Fate and Fortune

Her Grace, Sansa of House Stark, First of Her Name, by the grace of the Old Gods and the New, Queen in the North, Protector of the Realm, and Lady of Winterfell, was a worried woman. She sat in Lord Glover's solar, alone, save for a pair of bodyguards. Deepwood Motte, the castle of the rebel lord had fallen, two days previously. He had twice refused to come to her aid when called upon; the first time, when she and Jon Snow had marched against the Beast of Bolton, the second when the Army of the Dead had closed in on Winterfell. He had taken his own life, rather than fall into her hands, but his family were captive in the dungeons below.

This then, was the first of her worries. Over fifteen hundred prisoners had been taken when the castle fell, men, women, and children. They were useless mouths, at a time when the North was going hungry. She had assumed that the South would continue to supply foodstuffs from the Reach, only to discover that her brother's new Lord of Highgarden, Bronn Stokeworth, had other ideas. Oh, he would sell her grain, wine, salted meat, and other necessities, but at three times the former price. Nor did her brother seem minded to intervene. The wellbeing of the Smallfolk was of scant interest to him.

The second worry was Jon Snow. What was the man doing, North of the Wall? Had he worked out yet that she had revealed the truth of his parentage, in order to drive a wedge between the Eastern Whore and her advisors, and to spark a succession battle between the pair of them? Would he return one day, to reclaim the Northern crown from her? The lords of the North were weathervanes. Many would favour him, just because he had a cock. Just as they had when they acclaimed him King, despite it being her who had won the Battle of Winterfell.

She took a sip of wine from the goblet on her desk, before fiddling nervously with the platinum chain of office she wore. There was a knock on the door, and the guards admitted Maester Wolkan.

"Your Grace, Master Gelgil wishes to speak to you." Gelgil, a wealthy merchant who had accompanied her army on this campaign. He had supplied substantial foodstuffs and fodder, on credit. A debt that must shortly be repaid, if other merchants were to extend her credit in turn.

"Is it important?"

"He assures me it is. He says that he has a confidential proposal to make to you." Probably no more than a demand for payment, but she might as well listen to him.

"Send him in." A few moments later, the man entered. He was fat, dressed in furs, a gold chain around his neck. After a bodyguard had searched him, he stepped forward, and performed a graceful court bow to her.

"Be seated" she said.

"Your Grace, forgive me for reminding you, but you have incurred a substantial debt."

"I'm well aware of that fact. You are no doubt well aware that my treasury is almost empty, that I have soldiers to pay, and fifteen hundred useless mouths to feed. Lord Glover's lands are forfeit. Once they are sold, then I shall be in a position to pay you. There is little enough of value in this castle."

"Forgive me for saying so, but your Grace is mistaken. In fact, you have captured a treasure trove."

"How so."

He leaned forward, speaking softly, so that only Sansa could hear him. "The people you describe as "useless mouths". I have contacts across the Narrow Sea who would pay a rare price for them. I could take five hundred, in settlement of your debt to me. As to the rest, I could arrange their sale, in return for…..as little as one tenth of the proceeds of sale, as my commission."

Her jaw dropped. She spoke quietly in turn. "You mean, sell them as slaves? But, that's illegal?"

"The will of the Queen has the force of law" the man replied. "In any case, we need not call them such. Perhaps describe them as indentured labourers. They are after all, prisoners. Their labour will be their punishment for rebellion."

"Including the children?"

"Who would look after the children in the absence of their parents? They would starve. In truth, you would be acting rightly towards these children, by keeping them with their parents. Consider, you cannot easily afford to feed these people. Their new masters will do. You would actually be doing them all a favour, and obtaining rich reward by doing so." When put like that….

"You want five hundred. What price would you expect the other thousand to fetch?" He named a sum which astonished her. Sufficient to pay the soldiers what they were owed, and to spare.

"Then I agree. Some of my soldiers might have qualms, but I'll send them back to Winterfell. Foreign sellswords will guard the prisoners, until your friends arrive."

