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Chapter XLVI: The pits

Hizdahr zo Loraq was… good-looking enough, with his olive skin, black hair and ample Ghiscari robes. But he was no way near the stature of a king. Daenerys had told him he was one of the richest, noblest men in Meereen and one who was rumoured to treat his slaves well. Yet, he remained only that, a Meereenese slaver and trader. No matter that she took his slave from him and named him King. He would still be driven by profit. It was no wonder then that he had never shared his wife's bed. In Meereen, children of a concubine could be heirs if the official wife did not provide any. No doubt, when Meereen and the other cities were firmly under control, he would not need Daenerys anymore and would get rid of her. Sire a child from a concubine and create a new dynasty.

Though, maybe he was too hasty and paranoid. He had yet to talk to the man. He sent Oberyn to invite the 'King of Meereen' to talk. The man arrived in a purple robe lined with amethysts and pearls. He bowed to Daeron an Ellaria – whom the King had called – when he entered the room. No King would do that in their own city, Daeron thought. This man was a mummer at best, a dangerous opportunist at worst. Still, Daeron greeted him graciously.

"I must say I am surprised to come back and find my wife on the verge of bending the knee to a lost nephew." The trader started the conversation. He said it amicably, but his eyes showed his desire of knowing more. The man was smart, and he hid it under the well-thinking of a trader.

"I can see how this story must sound… to a foreigner even more." Daeron reminded him of his status. "Though, I don't think Daenerys will bend the knee literally. She will just renounce her claim to Westeros and remain here in Meereen." He wanted to see his reaction.

A reaction the rich man had trouble concealing. Was it surprise or annoyance? Probably both. So, that was the man's plan… Reinstall the rule of the people he wanted in Meereen and become King of Westeros. Daeron doubted he had any idea what that would mean. "That is surprising…" He admitted pathetically.

"I can only imagine." Daeron kept smiling, as if nothing had happened. "She has asked me to teach her how to rule Meereen. But I find myself at a loss. I don't know all the customs here." He kept going. "Tell me King zo Loraq" – he had no idea if it was the correct title – "why do you think my aunt struggles so much with the ruling of Meereen?"

The 'King' seemed surprised that someone would think of asking him. Daeron wanted to cringe at his aunt lack of hindsight. "Well, there are some traditions that could be restored to pacify the crowds… and we need to find occupations for the former slaves. A system to still have them work so that the cities don't collide." Well, Daeron had thought the same for the second part.

"What traditions?"

"For instance, the fighting pits." The man exclaimed. Daeron had no idea what he was talking about. It must have shown on his face. "It was… a spectacle of sort. Men fighting each other or wild animals. To first blood or sometimes to the death. Daenerys banned it for being too 'barbaric' but it was highly enjoyed entertainment. Both the masters and the slaves attended with great enthusiasm." Hizdahr explained.

"And the men who fought were slaves I suppose?" His uncle by marriage nodded. "We could have free men fighting… if they won, they would get a percentage of the wagers placed on them. There were wagers, right?" Another nod. "And maybe we could ban the fights to the death…"

"They were the most popular…" The man seemed embarrassed by his own comment.

"Only volunteers then." Daeron suggested.

"It could work, but my wife…"

"I will inform your wife. She has asked for my help, she should accept it." Daeron interrupted.

"As for the occupation of the slaves… we could put in place a system of contracts." Ellaria intervened remembering the other issue. This time it was the turn of their interlocutor to be confused. "An agreement between the former slaves and the masters. They keep working in the same fields they did but this time for money. A percentage of the profit made by the master or a pre-determined amount of money." Ellaria detailed.

"This is very clever… my Lady." The man looked pleasantly surprised. "It could very well work… Though we would need to oversee the negotiations about the prices."

"Why not put you in charge?" Daeron smiled. That way, the trader would be occupied and would have less time to plot against his wife. The man beamed with pride at the suggestion.

When he left – with another bow – Daeron turned to Ellaria, interrogating her with his look. "He is cleverer than he lets us see. I think he could be either dangerous or a boon for your aunt." The Dornish bastard told him.

"Well, for now, we will have to bet that he will be a boon. Daenerys needs his help to rule." Daeron rolled his eyes. This conversation had been way more constructive than any he had had with Daenerys.

"I agree."

