Bruda sat at his desk, scribbling notes down into a hefty tome, the rows of numbers slowly blurring into a nonsensical pattern. Bronn had given him the latest profit margins for the city and, although they were exceedingly positive, it was still difficult to concentrate on them. No wonder the Master of Coin had passed the work onto the warlock; it made for an incredibly dull task and one that Bruda wished he didn't have to do. The other issue with it being so mundane, apart from making him want to throw the book out of the closest window, was that it allowed his mind to wander, the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. The incident with the vanishing woman almost a week ago had left him in a frayed state. The little sleep he'd been able to get after the troubling dreams disappeared, leaving him dishevelled and unable to focus during council meetings. It was becoming such an issue now that it wasn't just affecting him. Melisandre was constantly asking him what was wrong, fretting over what state he was in and why he couldn't tell her what the problem was. How could he possibly put it into words? Bruda, even if he saw it as a fault, was a proud man more than anything. He enjoyed being respected, even revered...sometimes feared. Not just because of his powers but also because of the strength of his wit. If the story got out that he was plagued with nightmares and seeing ghosts...he would be branded senile, the poor victim of time who had just gotten too old to be useful. He wasn't ready for that to happen. He was scared of that happening.

He dipped his quill into the inkpot on the desk, beginning another row of meaningless numbers that no one would end up looking at. Daenerys didn't need to know the minute specifics of the Crown's finances - all she had to be told was whether the situation was good or bad, nothing else. But it gave him something to do at least. His major task, the new throne, had reached its completion a while ago, leaving him with a lot of spare time. The throne room's repairs and construction was nearing its conclusion too, so much so that it wasn't necessary for him to supervise the workers all the time, again leaving him with the opportunity to twiddle his thumbs. He knew that Daenerys valued his presence but he was beginning to wonder whether she really needed him around. She had Tyrion as her Hand, Varys controlled the people, the finances were in order, ships kept coming into the bay, and she would always have a sword by her side in Jorah. Bruda had been vital in the war effort, that couldn't be denied, but was he a person who was in any way useful during a time of peace?

He liked to visit the dragons from time to time, to see how they were coping in this strange new environment they were in. On occasion, he'd venture down with Daenerys by his side. He enjoyed how her eyes lit up when she spoke about her children, the one topic that really made them sparkle. He understood how she wished to see them more than she did but the duties of ruling came at a price. When she was unable to go with him. Bruda would walk down to the Dragon pit on his own, promising her to make sure they were okay. He'd then often speak to people who were also brave enough to get remotely close to them, regaling them with stories of their past. He didn't know whether the locals were more nervous around the great towering beasts or him. There'd be times when the four dragons weren't actually there, instead flying somewhere in the near distance. So he'd occupy his time by wandering even further towards the Dothraki settlement outside of King's Landing, where he had a good reputation as their khaleesi's trusted advisor. If he was lucky, he'd be treated to some form of meal (he'd figured out how to time his trips perfectly to increase the chances of that happening). He'd initially been reticent about it, thinking that their cuisine was a touch on the raw side for his liking but it turned out that they were incorporating cooking techniques seen in the capital on an increasing basis. Daenerys had been overjoyed by this development when he'd relayed the news. He was just happy to be filling his time before the next big job came along but, despite the activities he was partaking in, the spectre of his woes was always looming over him.

A gentle knock at the door disturbed him from his thoughts before they could become too dark and menacing. He took his time getting up, blotting the quill on a spare piece of parchment to make sure no ink got on the desk and taking off his glasses. Ustrina, wearing a more simple outfit of a beige top and dark red pants, finished off with a loose fitting belt, smiled at him once he eventually answered. He was still curious about her so was thankful that she had shown up. He wanted to know what she actually did around the Red Keep; after all, she was only meant to be a guest. She kept to herself mostly, which didn't settle the strange concerns he had about her. Bruda's worries had only increased when Varys had informed him that he could find hardly any information about her. As far as he knew, the Spider rarely failed in finding something. Was she as much a ghost and a phantom as the woman he was sure he'd seen.

"What brings you here?" he wondered, not hiding the obvious frown on his face. The woman in front of him either didn't notice it and his sour mood or was simply not going to be put off by it.

"Melisandre said that you'd want some company. I was going to spend some time with Marwyn but he was busy with her. They wouldn't go into detail about it for some reason. But she said that you'd be wondering where she is and be complaining about being alone…" Ustrina was perfectly happy to display the smirk on her face.

