The Obligations of Queens
Tyrion greeted the Master of Whisperers, Lord Allyron, in the Tower of the Hand. He had been been fellated by the wife of a prominent prisoner, a short while previously, one of the many perks of his job. He had yet to decide whether to grant her husband a reprieve. He shooed her out of his chambers, as the other man arrived.
"My lord, how can I assist you?" he asked, pouring them both wine, from a golden flagon, on a side table. His servants knew to keep the flagon endlessly refilled.
"I have news of Arya Stark." Arya Stark. The one member of that family that remained an enigma to him. She had played no active role in the betrayal of Daenerys, although she was loyal to her siblings. Unlike them, she seemed to be completely lacking in ambition.
"I thought she was sailing around the world."
"So did I, but at some point, she returned to Pentos. Apparently, she intends to sail for Volantis. I can't imagine she wants to side with the Dragon Queen."
"I should think not. The wretched woman terrifies her. She trained in the House of Black and White, you know. I can ask the King's Grace for more details, but I believe Arya Stark can take forms. If she needs funds, we could instruct our agents to offer her a substantial sum to assassinate Daenerys for good. She'd probably do it for free, come to think of it, but in my experience, a man or woman who's well paid is a damn sight more reliable than one who isn't. And, she'll need money if she has to bribe people to get close to her."
"It would be money well spent" agreed Allyron. Then, "I believe the whore intends to conquer the remaining slave cities between Volantis and Meereen. I've had word that her army has marched in that direction. Sooner or later, I expect she'll reach that city. You were in touch with the Sons of the Harpy, weren't you?"
"I was. Not all of them were wiped out, by any means, when she returned to Meereen. We could put Arya in touch with them. If the bitch is killed, they'd have a good chance of retaking the city. A prolonged war in the region would suit us very well. No one would think of coming West. You know" he said after musing for a while "if we were to make further funds available, then perhaps we could assist the slavers to revolt."
"Queen Sansa ought to contribute, I think. She's been selling her enemies as slaves, according to my sources".
"Really?" Tyrion was surprised, but then continued, "It's sensible really. She's short of funds, and this is one way of filling her treasury. She's a much harder woman than I thought. She's a lot like Cersei, really." He had loathed his sister, but admired her, too. Her death had been another reason to kill Daenerys. She had been a Lannister, after all.
"Why don't we do the same?" the other man asked. "We could make a fortune. That is, the Kings's Grace could make a fortune. And, we'd be getting rid of the King's enemies."
"Well, I'll certainly put it to him, before the meeting. Come to think of it, we really ought to ally with the Eastern slave powers. They all have an interest in seeing Daenerys Targaryen destroyed for good. You know, I used to groan inwardly, whenever that woman would start prattling on about the evils of slavery. Yes, they may be chattels, but our Smallfolk aren't treated much differently. Without their masters to look after them, and most of them do have a vested interest in seeing they are well cared for, most of these slaves would be quite incapable of fending for themselves. And, for some men to prosper, others must serve. That's just the way things are."
Allyron nodded at these wise words, before asking "What do you think the Lord Commander will say?"
"She's dumb as a post. She'll probably look very shocked, and protest, and then just return to her duties. We have the measure of her, I think." They both laughed at the truth of this.
"And, I suppose the Grand Maester will be shifty and evasive, but eventually come round to the idea".
"We know him well. He enjoys the fruits of office, far too much to make a stand. I mean, they hate him at the Citadel, and why not? He's totally unqualified for his position. He never even qualified as Maester, let alone Archmaester. Without the King's backing, they'd throw hm out in a day. He serves entirely at the pleasure of the King's Grace, and he knows it."
Allyron got up and left. The Small Council was due to meet in a couple of days. As it turned out, it would be King Brandon who surprised him.
Elaena was awakened by the insistent shaking of a handmaiden. The girl, a freed Volantene slave, was like the others enormously loyal to Daenerys, and being around them sometimes felt like she was always being surveilled. Kinvara, though, once hearing her make a muttered remark to that effect, had fixed her with a terrible stare and explained how the people of Westeros were now suffering through something unimaginably worse.