Now, Daeron had to explain everything to his aunt. He had a feeling she would not be happy about the fighting pits. But it was not that far from the jousts of Westeros… Of course, she would not know that. She did not know Westeros. For the contracts, he did not see why she would have a problem. And he also needed to tell her about her husband… He had more trouble with that. On the one hand, he needed to warn her that the man probably would try something against her. Especially now that she had lost most of her value in his eyes. But on the other hand, he had no wish to create a new Rhaenyra, mad with paranoia. Daenerys could not kill Hizdahr if she was to rule Meereen, it would anger too many powerful nobles. He had a feeling it would not be an easy conversation with his aunt.

Her stubbornness would be the death of her, he thought sometimes. He wished he could say he truly cared about her, but it would be a lie. Before he met her, he thought Daenerys would be like Aemon, a connection to his family, someone he could easily form a bond with over shared grief. He thought she would be a connection to his father. But she was not. She was none of that. She was a stranger, raised in a foreign land who did not know anything about their family, though had a wish to learn. She had a weird sense of grief for their family too. For her older brothers, for her niece and nephew or her mother, she asked about them and she made grand declarations about avenging them, but she had very little sadness in her voice and features when talking about them. It was all rage, rage directed at 'usurpers' and obsession over some birthright. If Daeron could become a peasant in order to live with his parents and siblings, he would do it in a heartbeat, birthright or no. He had a feeling Daenerys could have a different answer even if she could also just be hiding her feeling to protect herself.

...

The conversation was not easy indeed. In fact, it was not a single conversation, but many, over the course of several days. On multiple occasions, Daeron was about to give up on his aunt, mount Rhoynax and leave immediately with his family. Arianne – of all people, she hated Daenerys – talked him out of it. She was right of course, it was in his interest that Daenerys succeeded. Because if she did quickly, he might have three more dragons and a rider. And because his aunt would have a place to come back to after the war. They would not have to deal with her indefinitely.

Finally, after five days of negotiation, she yielded. The fighting pits would be reopened at the end of the week and Hizdahr was to oversee the organisation. But when the end of the week arrived, Daenerys had no wish to come to the opening of the fighting pits.

"What do they care about whether I come or not?" She asked calmly at the first family dinner Daeron had managed to organize. "I reopened them, it should satisfy them. I have no wish to see men bleed for sports." She added with her next bite of food.

Hizdahr and Lady Stark looked uneasy, Arianne rolled her eyes discreetly and Sansa looked at Daenerys as if she was stupid. "The people need to see you, dear aunt. It is as if you organized a tourney in King's Landing and did not come. It would not be proper." He explained as kindly as he could.

"Tourneys are not the same. It is a gallant and proper sport." He wanted to ask her if she had ever seen a tourney. But a saviour came in the unexpected form of Sansa. "During the first tourney I attended in King's Landing, a knight died from a splinter of a lance in the eye and another one decapitated his horse in frustration after he lost. It was not as gallant or proper as I imagined." She commented simply, not looking at Daenerys. Daeron could have kissed his cousin and her mother looked exceedingly pleased.

Daenerys looked taken aback by Sansa's words. "I… I…" She struggled to find words. She had to be feeling pretty stupid.

Daeron prevented her further embarrassment. "I truly believe that you being seen by your people would benefit your reign Daenerys. I could come as well if you wished." He suggested. He hoped he was the only one to notice Arianne's glare.

"Could we come as well? Mother and I?" Sansa asked. "I have not been out in society for ages, I miss it." For a second, his cousin sounded like the dream-filled little sister she had once been. But that girl would never have asked to come to a blood-lusty entertainment. There was something more there. Sarella's words echoed in his mind. Sansa had become ambitious. She was searching for a way to remain close to him and gain influence from the King, maybe.

"I don't see why not. If I really have to go, it would be more proper for me to go with ladies anyway." Daenerys admitted. "If Lady Stark is agreeable of course."

Sansa looked at her mother with great hope in her eyes. "Fine." The older ladies gave in.

"I will stay here. The fighting pits are no place for Aemon." Arianne stated. It did not surprise Daeron, his wife would not want to be anywhere Daenerys. Daenerys who nodded her understanding at the mention of the heir to House Targaryen.

...;

The night before the fighting began, Daeron was agitated. He had trouble finding some sleep. It felt weird, he had no care for Meereen or its tradition in all honesty, he was not anxious or eager at the idea of seeing men fight for entertainment. No, he had a gut feeling, one that something bad was about to happen.