"You know I've been alone before." Bruda was confused. He was fully aware of the fact that Melisandre was much more distrusting of Ustrina than he was so why was she now perfectly alright with letting her spend time with him alone?

"That doesn't mean you enjoy it," she replied simply. "Or that you have to be alone now. From what I can see, you have enough people here to ensure you never have to be alone again."

"And why do you care?" he spit out with a surprising amount of venom, which shocked them both.

Ustrina took a nervous step backwards. "Have I done something wrong? Something to upset you?" She suddenly seemed a much smaller person, both in stature and personality. Her usual confidence was gone at the sign of Bruda's anger.

He let out a sigh, annoyed with himself, not her. He was taking all of his frustrations out on her and that just wasn't fair on either of them. It wouldn't help him deal with them and she would be subjected to unwarranted abuse. He moved aside to let her into his room but she hesitated, now seemingly afraid of him. He sometimes forgot that he could cut an imposing figure when he wanted to. "I'm sorry. You haven't done anything wrong at all. In fact, you've done more to help me than you realise. And how do I repay you? By snapping at you needlessly." He looked at her with his old eyes, seeing her scrutinise his face closely. She always had such an inquisitive demeanour. After a moment of silence, she nodded her head and walked past him, choosing to sit in one of the chairs. Happy that she hadn't gone away, Bruda followed her and placed himself on the end of his bed, his arms propping up his chin as they rested on his legs.

"If I haven't done something wrong, who has to put you in such a dire mood?"

"No one."

She quirked a single eyebrow. "Then what has?"

Bruda laughed quietly. "You're far too intuitive."

"I'll take that as a compliment coming from you."

"You hardly know me."

"And yet I feel like I do. Stop changing the subject. Something has been messing with your head. You're normally much more pleasant than this."

"Who told you that? I'll have you know that I'm actually quite…" He noticed her dangerous glare and knew that she could tell what he was doing. Could he put it off any longer? Was Ustrina the perfect person to talk to since he wasn't close to her? Would Melisandre be annoyed that he had confided in the other woman rather than her? Bruda bit his lip. "I've been seeing things."

"Such as?"

"I don't know exactly. It started with some bad dreams. Old memories coming back that I thought I'd dealt with. Then a figure appeared in the Keep. I couldn't catch up with it."

"So this place is haunted, is that what you're saying?" Her eyes danced mischievously as she leaned forward.

"You don't seem particularly surprised."

"Why should I? Where I come from, there are many tales of ghosts and the undead. They're practically a part of me. And you have dealt with the undead firsthand before."

"How do you know that?"

"People talk. It isn't a secret about what happened at the place they call Winterfell, even if some are sceptical of whether it actually happened."

"But you believe the tales."

"Why shouldn't I? If so many people say that it happened...why would they all lie? What I don't understand is why this is vexing you so much this time."

"It's different. The war affected thousands. This seems to be only targeting me."

"Are you sure about that?"

He sat a little straighter. "What do you mean?"

"If this is happening to you and you're remaining silent about the subject...isn't it possible that others are doing the same. Feeling the same as you, an unexplainable sense of shame of being paranoid about seemingly...nothing."

"Have...you been seeing these things too?"

"Not that I know of," Ustrina replied, much to Bruda's disappointment. "But I'm new here. Maybe it only focuses on certain people. It would help if you spoke to people about it."

"They'd all think I was mad. That I was losing the last remnants of my sanity. Growing old."

"You are growing old. We all are. But that doesn't mean you have lost any of your strength. You've seen that even the dead can be powerful so why should you be any less than them?"

"Ustrina…"

She leant even further forward. "Yes?" Her voice was nothing more than an enticing whisper.

"Why are you here?"

"You invited me. Remember?"

"Why are you still here?"