"Lady Elaena, Lady Elaena… The Queen needs your presence, immediately."
Elaena groaned, and belted a skirt over her night-gown, pulling over an outer tunic as she walked, just finishing it as they left the tent and went to a larger pavilion, lit by oil lamps, in front of the Queen's tent. Yara fell in with her as she walked.
"So, Sword, do you know anything yet?"
"No—and you, Your Grace?"
"Nothing."
"I thought you slept in the Queen's chambers," Elaena dared, as they moved briskly.
"Nobody does. Only Quaithe and Kinvara are allowed in them when the Queen retires for the night," Yara answered distantly. "Even when I am present in them, I leave eventually. She has suffered, and I don't begrudge her the privacy she craves. You'd best do the same."
"Of course, Your Grace."
Together the two, with their attendants, arrived at the pavilion. Daenerys was already up and perfectly composed; Elaena immensely admired this talent she had developed, of seeming fully awake, and always ready and dressed in her fine royal attire and mask, for any occasion. She tried to emulate it, but it was too much of a war with a natural sleepiness in her case, which she had come to think was part of being a lazy noblewoman, that she could not quite part with.
"Queen Yara, Elaena," the Queen acknowledged, turning around from where she had just spoken with Grey Worm, and looking at the clay model of Mantarys that had been prepared from the scouting information, much of it gathered by Elaena herself. "We have received a message from inside the city. The enslaved have risen at the presence of our Army."
Yara looked to Daenerys briefly, then back down at the clay model. There was a tight expression on her face. "Have they been able to seize one of the gate-houses?"
"No, they have not." Daenerys voice was quiet, but grim.
"They're being massacred inside the walls?" Yara asked next, but it was more of a statement than a question.
"Yes, they are," Daenerys agreed.
"You woke us up to storm the city?" Yara put a hand on the hilt of her sword, avoiding looking at Daenerys, now.
"I did. You have a plan for the seaward assault already."
"We're not ready to implement it yet. Our blood will run in rivers red, just like a bard would sing."
"It already is. Those are our people inside the walls, Yara." There was a faint echo of the plaintive voice of a girl. There was the definite sound of the iron and resolute voice of a Queen.
"Didn't say no," Yara answered, and looked up. "Grey Worm, choose a position along the walls to assault, including one of the gates, with the Army, and all of the ready siege artillery that can be positioned to support. Elaena can drop messages from Drogon ordering those fighting inside the walls to head in that direction, if they obey the instructions and congregate, they might manage to threaten the enemy's defenders along the walls. Together, that's all of the diversion that we're going to get on such short notice, I think."
"Agreed," he acknowledged grimly. "We can bring the Unsullied up in the reserve, in case God and Fortune favour us and give us a gate, then I could lead them in and quickly end it."
"Aye, that's the right use for them," Yara nodded tautly, and studied the model along the water intensely. "I can bring my fleet almost up to the inner wall. We'll pack two hundred men aboard each Longship, since the distance is so short. Less than a mile. That will let us land a first wave of eight thousand. Lady Elaena, I need you to get in close along the walls. But you will need to do it at the last minute, at the place I instruct. If you use Drogon to open the walls too soon, I will be plain with you… They will have men positioned inside these black-rock buildings on the inside of the walls, and they will ambush my men from three sides, and the fire will spread slowly. We don't even know how long it will take a Dragon to burn through them yet."
"The books say it can be done," Elaena shivered.
Yara met her eyes and didn't let her go. "Do they say how long?"
"No, just that a dragon can melt even black rock, Your Grace," she acknowledged.
"Yeah. Thought so. So. You'll come in close, and you'll attack the wall at a point we designate. We'll signal you with flags. We can't let them establish an interior line, it would make it impossible for us to break through until the massacre is complete."
Elaena nodded tightly. "I've memorised the Valyrian codes."
"Good, my men were taught them from the same books. We'll make it work." She patted Elaena's shoulder, and then grinned to Daenerys. It was a grim thing. "If not today then tomorrow, Daenerys," she said with the privilege of one Queen to another in public.