When sleep finally claimed him, it was to transport him into… a nightmare. One that would mark him almost as much as his siblings' murder.

It was not dissimilar to the time he dreamt of the Battle of the Blackwater. He was above the city of King's Landing, on Rhoynax's back and no one seemed to see him.

The smells of the streets hit him worse than the last time he had been there. The deep scent of shit had gotten worse, the whole city reeked of sickness and rot. There were many more beggars on the street, asking for bread to anyone who would pass next to them. It was peculiar, Daeron had thought the whole point of marrying Margeary Tyrell to the boy Joffrey was to get more grain for the capital and feed the masses to avoid another riot, like the one Sansa told him about, one she could have ended up raped in.

Actually, some of the people on the streets called for the Tyrell girl. "Queen Margeary!" Some pleaded, chanted even, as if her name alone could feed them. Others were angrier: "The rose whore is starving the city!" They claimed.

Rhoynax directed them away from the streets and into the inner yard of the Red Keep. There, she let him climb down. He wanted to see what was happening in the royal quarters, so, he started walking towards Maegor's Holdfast.

"Brother!" He heard behind him. He turned on his heels and for a moment he thought it was Arianne. Bu the hair was too straight. It was Rhaenys, or at least the woman she would have become had she lived long enough.

"Rhaenys? What are you doing here?" He asked.

"I wanted to see… All the suffering, the misery in this city. How did it fall so low? Grandfather was a madman, but even he did not let the city rot…" She commented. "I want to see." She repeated. Daeron nodded.

"I was going to Maegor's Holdfast, to try and understand why the Tyrells did not deliver on their promise." He told her.

"A good idea, but I think we will have a better understanding if we go to the Small Council first." Rhaenys pointed out. He conceded the point to her. He started walking towards the Throne Room, beyond which was the Small Council chamber. "Haven't you heard Brother?" His sister stopped him. "The Old Lion moved the Small Council to the Tower of the Hand." He was overly surprised, never had a Hand done so… It would have been ill-perceived, as if the Hand wanted to be King. It probably was the case.

They entered the solar of the Hand together, and surely enough, Grandmaester Pycelle, that letch of Petyr Baelish, Varys, Tywin Lannister, his brother, Kevan, and his daughter, the Queen Mother, were there. Quite a small Small Council…

"I am afraid Queen Margeary miscarried again, my Lord Hand…" Pycelle was telling the others. Cersei Lannister was glaring at everyone, looking half-mad. "She has been bleeding heavily since yesterday afternoon."

"Have you been able to determine why?" The Queen Mother snarled.

"The Queen… she could be fragile… sometimes those conditions are not easy to see before…" The old man was struggling with his words. Daeron was taking in the news. Margeary Tyrell had miscarried, more than once, it was quite strange, she came from a line of strong women and was perfectly healthy the last time he saw her.

"Cut your excuses, we all know here that beating an expecting mother only has only one outcome!" Lord Tywin roared. Daeron wondered who would dare beat the Queen. The Hand turned to his daughter. "I thought you had him under control. After the last time… Was the Tyrells withdrawing support not enough?" He shouted at Cersei Lannister.

"You know how he is!" She protested. "I had guards protecting the little whore. But he is King, he does what he wants!"

"Even killing his own heirs? How mad have you gone? I'll have to send a letter to your beast of a brother… Tommen's lessons must be increased. He needs to be ready to sit the Throne sooner rather than later." No one could know if Tywin Lannister was speaking to himself or to his advisors. But at least now Daeron knew more of what had happened at the capital since his rescue of his cousins. Tommen Waters had been sent to be educated probably at the Rock with Tyrion… It would be easier to spare the boy this way.

"You threaten my son!" The Lannister Queen was outraged and if looks could kill she would have become a kinslayer. "You let our captives slip through your fingers, you send my baby away to that monster, you do nothing to retrieve Jaime and Myrcella and now you threaten my son! I think it's time Joffrey got a new Hand!"

"You cannot decide that, you are nobody here…" Tywin replied emotionlessly. "Soon you'll be married again and out of this city."

Cersei scoffed. "May I remind you that my betrothed broke the engagement."

Tywin glared at her. "You might have succeeded in breaking of the engagement to Loras Tyrell… But it does not mean I cannot find you someone else." He paused shortly. "Bolton's heir needs a wife." He dropped.

