the faces of the would-be travellers.
"Is everything ready to go?" she asked Grey Worm.
On her right Mormont and Illyrio shared a look. "Khaleesi," Jorah said cautiously, "it'll be getting dark soon."
Why did he feel the need to state the obvious? Did she look dumb? "As it does every night," she replied.
She headed to where she'd left her horse. If the knight wished to continue this pointless conversation, he'd need to catch up. "After sunset the temperature will drop and the rain will turn to snow," Jorah foretold, his long legs making it easy to stay at Daenerys's side. "We've been riding for hours."
Illyrio was there too, his horse being tended to by one of his guards. "He's right Daenerys, bandits lurk on the roads. If we're not careful we could lose the gold before we reach this Stanley."
No! Arya was in the hands of a kidnapper. Dany wasn't going to leave her there a moment longer than necessary. The best she could do was compromise. "Take the men inside, warm them, get them a meal, and dry clothes, it'll give me a chance to speak to Sansa."
When Jorah put his arm on her shoulder to keep her there, she rounded on him quickly and used her small hand to swat his away, striking between the wrist and elbow. "Daenerys," he pleaded, "this is a mistake. We should wait for Stanley to reply to your offer."
"If you don't wish to come," she said plainly, "stay here."
Brienne appeared from a doorway, stepping out and heading in their direction. In the midst of her stand off with Jorah she almost didn't hear the woman from Tarth gasp. "Koran," she said.
Daenerys adjusted her eyes and found Brienne looking at a man of maybe twenty-two years. He appeared weak, his clothes were spotted with filth, he was wet, and the smell made Daenerys gag. Koran if that was his name was limping slowly, with a woman helping him along. His right arm was folded across his stomach and Daenerys noticed fresh bandages with a dot of red in the center. Had Winterfell been attacked while they were away?
"Your Grace," she explained, "Koran was a member of the first patrol taken by the kidnappers."
Daenerys was speechless. How could that be possible? It did clarify a few things, like his miserable state and his injury but how had he come to be here? They hadn't paid the ransom yet, hadn't negotiated with Stanley yet. If Koran was here, then maybe he wasn't alone. Arya! She dashed for the door, aware of Brienne right behind her.
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Author's Note: I know people wanted the fight with Stanley in this chapter, but it didn't really fit in with the larger plot. I hope you'll stick around to see what's next.
Thanks for reading.
RC