Author's Note: Hey guys! Glad to see you guys enjoyed the last chapter. PNow for the moment you've all been waiting for, we finally see Daenerys. Anyways, please let me know what you think of the story, it's really helpful and lets me know where I need to improve. As usual, please review, it's always great to see people's feedback. Enjoy!
Iagan
It had been nearly a week since news of Robb's victory had reached him, and his leg had healed considerably. He could now walk, almost devoid of a limp, and it wouldn't be long until he returned to the army. To help prepare himself, he had found Loras Tyrell training in the yard, and the young knight couldn't resist a chance to duel a ranger.
"So Iagan, you're finally feeling well enough to fight?" Loras asked.
"Well enough to best you." He joked cockily. Loras' eyes narrowed. He was prideful, that much was clear. He flipped down the visor of his helm. It was an ornate thing, and Iagan doubted it would last long in combat, with all the carved flowers and ornamental bits secured to it. Loras' armor was just as fancy, and it was clear it had never actually seen combat. The Tyrell rose glistened on the breastplate, and his bracers and greaves we polished to perfection, without a scratch on them.
His own armor stood in stark contrast to Loras'. He'd had a new set forged at Highgarden's blacksmith, and the man had done a good job, following his instructions to the letter. Iagan wore his cloak, fasted around his shoulders by the ranger pin, a small silver heart tree leaf. He wore a helm, but nothing as encumbering as Loras' . A Ranger needed to be able to see everything, without the obstruction of some large piece of metal. He had kept his breastplate, engraved with his burning weirwood, and the sun reflected off it. His horse padded the earth in front of him. Iagan had always been uneasy on horses, not like Trysten who had taken to them instantly or Maerisa who seemed to find more in common with them then others. But he had hand picked his mount. When he had chosen Comet, he had been a colt, grazing alone. The herd had rejected him, and Iagan raised him to be a model Ranger mount. He could be controlled with a word or a tap of his heel, enabling Iagan to ride and shoot at the same time. He wasn't as big as the large destriers the Knights rode, but he was fast and smart, just what Iagan needed.
Loras spurred his own horse into action, and with that the duel was on. Loras' own horse thundered ahead, while Comet rushed towards them. Iagan lowered his lance and Loras did, and the two collided. Loras' lance shattered his own shield, and Iagan fought to stay in the saddle. His own lance bounced of Loras' shield, and he saw the knight of the flowers reel from the blow. The horses circled, and Loras was brought another lance. The two charged again, this time his thrust missed, while Loras' made strong contact, slamming into his shield and forcing it into his chest. Loras was good. He had feinted low, and hit high, and Iagan was sent tumbling from the saddle where he crashed to the ground. For most knights, such a blow would mean the end in combat, but Iagan's lighter armor meant he could rise quickly and move just as well on foot.
"Are you alright?" Loras called, his horse trotting over.
"I'm fine, thanks" Iagan told him, doing his best not to let his embarrassment show.
"I guess we've determined who's better" Loras chuckled.
Damn knights. Always think they've won. Iagan thought angrily. Loras was a good man, but he could be infuriating with his damn air of superiority.
"I've never been one for horses anyway" Iagan said dismissively. "Lets settle this on the ground like real men" he challenged Loras.
"Alright." Loras said confidently, swinging from the saddle gracefully, grabbing a blunt sword and tossing another to Iagan, who caught it deftly. "Any rules?" he asked, almost patronizingly.
"None." Iagan responded, steeling himself for the fight. He knew Loras was good, one of the best in the seven kingdoms. Around them, he could see a group of Tyrell men at arms. They stood around them, forming a lose circle to watch the bout, and he was dimly aware of them placing bets.
"Shall we?"
"After you" Iagan retorted sarcastically.
Loras swung at him, his sword whistling through the air. Iagan caught the blow on his shield, deflecting it, and slashed at Loras, who parried it and countered, forcing him backwards towards a low wall. Iagan did his best to block the blows, but Loras was astonishingly fast, his blade darting to and fro. He could hear the Tyrell men jeering at him and urging their knight on.