"I've got a vested interest in you now. I need to see that you succeed. But forget about that. Don't focus on me. You have bigger things to worry about by the sound of things." Bruda didn't notice that he was subconsciously nodding his head.

xxxxxxxxx

It was a rare occurrence for Daenerys to be left on her own. From the time of her marriage to Khal Drogo all of those years ago, she had always been surrounded by people. Military tacticians, advisors, soldiers, handmaids. Hardly ever a moment's peace. Yet, since she became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, it had become even worse, with an issue always popping up, needing to be solved just before another problem rears its ugly head. It was tiring despite how fulfilling it was, being the one who so many people relied on, which meant she had to take advantage of the few times when she had some privacy. She wouldn't have objected to Jorah being with her but, even then, she had to admit that it was nice to be left alone with only her thoughts as company. She'd had Missandei and a few other maids to draw her a hot bath (those most recent to her service still winced slightly when she entered the boiling water with nothing more than a flinch) before sending them away as she sank into the embrace of the water. The sunlight that was pouring into the room, since the curtains were open (it wasn't if anyone could see her from such a high point in the Red Keep), reflected against the droplets dripping down her skin, making her body shimmer. It always made her feel so powerful when it happened, as if a natural force of magic was pooling around her.

From what Bruda had told her, that wasn't a far fetched possibility. She had known that dragons were imbued with a powerful source of magic but, for some reason, it had never crossed her mind that she could contain some too. She wasn't about to duel the warlock but it was comforting to have the knowledge that there was another layer of protection for her. She watched the water slide off her hand as she slowly moved her fingers before she closed her eyes and somehow sunk deeper into the bath, covering her long blonde hair in water.

She smirked as her thoughts turned to Jorah, picturing how he likely wouldn't have been able to control himself if he could see the state she was in right now. He was always remarking how enticing her body was and she was nowhere near tired of him saying that. Despite that, for many years he had seen her in similar situations and had somehow kept his emotions and hunger hidden from her. The final remnants of his composure had finally disappeared once they'd admitted the truth and their love to one another, which she was frankly very happy about. She enjoyed having a small ounce of power over him, like she did with Bruda, always being the one to challenge him when no one else would. But hadn't that been what Sansa had said, that she manipulated people to do her bidding and they didn't even notice. Had she really done that to those closest to her? They would argue that it was a preposterous notion and how their devotion to her was because of her strength, her love, her compassion and every other good quality she contained. How could she tell them that she feared that they didn't outweigh the bad characteristics she believed she had?

Jorah wouldn't be in the mood to discuss it in the first place. Not only would he dismiss the idea straight away (she was sure that Bruda would at least have a conversation about it to see and evaluate what her concerns were), he had become strangely distant since Sansa and her Northern followers had left the capital. She understood why he was angry, even if she didn't feel it was necessary or useful to their cause. He was annoyed with his family for siding with the Starks, despite it being the natural thing for them to do. He had betrayed them a long time ago but Daenerys knew that he still clung onto the small hope that they had an ounce of good feeling towards him. Their latest decision made it clear and obvious what they felt about him though. He was also furious with himself, he'd admitted, since he'd failed to bring the Mormonts to her side before the war against the White Walkers. If he had been able to accomplish that successfully then they wouldn't be having this problem now; Sansa Stark would have lost one of her main supporters and the chances of her winning would have become miniscule. Daenerys had pondered, one late night when they'd been in bed together, whether Davos felt the same level of guilt, since he'd travelled to Bear Island with Jorah as well. She hadn't waited for his answer, telling him that it was very unlikely. Mainly because there was no need to worry and fret about a tiny failure when they had triumphed in so many ways. She had passionately reiterated how he had been vitally important to her on more occasions than she could count, which made any lack of success irrelevant. That had gone a long way in improving his demeanour and they had stayed up for a considerable bit longer after that, much to both their delight.

She submerged her head under the water to get rid of the final bits of dirt on her face, little that there was. With her ears clogged up, she was unsure as to what she heard when she resurfaced. Her eyes opened quickly at the sound, looking around the room to see if anyone else was there. Empty. She was still alone. No would dare enter her room without permission, barring Bruda (Jorah still had a modicum of rigidity and respect towards her). What had she heard? Had it been a voice? It had sounded most like that, although the water had distorted her hearing somewhat. The doors to her balcony were open so maybe it had been from outside, the busy streets of the capital below being loud enough to reach her in her tower. No. It had sounded closer than that. As if the speaker had been right next to her and yet...still far away. She couldn't explain it. It was possible that she had just imagined it, the paranoia one got when being alone. She settled and composed herself once again, remaining in the bath but less relaxed than before.

Just as she was beginning to reckon it had all been a figment of her mind playing tricks on her, the silence of the room surrounding her, a voice rang through the air as if it was floating on the gentle breeze coming through the balcony. She was adamant that it was the same voice as before, a deep, gravelly tone. And she recognised the single word it spoke since she'd heard it so many times before.