"An excellent bargain, your Grace." The man rose, bowed again, and withdrew. Well, that was a big weight off her mind, although she was uncomfortably aware that her parents would have disapproved. Still, their honour had got them killed.

Her mind turned back to the third worry. The raven she had received from her brother, bearing the message "The devil is unchained. Daenerys Targaryen lives." She had provided Lord Varys with certain ingredients he required, in order to poison the Dragon Queen, while making it appear the work of Queen Cersei. She had thought him a man of devilish subtlety, and yet he had failed utterly. She had feared that her involvement in the plot would be discovered, but to her immense relief, Lord Tyrion had persuaded her half-witted cousin to stab the bitch through the heart. How she rejoiced to learn of the news! Naturally, she had hastened to Kings Landing, to ensure her claim to the North. Privately, she had favoured putting Jon to death. After all, the man had been a traitor to the North, and it was best to tie up loose ends. But, Arya would have killed her, had she suggested such a thing. In the end, she had voted for exile with the rest. She could always send an assassin North, in due course.

But now Daenerys lived! She had seen people rise from the Dead, and her brother had no cause to lie about such a thing, so she did not doubt the truth of the tale. Nor did she doubt that one day, her gaze would be turning West, to exact revenge on those who had first used, and then betrayed her. She trusted that her brother had a plan, but the sooner she found out about it, the better.

The old man slipped out of the waterfront tavern, and made his way to the docks through the darkness. It was not yet dawn, and few people were about. He had not spent the night in his chambers in the Red Keep. The fewer who knew he was leaving the better. There was a strong smell of salt in the keen air, as he made his way to the ship that would take him to Volantis. Would the Queen welcome him? He had never injured her personally, unlike the others. But, she might just view him as one of the enemy. Still, that was a risk he was willing to run. He had already paid the ship's captain, but he carried a fat purse full of gold and silver coins. He had sewn gems into the linings of his coat. Enough for him to get by, until he finally met her.

A narrow gangplank led to his ship, illuminated by lanterns in bow and stern. As he began to cross it, he felt a sudden blow to his ribs, that sent him to his knees. He tried to cry out, but could only manage a guttural cough. Staring down, he saw the bolt, half buried in his rib cage. He looked up.

The captain was staring down at him.

"You…." He started to say.

"Spare your breath" replied the man. "You paid for your passage. But, I'm afraid loyalty on my part costs a great deal more than you could ever afford." He looked at him some more, before giving him a sharp shove with his boot that sent him tumbling off the plank, and into the water. Davos wanted to scream as he went under the surface, but instead, water filled his lungs as the world turned black.

Tyrion stared down at the body. The Raven's Claws had fished it out of the Blackwater. Judging by the state of it, the man had only recently been murdered. The fish had barely started eating the corpse. He stood in the presence of the King, and Lord Allyron, in a small chamber adjoining the Great Hall.

"You have done well, Allyron" remarked the King. Well, that solved this particular mystery, at any rate. The King had plainly suspected the loyalty of the Master of Ships, and had issued the necessary command.

"After your Grace alerted me to his treason, my "Little Birds" tracked him. We discovered that he intended to take ship to Volantis, presumably to join the Dragon Whore. We approached the ship's captain, and he was only too eager to assist. Not that he had much choice in the matter."

"Oughtn't we to silence the captain?" asked Tyrion.

"I considered that" replied Allyron. "But, I think we can put him to better use. Other traitors may approach him. I believe he could be a valuable agent on our behalf."

"Agreed" said the King, simply. "And, I believe we can put the death of Ser Davos Seaworth to good use as well. Let us say that he was brave, decent, loyal to a fault. Give him a State funeral. Let the world know that he was brutally murdered by the agents of the Dragon Queen. "

"Your Grace, are you certain that you wish the world to know of her return?"