"You really are quite good" Loras told him as Iagan thrust. "One of the best I've fought." He redirected Iagan's thrust, which went wide, and responded with his own chop, which Iagan dodged, the blade slicing through the air just a second from where he had been. "Not good enough of course" Loras grinned.
Iagan was driven back to the wall, parrying Loras' strikes. Loras smiled, anticipating his victory, sensing Iagan had nowhere to go. Iagan lunged, exposing himself, and Loras took the opportunity to bat his shield away and knock Iagan backwards, his back smacking into the stone. Loras advanced. The Tyrell men shouted at Loras to finish it, laughing at Iagan and shouting at him to fight like a man and hold his ground.
"The Ranger can't fight!" One fat man taunted.
"Spirit my arse! If anyone's a ghost it'll be him if he fights like that" another said, earning the laugh of the crowd.
WIthout his shield however, Iagan was faster, more agile, almost impossibly quick from years of darting through the treetops. The knight lunged in, and Iagan leaped. The sword cut passed harmlessly underneath him, and Iagan's foot slammed into Loras' shield, propelling him upward. He bounced over Loras, landing behind him as the knight struggled to turn and keep the ranger in front of him. Iagan kicked Loras viciously behind the knee, forcing Loras to the ground. He brought his blade around, placing it at Loras' throat.
"How did you- that's not- what-" Loras sputtered, trying to comprehend what had happened. The courtyard was dead silent.
"Dead." Iagan laughed, bringing the sword away and helping Loras to his feet, whose face was red with anger.
"That's not fair! That's not how you're supposed to fight!" Loras cried indignantly.
"It is if you're a Ranger." Iagan told him, becoming aware of a slow clap from across the courtyard. He looked over, wiping sweat from his brow. It was Margaery. The men dispersed, and he approached.
"Showing off again I see." She scolded him.
"I've got to keep the reputation up" he said apologetically. "Once word gets out a Ranger's gone soft then people starting thinking they can actually stand up to us and then its just work, work, work all day long." He told her, earning a giggle.
"Beside's someone had to knock him down to size." He waved his hand at Loras, who had now risen to his feet and was walking over, dripping sweat and panting heavily.
"From what I saw the only one getting knocked down was you." Margaery retorted, and Iagan rolled his eyes.
"I don't do horses." He replied, brushing his hair out of his face.
"Well fought Ser." Loras told him, extending his gauntleted hand. "I'm glad you Rangers are on our side."
"We're glad to have you with us," Iagan said, shaking his hand. "Perhaps we can do this again sometime?"
"I'd love to. Perhaps you can show me how in seven hells you did that." Loras laughed.
"Only if you teach me how to actually joust. That feint was impressive." Iagan answered earnestly, earning another laugh from Loras.
"Ah but your parry? And the counterstrike? Perfectly timed." Loras replied. Margaery rolled her eyes.
"Yes, well you're both incredibly good at knocking people off horses with a stick we'll have to do it again sometime." She said sarcastically, quickly flashing Loras a look.
"Well, I need to go, I'm sure I'll be sore after this and the armor needs to get put away." Loras apologized before walking off. Iagan and Margaery watched him go.
"Is he always like that?" Iagan asked.
"Always" Margaery groaned. "It's all he thinks about. And he's been itching for another fight since Renly's tournament."
"Ah that's right. I forgot about your marriage to him. And how was married life?" Iagan asked, fetching his bow and quiver, and another bow for Margaery as they walked over to the range. Margaery nodded. She drew the bow, knocking an arrow and loosing. The arrow missed wide, and went skittering off into the brush. Margaery groaned with frustration.
"Fine."
"Fine? Just fine? That's all you have to say about it?" He prodded, firing an arrow into the center of the target.
"He was a good man. Loras loved him."
"And did you?" Iagan asked as she loosed an arrow, which flew off into the woods.
"Now look what you made me do." Margaery scolded.
"Did you?"