Khaleesi.

She didn't want to admit that she was afraid but it felt more than just someone speaking to her from nearby. It resonated in her ears and echoed around her head like it had actually been her own private thought rather than the sound of the real world. She stood up from the bath, water falling off her naked body, and she carefully stepped out. Not knowing whether anyone was watching now, she reached for the thin robe that had been left for her on a small stool, a golden piece of silk fabric. She didn't bother to dry herself off, her mind too preoccupied with this potential spirit, and the curves of her slender body imprinted themselves onto the cloth, rendering the cover-up nearly useless. It was the least of her worries as she spun around in a slow circle, looking around the room to try and spot whoever it was who was tricking. That was all this was, a trick. She was in no doubt that it was Bruda who was actually messing with her. But then the ethereal voice sounded again, louder this time, reaching out to her.

Moon.

She wondered what it meant. Daenerys was sure that it came from the room directly connecting to her washroom so she moved over to the door. She placed a shaky hand on the door handle, not knowing what she would see once she opened it. Had someone managed to somehow break into the Keep, evading all of her soldiers and guards, with the sole purpose of killing her? An assassin hired by Sansa Stark to avoid a war? Could it be the ghost of someone she had wronged in the past? Tommen Baratheon, who had been slain on his throne? Or Stannis Baratheon, who had met the same fate in an even more painful manner.

And.

What was it trying to say? It grew louder as she tentatively walked into the other room, which she found to be just as empty as the one she'd just been in. She contemplated calling for one of her Queensguard to have someone by her side to protect her just in case, preferably Jorah. For some reason, she was distracted by the sight of a small cushion left on the red sofa in her quarters. She must have seen it a thousand times. It was nothing special. She had chosen it firsthand. So why was she being drawn to it, her body moving instinctively towards it. As she got closer to it, she noticed that there was an object placed on it, one she had definitely not left there. Her eyebrows came together as she gazed down at it in a confused fashion. It was peculiar. A bell, one that rang and tinkled as she moved it. It was a pleasant, if fundamentally boring noise, and it was achingly familiar. Had the voice been wanting her to find this for some reason? She got her answer when it spoke one final time before she felt its presence leave the room. Who had it been? What did it want with her? And why had it finished with that word of all of the ones in known language?

Stars.

xxxxxxxxxx

After his conversation with Ustrina, Bruda's mood had improved considerably. Melisandre had thought something was wrong with him when he spun her around as she entered their room that evening. Daenerys had even brought it up one day, wondering what it was that had put her warlock in such high spirits, mainly so she could thank whoever was responsible. Tyrion had joked that it was all down to sleeping in a bed with a beautiful woman, even if there wouldn't be a lot of sleeping involved; Bruda had promptly made his chair vanish in a flash of light and a puff of smoke, much to the amusement of everyone in the room and the chagrin of the Imp.

What had helped Bruda, besides having the weight of his secret lifted, was that he hadn't seen any sight of the mysterious woman. He was starting to believe that she hadn't been there at all, being simply a manifestation of all of his worries mixed with his lack of sleep. Speaking of, sleep had returned for the most part (when he wasn't too busy with Melisandre), which again did wonders for his demeanour. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, which was a surprise. No word had come back from Varys' Little Birds about any preparations being made by the North, which eased their queen's worries. Melisandre was constantly improving with the control and manipulation of her new magical powers. The one thing that was preventing her from truly becoming in tune with the energy coursing through her body was her emotions. For the majority of her life, she had repressed and killed any show of emotion, viewing it as a weakness when she was meant to be fully focused on R'hllor, the Lord of Light. Now she was able to express these feelings more regularly, she sometimes found it difficult to put them to one side. One time, when she had been unable to hit a target Bruda had put on the wall, she had commented that it would be better if she was to revert back to what she had been. The warlock had been far from pleased with the remark, claiming that the woman she was now was infinitely better than the one he had first met. His sincere declaration had been enough to calm her fears for the time being, especially when he had sealed it with a kiss.

Daenerys had called a council meeting in the morning but it didn't worry Bruda too much. She had taken to bringing them together at least once a week so that they could ascertain what changes had been made and what progress was still to come. It also allowed her to find out if Sansa was plowing ahead with her desires. A formal declaration of war had not been put forward, which they didn't expect to happen for quite a while. She needed allies more than anything else and what one needed to gain those was time and money. In regards to those two resources, the Crown was in a much stronger position, which meant these meetings were actually fairly pleasant. If Daenerys allowed it, which she usually did, it would often descend into a swapping of extravagant tales and wild stories. They justified it as a way of growing closer as a group, something that would help them work better together in the long run.