"Quite certain. We wish the people to fear her, even more than they fear us. We alone can protect them from her wroth." Tyrion was thoughtful for a moment, and then suggested,

"I could provide a couple of scapegoats, from among the prisoners. They would serve as her agents. We could punish them publicly, in exemplary fashion."

"Quite so," remarked the King. "I favour crucifixion." For a moment, even Tyrion baulked before nodding in agreement and declaring "Your will, Sire."

"And of course, Lord Tyrion, there must be a further round of arrests, in the wake of this atrocity. The Dragon Queen's agents could not have operated without the support of traitors in our own camp. The internal enemy is always more dangerous than the external foe."

"Wise words, your Grace, wise words." Allyron nodded in agreement. What would his father think of him, wondered Tyrion, if he could see him now? From whichever of the Seven hells he dwelt in, he imagined the old man giving a firm nod of approval. Of all your children, father, I was the only one who did you proud.

It had been the good turn that Daenerys had been hoping for. The Queen had made it clear that she was confident, but many of her advisors wondered. They doubted the loyalty of Queen Yara, and the Greyjoy's ability to command her people, or to escape the Three-Eyed Raven of Westeros. However, the Queen was unwavering in her expectation. It was a cold expectation, not borne of a naive sense of hope for Yara, but a confident belief that would follow the messenger, and that the messenger would arrive in time.

Daario was relieved for Daenerys' sake, when the young Elaena returned with Drogon. She landed the great dragon in the middle of the Black Walls, in the park which had been reserved for him, and dismounted and made haste. Even these few months, which had just seen her fourteenth birthday, had done much to make her a trim and hard young woman, instead of a soft girl of the Black Walls.

She would have a different upbringing than Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons. Elaena held no title; she had no position outside of the Royal authority. She was not allowed to see her family; Daenerys had total control over her upbringing now. The courtiers called her simply "The Sword of the Queen".

It was a bit of a jape when she was away from Drogon. On Drogon's back? Oh yes, Daario knew well, there she really was the Queen's Sword. Daenerys had burned fleets and armies inadequately prepared for the role of being a dragonrider, while Elaena flew in full plate armour with chains lashed to an iron saddle, as the dragonriders of old had.

The girl removed her helmet and knelt before the Queen. "Your Grace, I have sighted the Iron Fleet, bearing two points south-east from Volantis, at a distance of a hundred and twenty leagues. They are led by great ships, with black sails and the yellow standard. Your message was delivered to the deck of the foremost, as you commanded, though I could not tell for sure it was the flagship. The wind was blowing from the west when I sighted them."

Daenerys raised her hand in the old Valyrian salute, looking like a statue in her silver mask. "You have done well, Elaena. Daario, how long will it be?"

"They will make twenty-five or thirty leagues a day, so they will arrive at the mouth of the Rhoyne in four or five days, Your Grace," he answered. "If the wind holds."

"Thank you." The Queen's violet eyes shone sharply from behind the mask. "Eat, bathe, rest, then go back to your studies. You will be welcome to witness the arrival of the Ironborn to the city. You have my leave."

"Your Grace." Elaena rose and retreated through the entrance into the Queen's family apartments, as was her prerogative, and her home.

Daenerys rose and stepped out, with a nod to Daario, he followed. "Are you comfortable with the plan for the drive to the east, now, Daario?"

"I am, if the Greyjoy will agree to it. As an allied Queen, she deserves to hear the strategy first."

Daenerys nodded as she walked, her hands slipping behind her back, leaned forward in thought. "Mmm, yes. I made her that promise so long ago. I must keep it. It is not one of those things that gains me anything to break, and, it is bad for a Prince to break her word when it is not needful. But there is a part of me that feels, intensely, I was too generous in those days, yet … It makes me happy to think of seeing her again, and remembering her face. She was so loyal, and so eager, with a ready, easy confidence."

"A little bit of a crush, Dany?" Daario couldn't help but ask with a shake of his head and a soft laugh.