This seemed to take the breath away from his daughter. "He is a bastard!"

"Was a bastard… and the future Warden of the North." Tywin Lannister said. Next to Daeron, Rhaenys gasped. They had heard enough anyway, he quickly led his sister out of the room.

"I was a baby when he left the capital, but I thought he was competent, at least… if too ruthless." Rhaenys commented once they were out. The man was responsible for her death, Daeron reminded himself. He tried to explain to her all that had happened. The war, the incest from the Lannister twins, the mad boy Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen, the weddings… They walked towards Maegor's Holdfast, he still wanted to see the Queen for himself.

He held nothing against Margeary Tyrell, she was a nice lady, even if she was incredibly ambitious. She was a casualty of the game of the Throne unfortunately. Rhaenys knew exactly where the Queen's rooms were thankfully since Daeron could never have found them himself. She entered first and gasped immediately.

"She's even worse than Grandmother…" She whispered looking at the small form in an armchair. The underlying implication was obvious 'even if Grandmother was married to the Mad King.' Queen Rhaella had also suffered many miscarriages and stillborn children.

Queen Margeary was indeed in bad shape. Her cheeks were hollow, as if she had not eaten for days. She wore the longest sleeves Daeron had ever seen on her and a high collar, but it was not enough to mask the bruises, on her wrists especially. For sure, she looked regal in a her richly-made dress, jewels and a complex hairstyle. But she had nothing of the glow she once had. Her eyes were red, from tears or lack of sleep, he could not tell. And when she stood up and walked, she had trouble hiding her pain.

Daeron was highly disturbed by what he had seen. If he wanted to still have a Realm to rule when he took the Throne, he had to act fast. Before Joffrey had the time to destroy and kill everything.

It angered him, to be stuck in Meereen, but he had to at least stay for the day, see if Daenerys finally had learnt. If all went well, he could leave the next day, at first light and straight to the Wall. Deal quickly with the Boltons and send ravens to the Tyrells. He had no doubt now that they would support him. Their precious rose was broken and from what he understood, they had somewhat abandoned her.

A fighting pit was not that far from what he imagined a tourney ground would be. Only it was round and not a line. There were colourful fanons around it, benches for the spectators and a red silk dais for the royal family. Food vendors circled around the onlookers in hope of earning some gold and the atmosphere was festive.

...

The ground for the fight itself was just made of sand, to absorb the blood no doubt. Opposite to the dais, were iron gates behind which waited the fighters. They had been selected specially by the 'King of Meereen' for their fame and skills. Daeron had no idea what to expect of the fights, not much, he believed. He had come a long way since he left Winterfell, but the northern scorn of tourneys still stuck with him. Playing at war would always seem pointless and dull to him, he believed. Not to mention, he was too grim and perturbed by his dream.

Lady Stark looked slightly uncomfortable, though Daeron thought she would have endured anything just to be with Sansa. His young cousin was clinging to her mother most of the time. Daenerys made no effort to conceal the fact that she did not want to be there. She even slapped her husband's hand away when he tried to touch her forearm. Daeron was seated just behind them which suited him well. He could observe them better. He had wanted to shake his aunt to knock some sense in her when he had seen her arrive with Daario Naharis. She should know what having a lover next to her husband could cause. The sellsword was too arrogant and he fuelled her stubbornness. When Daeron had tried to warn her against the man, Daenerys had almost snapped at him as she did when they first met. It was not love, but there was a form of dependence that was worrying. Ellaria seemed to agree with him. The roll of her eyes she did when she saw the Tyroshi man had not escaped Daeron's notice.

A roar came from the crowd when King Hizdahr rose from his seat to welcome them to the fights. It surprised Daeron, how blood-thirsty they all were. The man presented his wife, from the tone of his voice, he expected her to say a few words, but Daenerys only nodded her acknowledgement. So, her husband continued alone. By the end of it, he had heated the crowd to the point where Daeron thought they would fight each other if the show did not begin soon. Several times, he saw the Meereenese man glance at Daenerys anxiously. Finally, when he finished his speech, he bent down and whispered something Daeron could not hear in her ear. Daenerys rose to her feet.

"I declare the fighting open." She shouted in Valyrian unenthusiastically. The Meereeneses did not seem to mind.