Bruda thrummed his fingers against the table as Davos rambled on about the number of ships coming into the bay. He believed that more were coming from the Eastern provinces, a by-product of Daenerys' former presence in the area. Although that sounded as if it should be good news, she instructed the Master of Ships to keep a careful eye on those specific boats, knowing that her time in Meereen had ended abruptly and sourly. She also asked whether he could speak to some of the captains, just so they could find out what the political climate was across the Narrow Sea. Daenerys had no doubt that the slave masters would have likely taken control back of the major cities once she had left.

"I shouldn't have left so suddenly," she complained, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "It was a selfish act. I put my needs above the people I vowed to protect."

"Frankly, your Grace," Tyrion butted in, "Meereen did nothing for your true cause. All it did was present you with problems that you didn't need to be dealing with when you were going for the Iron Throne. It delayed you more than anything, a distraction."

"But what if that distraction turns out to be an issue now? They could decide to stop exporting their goods to us. Or even seek reparations for the damage I caused. I'm already having to contend with one potential war; I don't want another coming from across the water."

"They'd lose too much money if they stopped exporting to the Seven Kingdoms," Davos reassured her. "It would destroy their economy in a matter of days, maybe even hours."

Jorah nodded his head. "As for them starting a war they can't afford, they don't have the resources or man power to even remotely challenge us."

"The East is the least of your worries," Bruda said. "You may have upset a few people but you also won the favour and hearts of thousands. They won't forget that."

That seemed to stop her from worrying about the topic for the time being. She smiled at the warlock for his sage words. His beard twitched as he grinned back but it dropped when he looked past her towards the door. It was open, only by a small crack, but that immediately got his attention since they usually kept it firmly closed when they were having private meetings like this. If there hadn't been anything else there, he might have brought it to the attention of everyone else, asking them if they'd left it open by accident. But the door was the least of his worries. A figure walked past as if it wanted to be seen by him in that exact moment. It was the same woman from before, the one he had thought he had managed to get rid of. He caught a look of long brown hair as she went past but that was all he could pick out. It was more detail than he'd managed to see the previous time. He stood up abruptly, making the others look at him in confusion and worry.

"What is it, Bruda?" Daenerys asked, turning her head to look in the same direction as he was. "What are you doing?"

"Um...I need to go do something," he managed to say. He couldn't afford this delay. He needed to catch up to this woman. All of the progress he'd made, all of the fears he'd dealt with...they wouldn't be completely resolved until he found out who or what this was. "May I be excused?"

"The meeting hasn't finished yet." Her tone had a hint of annoyance in it but he could tell that she was worried about him.

"You don't need me here right now, do you? You can manage without me just this once."

"Are you going to tell me what it is that's so important you have to leave right this moment?"

"When I figure it out maybe."

Daenerys let out a sigh but waved her hand. "Go. But I want an explanation later."

"Thank you, your Grace," he hurriedly said as he left the room.

Bronn eyed the others at the table. "If he's allowed to leave, does that mean we have the option?" He began to push up from his chair but Daenerys glared at him.

"Sit," she growled, trying to regain some control over the meeting. Bronn glumly sat back down with a huff and a pout.

Bruda, staff in hand, practically raced down the corridors in pursuit of this mysterious apparition. It seemed closer this time, more tangible. Whereas before, he'd been unable to get anywhere close to it, this time, it was just out of reach, going slow enough to entice him, to make him believe that he would finally catch up to it. It didn't click for him that it was possible that it wanted to be caught this time. He pressed on as it turned around a corner. Previously, this would have been when he lost sight of it, but now he saw it enter an abandoned room, one he presumed no one had been in for many years. He panted heavily as he reached the door, composing himself as he tried to regain some of his energy. Old age was an awful thing to succumb too. Setting his face in a stern expression, he pushed open the door. It was a small room, a store cupboard of sorts with a small round window on the far side. Shelves lined both sides although their contents were covered in an assortment of dust and cobwebs. The woman was still there, her back to him. He'd finally found her. He wondered whether his hand would go through her if he tried to touch her but, when he put his hand on her shoulder, she was perfectly solid. He turned her around and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw. Who it actually was.

"Isabella?"