"Maybe once. Now… Well, it all came back between us when you arrived." She paused, turned, and reached with a gloved hand to grip Daario's firmly, looking to him with intensity behind that mask. "Without you, I'd have nothing but this cruel path that's been laid out before me. I don't know if there's a single thing I can do to change it, either. We will burn so much to create liberty, and I cannot stop it, and indeed, I must be the author of it."

"Would you have it any other way?"

"...No." She acknowledged after a moment, with an echo of the darkness which now, never seemed to leave her voice. Or perhaps it was the flame of the Lord of Light. "They have sown this day, for so many years. Our cause is just… And so we are here."

The two sat together, in the Queen's private apartments. Daario held her against himself on a reclining couch in the Valyrian style. While the city was experiencing hardship, there was no famine yet and, a surfeit of luxury goods remained true with the abrupt social revolution, so the Queen could have anything she wanted without troubling her subjects. Still, nothing was requested.

"Still thinking of Yara?" He ventured after a reasonably comfortable silence.

"A bit," Daenerys answered, and there was a light laugh, a hint, an echo of what might have been in another day and age. "Do you blame me?"

Daario gruffly answered. "Well, I'd think of Yara Greyjoy too, but it would just get me two women wanting to gut me." He got another laugh, at least, and then added, more seriously: "I won't consider another woman competition."

"...Good." He couldn't be sure if she was being serious or lighthearted with the firm answer. "However, I don't know. But I would have never thought of you like this, like I am, until we were together, and it just came back in my mind…"

"Heh. I suppose I'll take a bit of pride in that." He reached out to embrace her. "Time and Daario heals all wounds."

She clung to him, and it seemed needy.

"Do you want anything? A glass of wine, perhaps?"

"All I need is you."

As promised, a few days hence the Ironborn fleet arrived, being of two hundred and sixty-six ships. Only thirty-one remained of the massive heavy fighting ships of the Iron Fleet; the rest were from the levies, who had chosen to accompany their Queen, in the fight for their people, under her command and the urging of the Drowned Men. Their sails flooded the mouth of the Rhoyne nonetheless, and many people came down to see them arrive. Daario rode down with Elaena, taking a troop with him as an escort. They rode out onto the great bridge of Volantis to watch the ships pass underneath it, between the graceful stone arches, to head for the wharves of the city.

"Lord Daario, is it true that all of the Ironborn are madmen who constantly seek Death?" Elaena asked, as they stood on the parapet of the bridge on the downstream side, watching the fleet pass. That the bridge was high enough to let the fleet pass beneath, was one of the great wonders of the world, but to Elaena, growing up in the city of the bridge, it had always been a part of her world. Only the knot of soldiers around them marked them different from the others watching the procession of ships.

Daario laughed. "Their religion encourages them to be such, but in fact, they are men like any others, who know fear and cowardice."

"The Honoured Kinvara says they are at least monotheists, but their God is a false idol, a devil in the deep," Elaena murmured. "Still, the Queen esteems her Royal Sister highly, especially now, with her loyalty proved."

"Dany always did," Daario whispered. "She came so boldly. I'm thankful that she's by her side again—it will help her, and she needs it."

Elaena grew very quiet at the discussion of the Queen's weaknesses, or suffering. She closed her eyes. "We will tolerate her, as we do not tolerate the polytheists. Such will be the Will of the Queen."

"It's hard to govern a realm where all must follow the same faith," Daario answered.

"I'd say it's easier," Elaena shrugged. "I was not raised in His faith, sure, but I will follow Our Lord, for His having granted me this. Best to have a land in perfect harmony. You can see how happy the freedmen are, now."

Daario snorted. "Aye, if they start that way, lass. If they start that way. There's nothing harder than making someone change their faith from without, rather than within. You'd best bear that lesson in mind…" He turned. "Ah, I think that's her. Queen Yara."