"No. I didn't alright." She admitted, knocking another arrow.
"So why did you?" He asked, sending another arrow slamming into the target.
"I had to. He was an important ally. I would've been a queen."
"You still could be. You're still officially betrothed to Joffrey." Margaery scoffed.
"I'll never marry him. He's a sadistic little bastard. He used to torture his last betrothed. The boy kills babies." She told him.
"See this is why married life isn't for me." Iagan laughed. "Perk of being a bastard, you don't need to marry anyone you don' t want to." Margaery knocked an arrow, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and envy.
"You're not a bastard anymore. Things are expected of you." Iagan groaned.
"I'm sure I'll be forced to marry some highborn fool now." Margaery's arrow clattered to the stone, skipping off the stones and hitting the target. "At least you hit it that time. Probably broke the arrow though." He teased.
"Oh give yourself some credit." She teased. "You're quite catch. I'm sure she'll be very happy to have you." She said sarcastically.
"She'll be some fool girl who always dreamt of some prince to save her and got stuck with me."
"Oh come on now we're not all that bad." Margaery added. Iagan pantomimed tossing his hair over his shoulder and batted his eyes at Margaery. "We're not all that bad." He squeaked in a feminine voice. Margaery giggled again.
"So who'll you marry now?"
"Whoever we need on our side I suppose." Margaery sighed. "Though I'm not certain I want to be a queen anymore. I seem to have bad luck with husbands." She suddenly became more downcast.
Gods what do I do now. Now she's upset. He had never been good at the whole comfort thing.
"I'm sure he'll be someone kind." He did his best to reassure her, bust didn't sound particularly convincing. Another of her arrows whistled past the target. "Alright enough of this talk of marriage. It's depressing." He said, trying to take her mind off it. "Focus on the target. Don't think, just focus." Iagan told her, standing behind her. She exhaled before trying again. This time the arrow thudded into a post behind the target, missing high. Iagan laughed, and Margaery glared at him.
"It's not funny."
"It is a little." Iagan said, doing his best to hide a smirk. "Maybe ladies weren't meant to shoot after all." He joked. Margaery whacked him with an arrow on the forearm.
"Ow." Iagan said, rubbing his arm as a red mark grew on it. "Now that's no way for a lady to behave." He said sarcastically, earning another dirty look from her. "A little coaching would be appreciated."
"Okay look, your stance is wrong." He said, putting his bow down and moving closer. "Look, you're not quite squared off." He said, putting his hands on her hips and turning her properly facing the target, adjusting her. "Now raise your arm so it's parallel to the ground." He said, guiding her arm upwards and helping to steady it. "Okay, now breathe. Just relax. Inhale, exhale." He said. He was incredibly close now. Her body was pressed against him, and he could smell her perfume, her brown locks tickling his face.
"Now release." He said. The arrow twanged off the bowstring, and thudded into the target, a bullseye. She lowered the bow, seemingly shocked.
"Wow." She said.
"See. It's easy." He told her.
"Thanks."
"It's no trouble. Once you figure it out it's just a matter of committing it to memory."
"No I mean for the reassurance. It's nice having someone just to talk and joke with. Everyone here is so damn serious." She flashed him a smile, and he felt his heart skip a beat.
"It's no trouble." He stammered. "I owe you. That's all. You saved my life." He tried to backtrack, but he could feel the blood rushing to his face. Margaery noted it, her smile widening, moving closer to him. Iagan cleared his throat.
"Anyways..." He trailed off, suddenly becoming very interested in gathering the arrows up. "I'd say thats enough training for today. I should clean up." Margaery stepped back.
"Oh. Alright." She said, and he could hear the slightest bit of disappointment in her voice. "Well I suppose I'll see you at dinner tonight? I'm sure my father will want to talk about our next move for the war." Iagan could feel his heart rate returning to normal.
"Sure." He said, not looking up from his work.
"And Iagan?" Margaery asked, and he looked up.
"Thanks." She said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before running off, leaving him standing there, dumbstruck.