"I can't ask for more," Daenerys looked down with her masked face. "It will be terrible enough as it is, but it's already terrible inside the city, I am sure. Go, and know that every minute is costing us lives." It was like she trembled with a nervous energy, the flame of Rh'llor, and wanted the battle to begin at once.
"Your Grace," Grey Worm said, "I'm sure Queen Yara will choose to move fast enough to save as many lives as we can, but also deliberately enough to keep our casualties as light as she can. And we can do nothing at all if we fail to break through."
The Dragon Queen nodded. "You are right. I leave it to your discretion of when to launch the attack on the Sea Walls, Yara. Elaena, you will have your message pouches written in a flash. We will prepare many, since the chance of putting one in the hands of a literate slave is so low. And if you have any targets of opportunity…"
"Drogon will easily bear two passengers, Your Grace, beyond myself. Send crack archers with me. They may kill a few officers and men of substance, I can bring a bag of darts to drop as well. But I fear flame, lest I start the entire city to burning and kill more than we save in the ires."
Daenerys grimaced. "You are right. Grey Worm, make the arrangements. Yara, when your fleet begins to pull for the walls, we will recall Elaena, and send her in low over the water, to give the enemy as little warning as possible. We will set the forest near the city on this flank aflame, the wind has been blowing steadily from the North again. That hurt us in our last fight, but here, it will screen the movements of your fleet."
Yara saluted, and spun around. She offered a grin to Elaena as they went their separate ways. "Don't worry, kid, you'll do fine. I'll see you on the sea wall."
In fact, to storm the city was exceedingly dangerous, and it had filled Yara with disquiet. She knew well the number of men that would be lost even just attacking the single course of walls along the waterfront. The buildings, however, provided her the path to victory.
They steered heavily laden ships, stripped of their masts, sails, rigging, supplies and even cooking stoves, to carry more men, packed in cheek to jowl. They manoeuvred them through the stream of smoke coming from the burning forest, keeping them in the plume of smoke for as long as they could, until the sea tower which terminated the city's outer walls reared up close, battered and chipped around the base from centuries of ill-maintained exposure to the waves on the lake, surrounded by the riprap which had protected it to date, coated in blooms of red algae. God knew if it had always been so in the lake.
Drums boomed long, alerting the fleet to manoeuvre around the sea tower. As they cleared it, their ships were now screened by the walls themselves. Only the men on the towers and crenellations of the Sea Walls would be able to see them, dimly, through the ruins of the great warehouses which had once held all of the produce of North Valyria, travelling south to the Fourteen Fires.
Now, those cavernous ruins would be the fall of Mantarys. They were built of black rock, and that tremendous fused stone had made them last long beyond their abandonment. The Longships pushed on, into what had been the streets before the level of the lake rose. It was only when they grounded out, on the smooth surface of Valyrian paving stones, as perfectly fitted as a dedicated launch for boats, that the longships drifted in until their bows ground out with a scraping and scuffing across rock.
"To the walls, men!" The order would echo from many a Captain's throat that day. Forward, where the water was swallow—the oarsmen still working the oars to keep them grounded long enough for the troops to land—wave after wave, man after man, leaping down and splashing through the water. Yara swept forward, encouraging her men on and over the side, until she too leapt down from the gunwales to splash through the warm water and at last onto the dry paving stones, organising a rush of men forward toward the walls.
To the walls they advanced, but they did not assault them. Instead, they spread out along the walls, to spread out the defenders as well. They moved the bulk of their troops into the warehouses. And it was there that Yara and the other Captains who were learned men went to work, with the Engineers from Volantis. They went up into the Warehouses, into their upper parts, and began to sound the roofs.
As the engineers worked, Yara could hear the sounds of arrows flying and hitting pavement, of rocks being cast down. As the overall commander she had to make the choice quickly and efficiently. It all came down to the judgement of which roof would support the dragon.