His uncle by marriage had tried to explain at dinner – after Daenerys had accepted to come – that the first rounds of fight would see four duels in parallel. There would be four such rounds and then matches between the winners. Two duels at a time and finally only one. It would likely last a few days. Hizdahr seemed to hope so. He thought it would make for better entertainment since it would mean the competition was fiercer.

The eight first men ran forward when the gates were brought up. They looked like a colourful bunch of outlaws, each one very different in style to the next. One only wore a piece of white cloth around his private parts and one arm of an armour. He held a spear and a dagger. Another was dressed like a rich Tyroshi with a longsword. One man was a dwarf… the five others were as singular.

He did not find any pleasure in looking at the fights, his mind was miles away from here anyway.. As he had thought, the pitsit all felt too… superficial, a waste of good fighting men. He did not even bulge when the dwarf killed his opponent, even though it was not supposed to be to the death. The crowds roar their approval. Daenerys looked ready to leave. She would have sprung to her feet if he had not stopped her. He held her in place with a firm hand on her shoulder, getting out of his own worries for a minute.

"You cannot leave. It would be disrespectful, you wouldn't want to have more sons of the Harpy on your back, would you?" He whispered in her ear. She steeled her face and remained on her throne.

Daeron did not pay attention to the rest of the day. Save for Hizdahr, he was convinced no one did in the dais. Sansa and her mother were chatting in hush voices. And Daario Naharis only watched his queen who was focused on remaining unperturbed by what was happening.

Maybe it was why he took so much time reacting when it happened. It started in the crowds. Grunts of agony, out of nowhere, men dressed in the brown clothes of former claves started falling, revealing rich men with the golden mask of the harpy. They shouted in Ghiscari so Daeron could not understand them. Some of the shouts were too close for his liking. Indeed, three outlaws erupted in the dais. Daeron rushed to Ellaria, Sansa and her mother, he unsheathed his sword, though Ser Richard had already killed one of the opponents. Daario Naharis had ended another, too late though, Hizdahr's body laid in a pool of his own blood, his throat had been slit open.

More masked men were storming over the pit. Daeron braced himself for the fight, they would be outnumbered and in a difficult position. Not to mention they were surrounded. He started regretting bringing only Ser Richard and not Prince Oberyn. Though, he had no idea what was happening in the Great Pyramid, Arianne and Aemon might be in danger. Daeron cut through some of his opponent. They were not well trained, if trained at all, and they fought with knifes and daggers mostly, no match for a Valyrian steel longsword. Still, their number was overwhelming, and he was aware he had to protect his cousin and aunts as well as himself. He had lost the count of outlaws slain and of cuts on his body. He would deal with it masked men were storming over the pit.

Suddenly, a dark shadow loomed over the pit he hoped it was Rhoynax answering his call. It was not. The dragon that arrived was slightly smaller than Rhoynax and Weirion but not by much. It was not grey or white, it was black with red spikes on its back. It had to be Drogon, the wild beast his aunt would one day ride. Its roar seemed to work. The sons of the Harpy were startled, confused and backing away. Amidst the confusion, Daenerys walked toward her dragon, unprotected, as if transfixed. She had told her nephew that Drogon had disappeared for two moons, so maybe she was just happy to see the creature. After all, she considered herself its mother… But no, that was not enough, she climbed up the shoulder of the black dragon and settled herself on its back. Without a word from its rider, the black beast rose up to the sky.

"Gods, don't tell me she's fleeing on an untamed beast!" Daeron groaned out loud. If she really left like this, Drogon would likely take her somewhere and not bring her back, he would have to get her back somehow… And it would take him even more time to get back to Westeros.

At least, the dragon had the effect of dispersing the sons of the Harpy long enough for Rhoynax to arrive. She crossed Drogon in the air and the two dragons hissed at each other, a 'friendly' relationship between them seemed unlikely. Daeron got all his family on the back of Rhoynax. Daario Naharis, for some reason, refused.

"I'll finish them off for the Queen, see you at the pyramid." The sellsword announced with arrogance. Daeron wondered if the man was really a fool or if he was playing some kind of game. No matter how skilled, he would get killed by the number of opponents he faced. If he did indeed make it back to the pyramid, questions would need to be asked.

What did you think of the dream?
Did you enjoy my depiction of the pits?

Next chapter: Daeron finds Dany in foreign territory.

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