These girls. They'll be the death of me.
Daenerys
She sat in the throne room within the great pyramid. The night after she had ordered that her unsullied launch the broken collars into the city the slaves had revolted. The next morning the gates had been opened to her, and a huge banner hung from the harpy on top of the great pyramid.
She had wasted no time consolidating her power. Once the gates were opened, she rode through the city streets with her retinue, Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, Daario, and Grey Worm flanking her, though she doubted they were necessary. The crowds adored her, and she relished in their cheers. Remnants of the slave revolts still lingered in the streets. Dried blood remained stuck between the cracks of the cobblestones, and the moans of the masters echoed through the catacombs in the pyramids. She had ordered the masters to be crucified, just as they had done to the children.
Barristan and Jorah had spoken against it, but these men were no better than murderers or criminals. She would be damned if she let them escape justice, and they deserved the punishment they were given. They were monsters, and their pleas for mercy had fallen on deaf ears. She was a Targaryen after all, and she would take what was hers with fire and blood, and any who stood against her would feel her wrath.
But she was also a mother, and as such she had to show mercy and compassion. She had to hear the plights of her children. And so she sat in a large chamber within the Great Pyramid.
It was a dark, cold place, and she felt trapped by it at times. It was dimly lit by torches and light filtered in through the window, but nevertheless the place felt ancient and hostile to her, as if the very stones resisted her presence. Each step she took seemed to echo ominously down the halls, and she felt isolated from her people here. Missandei stood at her side as always, translating the man's complaints. He was a poor blacksmith, and when the slaves revolted they had stolen many of his wares.
"Tell him he will be recompensed for his loss." She told Missandei, who quickly repeated it to the old blacksmith. The man bowed humbly, the light reflecting off the crown of his bald head.
"And tell him that we would seek his goods. I shall require more equipment for my unsullied. Tell him I would like to order four hundred spears." She told Missandei, smiling at the blacksmith. The man's eyes widened as Missandei relayed the message, and his eyes seemed to well with tears. He uttered something quietly, bowing low repeatedly and approaching the throne. Ser Jorah moved to intercept him, but she waved him off with her hand, and the old blacksmith climbed the steps, approaching her. From here she could see his coarse hands and scarred face, his arms rippling with muscle. He bent low, a tear trickling onto the floor in front of her throne, and knelt at her feet, kissing her hand and telling her something in his foreign tongue. Missandei translated.
"He says that they shall be the finest spears they have ever held. He says he will not fail you, and that you have his sincerest gratitude. He says your patronage will feed his children for months." The man nodded earnestly at her, smiling, tears trickling down his cheek, uncomprehending of what Missandei had said, before taking his leave.
Daenerys paused for a moment to compose herself. This was one of her favorite parts of being Queen. She could finally help all those in need, right the wrongs, protect the weak. She smiled to herself. This is what being a Queen is about.
"Send the next one in." She said, and Grey Worm nodded, opening the doors and saying something to the unsullied standing in the corridor.
She heard boots echoing down the corridor on the stone, and the quiet clinking of armor. She noticed Barristan's hand move to the hilt of his sword, hearing the sound of armor. A man entered the throne room, a fox padding at his heels. She was intrigued, leaning forward in her throne to get a better look. He removed his helm, a finely crafted thing, clearly good steel.
"You stand before Daenerys Stormborn, the unburnt, of the house Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of Meereen, Astapor, and Yunkai, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, mother of Dragons, and Lord protector of the Seven Kingdoms." Missandei proclaimed.
Not a man. A boy. No older than herself by the looks of it. He stood slightly taller than Jorah, and his skin was tanned, clearly from the sun. His hair was reddish gold, and he had a strong jaw. At his hip hung a Westerosi longsword like the one Jorah and Barristan carried, but the hilt was slightly shorter than either of theirs. His armor was somewhat scratched and dirty, but fine nonetheless, carefully crafted from light steel which reflected the light coming in from the window. He had a bruise high on his cheek, and a split lip, and his hair was matted to his forehead by sweat, which he attempted to push back from his forehead to keep it out of his face, but his most piercing quality were his eyes. They shone, looking almost gold, and despite his look of exhaustion, they remained alert and focused, taking in the surroundings, and regarding her with a mixture of awe and surprise. He seemed at a loss for words. She smiled at him, doing her best to put him at ease. She looked to Jorah or Barristan for any help, but they both seemed unfamiliar with the boy.