Her day had started hours ago, and the waiting was more exhausting than daring danger. First she had delivered the messages—she had led a team of archers on Drogon's back, irritated at the passengers who had no link to the Rider he had grudgingly trusted—they had picked at men from the sky, but in truth, she felt like it had been only a little effort. She had dropped darts on the men leading the troops of Mantarys against the slaves. But it was nothing like what could be accomplished by flame.
The messages, though, there had been enough literate slaves to respond to those. She saw them converge on the walls. She saw the dispositions of the troops change. And Elaena saw, too, circling above, the imposing promise of doom, the streets that were slick with red blood. She saw the forms in them, of mangled bodies that would never rise again, barring some terrible dread magic. She could smell, too, the horrifying scent of the bodies from where several structures had had large numbers of slaves pinned in them by the troops, and set alight, to intimidate the others. That smell was worse than any sight, even of those bodies strung up from columns and walls by wire that worked through their flesh.
It was a smell which Elaena, as a dragonrider who burned her enemies to death, had become habituated to, already. Her archers wished to retch, but she did not, and returning for food—there was no time for sleep—she had left them behind with the Queen's camp. It was time to prepare to burn, and she wished for no distraction, to remind her of the consequences of her dragon's breath.
It was going to be hard enough without any self-doubt.
Flying above them all, Drogon had turned back out over the lake, and circled, with the smoke from the fires between Mantarys and his immense bulk. Elaena drank from her canteen, and ate jerky, and watched the fleet vanish into the smoke. Then, she began her count-down, by marking the angle of the sun in the sky with a fixed rod. After an hour and a half had past, she guided Drogon through the smoke.
On the other side, she could see the Longships pulling away to get the second wave of troops for the assault on the docks. The walls were manned, but between this and Grey Worm's assault with the Volantene troops, the enemy could not yet be sure was the main assault. She swept in, searching…
There! Her heart thrilled. A knot of men, and one woman, stood on the top of one of the roofs to the great warehouses. They had their signal flags up, and she nudged Drogon on to rush closer. His abrupt approach to the city was low and fast.
Shouts of alarm would be spreading now, as it became impossible to hide the enormous dragon. The only defence that the Mantaryans would have consisted of the expectation that Drogon would kill the Ironborn and Volantene troops before the walls just as effectively as he would kill anyone on the walls, and shatter the rock. They would know, too, that it would be hard even for a dragon to break through the walls. It would take time, and in the midst of those passes, the city would be set alight.
They were not prepared for Elaena to land on the roof of the warehouse. They were not prepared for her to direct Drogon's flame to first sweep the top of the wall, killing all the men, destroying all the ballistae, which might have threatened her. The roof, sounded by the engineers, held under the enormous weight of the dragon. There, he was not high enough, as he would be flying, for the men behind the walls to engage him with portable ballistae, or fire at her with arrows. Here, she was protected from the enemy, and more importantly, it allowed Drogon to be precise enough in attacking just the wall, directly in front of him, from a stationary position—so there were no collateral casualties to their own forces.
His flames tore along the courses of the walls that their ancestors had built. What they had created, they could destroy; the black rock walls glowed until they were cherry red, and then in the place she had targeted, they began to crack and disintegrate. Blast after blast of fire tore through them, more powerful than any normal blaze. The walls gradually melted away, black stone changing to red and golden lava, which poured away in runnels . The men on the other side began to panic and flee. The reinforcements to the annihilated positions on the walls broke and fled. Even Black Walls could fall before the Dragons that had created them.
Daenerys Stormborn rode on her white horse into the city, with Kinvara holding the reins. Mantarys was like no other. It had been a direct colony of the Old Freehold. The vast Black Rock towers in the middle were meant for dragons with their riders—for Dragonlords, coming to rule here, or even just take the airs off the mountains to the north, to enjoy the lake.
Here, the slaves were as Valyrian as the masters, as Valyrian as she was. For the first time in her life, she was surrounded by a sea of celebrating slaves who were of her own ethnicity.