Elaena turned to look as well. There was a figure, somewhat more slight than the others, wearing chainmail and a cloak tied with an iron clasp over it. The figure leaned out over the rail of her ship, balanced half over the water—she had lashed herself to the rigging of the after mast, with a length of cable. Looking ahead, she sometimes turned to her left to cry orders to the tiller. The ship passed smartly below the bridge, under one of the arches close at hand, the masts barely clearing the arch, before she came about on the other side, and headed for shore. Unlike the rest of the crowd, which tried to dash to the other side of the bridge to keep following her progress, Elaena and Daario hung back, knowing that, of course, they would be seeing Queen Yara soon enough.

"There are different breeds of men and women alike; like me, I think, she loves life, but doesn't fear death," Daario laughed. "Shame she's only interested in Queens."

"And tavern wenches…" Elaena had heard the rumours, and as a Volantene, was no prude. "But you're the Queen's, anyhow. I know."

Daario rolled his eyes. "So even little girls know I'm a bloody appendage now, eh? Come on, lass. Back to the palace with you." But he was laughing. For the moment, with everything that was coming, the campaign, the Queen's condition, he did at least have his sense of humour, and it was best to take life as it came to you.

Even if he was worried about the humourless intensity of the woman who had brought his Daenerys back to life, and who now instructed the young swordswoman in religious matters.

When she had disembarked her flagship, Yara was met with a horse. She could ride perfectly well, and so she swung her axe up, and swung over the saddle. Still, it had been months, and she was less sure on her mount than she might have been before she punished herself so terribly on the voyage back to the Iron Islands. But now she had twenty-five thousand men with her—for the islands which had been bled so heavily with war, an enormous host, even when it was warriors, sailors and oarsmen all alike.

With Qarl the Maid and Tristifer Botley at her side, as well as a guard of sixty ironborn marching around them, they started through the streets of the outer city. Many people came out to see them, and Yara could quickly tell that Daenerys had been working her way through the city as she had through the Ghiscari cities of Slaver's Bay. In the months that had passed by, freed slaves had become respectable business owners, and many of the rich had fallen on hard times.

When they passed through the black walls, with the gates left open, it was clear that the revolution was complete. In the end, or at least so far, there had not been a large number of trials, on a criminal basis. However, there were many perfectly silver-haired and violet-eyed folk, born on the wrong side of the sheets, and held out of these walls, or who mingled the curly hair and dusky skin of the Rhoyne with the violet eyes of old Valyria, an especially common appearance which marked a man or woman as a descendant of a slave and a Lord alike. They had all been allowed to levy claims against the wealth of the families they were descended from. In this way, hoarded riches were circulating and keeping the economy afloat, providing new opportunities—at least for now.

With the embargo imposed by the slaving cities, they still faced hard times. Only Braavosi, Meereenese, and Summer Island ships were calling at Volantis at this point. Yara had seen no other traffic heading in when her fleet had made for the mouth of the Rhoyne.

But for the moment, they could put on a brave front. The Triarch's palace which was now the Royal Palace—was splendid but austere, filled with Targaryen symbols, but not upgraded. Indeed, some of the finery had been sold off and rooms refitted to serve as barracks and planning halls for the campaigns. Yara approved of that—there were soldiers everywhere, both Unsullied and servants of the Lord of Light.

As a foreign Queen whose independence had been recognised by Daenerys, she was shown in at once. There was no waiting. Instead, she was shown in to the audience hall. There was Daario, there was a Red Priestess… A masked woman, who gave an eerie presence. A slip of a Valyrian girl, staying close to the low dais on which there was the Queen's throne.

The Queen.

Daenerys in her silver mask.

That mask, why is she wearing that mask. But Yara raised her fist in a salute. "My Royal Sister, I am thankful for your resurrection. That which is dead cannot die. My men account you a prodigy, and I had no doubt, when I escaped the power of that monster which occupies the body of Bran Stark, that your letter meant I should at once repair with every one of my ships fit to sail, for Volantis."

"Yara… Yara Greyjoy," Daenerys said, with a sigh in her voice, that even in the repose of the mask, carried deep emotion and feeling. "You indeed did right. I feared that you would not come. I feared that he would defeat you, or that your commitment would be lost in the temptation to see an end to the wars. I cannot promise you an end to the wars," Daenerys added softly. "That, you will not see, here."