"How can I help you?" She said, finally breaking the silence.
"Your Grace." He said, dropping to one knee rapidly, his armor smashing into the stone, nearly sending him toppling over. The fox yipped at him, and he muttered something to it and silenced it, before staring intently at the floor, avoiding eye contact.
"You are from my country?" she asked with surprise, "Rise", she said chuckling at his show of deference. "Who are you ser?" She asked.
"I am your grace, Trysten Fadyn, your grace, Lord of Star's Reach." He told her. She recognized the name. Fadyn. They had been one of the usurper's dogs, fighting alongside Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn.
"My Queen, the boy cannot be Lord of Star's Reach. Lord Marius reigns in Star's Reach." Jorah told her.
"The Fadyns stood against your father during Robert's Rebellion," Ser Barristan added.
"It's true!" The boy exclaimed, now agitated, and the fox moved toward the throne, it's hackles raised. "I am Lord of Star's Reach. My father was killed in battle against the Lannisters." He said, and a look of sadness was cast over his face.
"And pray tell, how did you come to be here?" Jorah questioned, skeptical.
"I was to serve as an envoy for King Robb Stark, to travel to Volantis and secure more forces from his wife Queen Talisa Maegyr's father, but my ship was waylaid by pirates. They stormed the ship and captured my men and I." He explained.
"But why come to me?" She asked, now suspicious.
"The slavers-"
"You will address her as Your Grace, boy." Jorah corrected him, glaring at him.
"Forgive me, Ser, but I haven't slept in the last two days, and spent all of last night fighting the Masters to secure this city for her Grace." He said angrily, before continuing. "The Slavers sold my men and I into slavery. It was only by your arrival here that we were able to secure our freedom. You freed us your Grace." He told her sincerely, looking at her with gratitude.
Trysten drew his sword from it's sheath, and Jorah and Barristan each ripped their own from their scabbards, and along with Grey Worm stepped out in front of her to protect her. The boy lay the sword on the stone in front of her, and Jorah, Barristan and Grey Worm stepped back. She watched to boy curiously, unsure of what he was doing as he knelt before her.
"Your Grace, you gave me freedom, and thus gave me my life. For that I am in your debt. If you would have me, I would pledge to you my sword, my life, and my honor, and ask to protect your life as a member of your Queensguard" He told her, watching for her response. Barristan and Jorah looked at her, waiting for her answer.
This boy is a member of a family that deposed my father. He serves a king who contests my claim. Can I trust him? She thought.
"Lord Trysten, I am flattered by your request." She told him. "But before accepting you into my service I must discuss it with my council." She could see the disappointment on his face, and his fox whined at his feet. "If you would give us a moment in private to discuss it." She concluded.
"Of course your grace." He bowed, and exited, his fox following at his heels.
"Your Grace, you can't seriously be considering allowing him into your service!" Jorah started once the boy was out of the room.
"And why shouldn't I?" She asked.
"His father fought against yours. He helped depose your family! It is his family's fault you are forced to rule here instead of your birthright!" Jorah protested.
"And if we are to punish each person for the actions of their forebearers, where would we be?" She asked, remembering the stories she had heard of her own father's atrocities.
"But your grace, he serves Robb Stark! Another usurper!" Jorah added.
"The Lannister's killed Robb's father." Barristan retorted. "The boy wants justice, not to sit on the iron throne."
"The boy calls himself the King in the North! He wants independence!" Jorah replied angrily.
"Your grace," Barristan began, ignoring Jorah, much to the younger knight's rage, "this boy could be exactly what we need. He stands before you willing to pledge his service to you. If I may, your Grace, we have need of experienced Knights and men, and this boy has both. If he truly is Lord of Star's Reach, which I believe him to be-" Barristan continued.