And there were monsters. There were men with reptilian eyes, a reproduction of a dragon's in miniature. Others with bits of scale, beyond the more common ones with extra limbs or eyes, or two people fused together, with two heads that spoke separately.
Someone else might be horrified at them, and in truth, some of the monstrosities did turn Grey Worm's stomach, did trigger his natural disgust, as it would any man. With it, though, was pity that he was seeing people who had been twisted by such powerful magic—and then, it had been used as an excuse to make them slaves.
Many, of course, the vast majority, even, were perfectly whole. But the city's name was perfectly real, in truth; the city of monsters had those whose forms blended the reptile and the mammal.
Missandei would have been fearless around them, and fascinated, he thought with distant longing. Her memory was maintained by their effort, and he had no doubt, that in his Queen's eyes, her face was often present.
But she would have loved to have been here on this day, and it was never to be.
The bodies of dead masters lay torn apart in the streets. But their children were being presented to the soldiers, and to Daenerys herself, as they advanced. The magnetic power of her presence and the promise of liberation that she contained was bringing order to the slave revolts. Even those who gave themselves over to rage, and imagined killing the children, would not touch them, as a gesture of thanks and loyalty to the Breaker of Chains.
The promise had become self-perpetuating.
The Red Priests and Priestesses with the Army were preaching the gospel of salvation in the flame. Many, in the air of mingled relieve, revenge, and celebration, listened. A wave of religious conversions would be sweeping through all the liberated lands, and though Grey Worm would not follow it, he respected the impulse.
Then he noticed Quaithe peel away, and turn to quietly enter a temple carved in the form of the wings of a dragon becoming an arch. Someone, it seemed, still had business with the bloody Gods of Old Valyria.
Grand Maester Tarly was a frightened man. Well, all his life he'd been a frightened man. He'd been frightened of his father, frightened of the men of the Nights Watch, frightened of what lay beyond the Wall. He had no idea how he had survived the Battle of Winterfell, where he'd spent the fight alternately hiding, or screaming with terror, while pissing himself; there was a nasty joke circulating at the Citadel, he well knew, that he'd only survived because the Dead had taken one look at him, and decided that they didn't want him in their ranks. And every night now, he was haunted by dreams of the Dragon Queen returning to Kings Landing. She would not be merciful, he knew. He had played his part in bringing her down, filled with anger and spite at the deaths of his father and brother, and she would not have forgotten. He only hoped that King Brandon had powers that would counter hers. Before the meeting, Tyrion and Allyron had assured him that they had plans to deal with her. He trusted they would succeed.
He entered the Small Council Chamber to see that Tyrion, Allyron, Bronn, Brienne, Vargo Hoat, the Master of Laws, and Ser Aurane Waters, the new Master of Ships, were already present. The King sat in his wheelchair. Often, he allowed them to deliberate, intervening only when he wished, but now he opened the discussion.
"We face two open sources of treason. The Iron Islands and Dorne. The first, I expect my royal sister to handle. As you are aware, Yara Greyjoy has taken the Iron Fleet to Volantis. Therefore, she is in rebellion against us. But, she has left the Iron Islands vulnerable to attack. I have therefore urged Queen Sansa, to achieve a *complete* solution to the problem posed by the Ironborn. She will provide the soldiers, the Reach and the Westerlands the ships. We have agreed that the entirety of the population will be …..resettled to the East. They will be set to work, in ways that are beneficial to humankind."
There was an awkward silence, before Lord Commander Brienne piped up. "Might I know what "resettled" entails?"
Bronn laughed. "I reckon the people we've executed in the camps have been well and truly "resettled."
"It means as I say" replied the King. "They will be set to work in whatever manner their new masters deem appropriate."
"Their masters?" Brienne looked as if she had swallowed a frog.
"There are tens of thousands of them" replied the King, blandly. "We cannot hope to feed them all. Fortunately, there are Eastern merchants who are willing to take care of this problem. "
"His Grace is right, as ever" remarked Sam, determined to win his master's approval. "Everyone knows Queen Sansa is short of the money she needs to purchase food from the Reach. This way, she gets the money she needs, we get our share of the profits, the merchants of the Reach get paid, and the Seven Kingdoms are rid of the Ironborn for good. Thus do we all prosper." There was a general murmur of agreement, around the Council table, Bronn, Vargo, and Allyron slapping the table to signify their approval, save for Brienne.