"I'm Ironborn, I can deal with war. Particularly when it means liberating my homeland," Yara replied. "Don't think I can rest until that's done, for he's surely moved to occupy the Iron Islands. But he would have done it anyway if I hadn't taken the fleet away. At least by preserving it, we can all return in triumph. That's what counts. We'll go back when we're ready to win this time, right?"

"We will. The east, first. Unite Volantis and Meereen."

"Fair enough. It's a sensible objective," Yara nodded. "Don't want two isolated halves of what you're ruling before a great campaign begins. We'll support it, to the hilt."

"I renew our alliance. The suffering of your people will be rewarded threefold. Those territories historically your's will be returned to you, when I return to Westeros."

"You will return, then?"

"I will. I will not stop until I have put an end to slavery in all the lands I know, and that includes the shameful oppression of the peasants who are my family's obligation, in the west. There may be no slavery there, but I will complete the reforms my great-grandfather intended. I will not rest, until it is done."

After the formalisms had been completed, Daenerys retired to her private apartments with Yara and Daario alike. She settled down, comfortably, or at least seeming more relaxed now, on a low divan, with her legs folded. "I often have strange aches," she confided, "but the baths help. I will miss them, departing for the east; but it must be done."

"Well," the Queen continued after a moment. "I didn't bring you here to complain. Rather, I want to speak to both of you honestly and alone. I want to ask you both to get along, no matter what. I have lost everyone else, either a traitor, or to death. Everyone. When I look around me, for all the old pillars that I knew when I set out to reclaim my father's throne—there are the two of you. I enormously respect Grey Worm, and I did forgive him, but…"

"He very nearly worships you, and he did fail, even if you'd never say it yourself," Yara supplied, her voice quiet, offering a glance to Daenerys, but staying fixed on that mask. "Daenerys, I… I want to promise you that I'm not afraid of what you look like right now."

"Daario said the same thing." There was a hint of a smile in her voice, though of course it could not actually be seen. "However, it seems easier this way. I may be the Queen, but in fact, I feel I have very little control over the situation. Everything is being driven by the needs of the people, the freed slaves, by this historical, this providential chance to complete my work, totally, and utterly, so that none may undo it. And, we don't understand what the Great Other was, or what the machinations of the Three-Eyed Raven in Westeros really are. All I can do is prepare the world, as much as I am able, for the schemes against the light. Prepare it with free folk, where previously slavery reigned."

"So you need to look perfect?"

"Maybe I want some of my vanity left."

"Yara spoke for both of us," Daario acknowledged. "But I won't stand between you and what you want. Ever. Not Ever. Wear it or don't wear it around us, whatever is comfortable."

"Aye, that." Yara got up and walked around, behind Daenerys. It was a testament to Daenerys' memory and commitment to her friends that she didn't stiffen in tension, remembering the way that Jon had betrayed her. Instead, Yara just rubbed her shoulders. "Trying to face that monster without you was a nightmare. I drugged myself to hide my mind from him. He can see the future."

"I know," Dany answered. "Even now, Kinvara is certain he knows I am alive, and he can see many futures, but he does not know for certain which one will happen. He can survail anyone that he pleases within his own realms, where the Weirwood trees grow strong, and he may have at least some knowledge of Essos, but, the Lord of Light is strong here, and the magic of Drogon is strong also. Also – knowledge runs into limits before strength. All the wisdom in the world, in the end, can be run-through and burned down."

"I thought the same, but I didn't have the strength to face all of Westeros," Yara shrugged. "I'm glad it isn't worse than I thought."

"Now we have the strength. But first thing's first. We'll go over the plan for the operation against Mantarys tomorrow. The sooner we depart, the better; the Army was ready, but I waited for you, we needed more ships, Yara."

"Oh good, I know when I'm wanted."