"And why is that, ser?" Jorah asked, suspicious.
"Because while you were busy raging over past slights-" he said, and she flashed him a look of confusion, which Barristan noticed and shook his head, as if seeming to say "not now", "I noticed his blade. He carries Dawnbringer, the ancestral Valyrian sword of House Fadyn. I've heard of this boy. They call him the 'Red Fox'. He matches the descriptions I've heard, and if he's anything like his father, he's a brilliant commander and a leader of men already."
"Apparently not brilliant enough to defeat a few pirates" Jorah muttered under his breath, and Barristan silenced him with a look.
"The boy commands the wealth and power of Star's Reach. He could be a powerful ally. Star's Reach commands nearly two thousand men, more if you count the Rangers and Silversides. That brings their total strength well above three thousand, and each Ranger and Silverside is worth at least three men at arms. Not to mention they command a navy only slightly smaller than the Greyjoy's own fleet. We need his men and ships." Barristan told her. "Not to mention friends in Westeros itself. Star's Reach could be a staging point for our intervention. And the Starks have knelt before, to your distant ancestor Aegon the Conqueror. Perhaps the boy could convince Robb to kneel to you, your Grace."
Barristan had a point. Trysten could be a powerful ally to have. Jorah remained silent, fuming. For whatever the reason, he held personal quarrel with this boy.
Trysten
He entered the throne room again, having been ushered in by one of the unsullied. Cinder darted around between his feet as he walked in, nearly causing him to trip. He cast Cinder a glowering look, and the fox calmed. He hoped the Queen hadn't noticed his nervousness. His hand's were shaking with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
"Your Grace." He said, kneeling. The queen stood, walking down from the throne and approaching him, standing only feet away. Her blue dress rippled around her as she moved, pooling on the stone before him.
"Lord Trysten," she began, and he looked up. She motioned with her hand indiscreetly to remain on his knees. His heart pounded in his chest and his mind was racing. His father's final words finally made sense. By some miraculous twist of fate he had found the "true Queen" his father had spoken of. This was his one opportunity to honor his father's request. He hadn't realized the 'Dothraki Bitch' Afzal had spoken of was a Targaryen. She certainly had the look of one. Her silvery gold hair cascaded down her back, braided carefully, her eyes sparkled, and her fair skin was flawless and smooth.
"Do you swear to serve me, to follow my orders, and to protect me with your sword, your honor, and your life if need be?" She asked.
"I do." He told her, his heart rate slowing with relief. Thank the gods.
"Then rise, Ser Trysten Fadyn, of the Queensguard." She told him, and he rose. She flashed him a perfect smile, and he couldn't help but return it.
"Thank you your grace. I won't disappoint you."
One week later
Ever since his elevation to the Queensguard his life had been a flurry of activity. He guarded Daenerys' chambers, stood behind her while she heard requests and complaints from her people, and oversaw the training of the unsullied.
Ser Barristan had taken to him well enough, and he was honored to serve next to such an esteemed individual. The man treated him with respect, and he did the same. The old Knight hadn't lost any of his vigor, and he put Trysten through his paces. Trysten was sorely out of practice with a sword, but after a few days of training with Ser Barristan and having Dawnbringer back in his hands, his skill gradually returned and now he felt as though he was in fact superior to how he fought before his capture. Grey Worm treated him coldly at first, and though he was curt and respectful, the man didn't seem to have much of a personality, but after his suspicions were dispelled he had treated Trysten as a fellow warrior and regarded him with respect and dignity, and was friendly. Daenerys' herald, Missandei, seemed shy. She rarely said much to him, though he never had much cause to speak with her. Daario Naharis was a sellsword, plain and simple. He and Trysten got along well, and after a few cups of wine one night they discovered that they had served alongside one another in the second sons. Trysten recognized many of the men in the company, and many remembered him and greeted him with excitement, astonished by the growth of the green young boy that they had sent away only a few years earlier into a man. They still joked that he couldn't grow a beard and that he hadn't been with a woman, the same sorts of jokes that men at war tend to, but he paid them no real mind. They were somewhat awestruck at his elevation to the Queensguard, and often challenged him to bouts of swordplay to test his mettle, and were sufficiently impressed when he defeated them.