"Your Grace, this is a vile proposal. Slavery has been a crime and a sin for centuries in this land."
"Times change, Lord Commander, times change. Really, Ser Brienne, you have spent months serving my government; you have accepted that the Realm's enemies must be executed, imprisoned, tortured, kept under surveillance, yet now, you draw the line at resettlement. I find that…..truly remarkable. I expect there to be unanimous agreement to this proposal among my councillors. I shall have your agreement to it now, or else I will have it …later."
There was a long silence, and Sam felt a chill in the air, before "Agreed, your Grace" muttered Brienne, obviously very unhappy.
"Now, to the Dornish" continued the King. "I have seen a future, in which the Dragon Queen and her followers land in Dorne, and are hailed as liberators by the population. That way lies disaster. We must ensure that we hold Dorne in an iron grasp. Dornish military power must be broken for ever. "
The idea made Sam nervous. He knew enough history to remember that invasions of Dorne rarely prospered. He reached for a flagon of wine, and poured, in order to steady his nerves.
"Your Grace, Is this wise? Remember the fate of the Young Dragon, or Queen Rhaenys for that matter. They both came to grief in Dorne." Tyrion nodded, and joined in.
"Your Grace, as I see it, there are three routes to invade Dorne. Through the Boneway, out of the Stormlands; through the Prince's Pass, out of the Reach, or by sea. The Dornish will find it easy to block both of the passes. As for the third, we cannot launch an invasion by sea, if our ships are assisting Queen Sansa to take the Iron Islands. And even supposing we took the main settlements, Sunspear and the Shadow City, Starfall, Plankytown, the Dornish have long proved adept at waging partisan warfare. So many invaders have come to grief in that country".
"Lord Tyrion, Grand Maester, I am familiar with the history, " replied the King. "I would not be suggesting this course were it not absolutely essential. You will have one advantage denied to previous invaders. I can see from afar, the dispositions of the Dornish soldiers. "
"I will have the advantage, your Grace?" Sam saw Tyrion swallow nervously.
"You will lead the invasion from the Stormlands, Lord Tyrion. You will be accompanied by the soldiers of the Crownlands, the Stormlands, and three thousand of the Raven's Claws, led by Faithful Urswyck. You, Ser Bronn, will lead the invasion from the Reach, using your own forces, along with a further division of Raven's Claws. Neither of you should have any difficulty gathering sellswords, eager for plunder. I shall provide you with detailed instructions of the routes which you will both follow. You will use mountain paths to circumvent the main Dornish armies, who, as you have surmised, will be expecting an attack through the passes. To any other invader, it would be madness to stray from the main roads, but you will both have the advantages granted by my prescience. You, Ser Bronn, will take Skyreach and Starfall. You, Lord Tyrion, will take Yronwood, Godsgrace, Sunspear and the Shadow City. The Dornish will undoubtedly offer resistance, even after their armies have been defeated. You both have my authority to conduct whatever reprisals you see fit. We can always replace the Dornish dead with fresh stock. I shall expect you to fulfil your duties with zeal. Your soldiers may keep whatever they take from the local population.
"That will certainly make them happy your Grace" said Bronn, enthusiastically. He grinned "Do they get to keep the Dornish women as well?"
"Of course" responded the King. Sam could see Tyrion remained unenthusiastic. Well, he knew his histories as well as he did, but really, there was no choice, if he wished to remain Hand. "Of course, your Grace, I shall prepare the invasion immediately" he responded.
"Good" concluded the King. "We have accomplished something, today. These two peoples have been a thorn in the side of the Realm for centuries. We shall end them."
Notes:
1. Part of the dialogue at the Small Council meeting is adapted from Conspiracy, a gripping HBO TV play about the Wannsee Conference. It seemed appropriate.