Ser Jorah on the other hand seemed to have an inherent dislike for him. The man was always cold and hostile, and seemed to regard him with a mixture of hate and distrust, for no apparent reason. He would often catch the knight glaring at him or muttering obscenities about him behind his back. Whenever they trained, the duels became slightly more intense, both of them unleashing their fury on the other, and after a significant number of bruises, scrapes, and losses to each other, they built a healthy amount of respect for one another, although their dislike and enmity seemed to grow into a rivalry. Daenerys would often come watch these duels, and whenever she was present the two would fight harder. For his own part, Trysten simply didn't want to seem incompetent or unworthy, but he sensed Jorah fought harder for some other reason.
He was overseeing the second sons when they went for supplies when Barristan approached him. He nodded politely to the knight as the man approached, but continued watching the men unload crates from the ship.
"Lord Trysten" Barristan said politely.
"Ser Barristan, how can I help you today?" Trysten asked.
"I need your help. As I'm sure you're aware the Sons of the Harpy attacked another member of the unsullied last night by the great Pyramid."
"I heard. Unfortunate that no one caught them. I wish I could get my hands on those cowards." The Sons of the Harpy were a resistance movement in Meereen. They had perpetrated numerous attacks on freed slaves and Daenerys' soldiers in the last week. From what he knew, they were made up of angry nobles and masters who wanted to oppose the Queen's rule.
"And as I'm sure you're painfully aware, Daenerys has very little way of replacing those losses. The unsullied could train more of course, but doing that takes time and less than desirable methods if we want the same quality." Trysten nodded, understandingly. The Sons of the Harpy could afford whatever losses they took, assuming they weren't completely exterminated. They could replace their casualties, whereas Daenerys could not.
"So what do you mean to do about it?" Trysten asked.
"The Queen can never retake Westeros with just unsullied. They'll be useful of course, but they're hoplites. What can they do against a Westerosi knight or their heavy cavalry? Her Dothraki are mobile, but they could never hold up against a knight, and could never withstand their charge or assault a city. The mercenaries are useful, but they'll sell us out the first time they get offered a better price. We need loyal soldiers. We need knights." Trysten nearly laughed.
"And where do you propose we get them? My forces are all fighting with the Starks under my uncle. Perhaps I could spare a few Silversides and Rangers, but that's all, and even then it would take them weeks to arrive and what use are a few men?"
"That's all we would need." Barristan answered.
"What exactly are you proposing?" Trysten asked, intrigued.
"We train our own knights. Between you, your men, Jorah, and myself, we could train a small contingent of men and equip them, and they could train others and so on."
"It takes years of training." Trysten warned.
"I know. They don't need to be the best quality, but even having a few knights with half the skill of either of us would be a critical asset. Each of us would have a few squires, and train them." Trysten thought about it for a moment. He was sure Ser Daven would be thrilled to have a few boys to train, he and the Silversides had been itching for something more interesting to do than simply patrolling the streets and carting supplies. Trysten shrugged his shoulders.
"It can't hurt. I assume Daenerys has already consented?" Barristan nodded.
"You'll get your squires tomorrow. Tell your men." With that he left Trysten.
My own squires. Gods it seems like only yesterday that I was squiring. Am I really ready to mentor them? Or to serve Daenerys? And what about Robb, or my family for that matter? What will happen now that no troops from Volantis are coming? I failed. For that matter, what will happen to them if Daenerys succeeds? Gods they must be worried sick about me. Trysten thought to himself. No. You can't think like that. Daenerys needs you to be completely focused. First, you have to get her to Westeros before worrying about any of that. If you can't do that, nothing will matter anyway.