"We should have gutted the Kingslayer as soon as we caught him!" Richard Karstark bellowed at Robb. "You fool, you allowed him to escape! Why did I. . ." His rant was cut off by the Greatjon's fist in his gut, sending Karstark to his knees.
"Another word, and I'll gut you where you stand!" Greatjon warned, the man over twice Karstark's size.
"How did they manage to sneak in here and escort the Kingslayer out?" Half a dozen people were dead, and Jaime was free, putting his sister in danger. For all his orders to recapture the man, Jaime had developed a considerable lead on them.
"Perhaps some of the guards were bribed to look the other way," Bolton suggested, facial expression unreadable as always.
"Question them. . . gently," Robb instructed. He wasn't about to torture his own men on mere suspicion.
"And what of Sansa?" Catelyn worried. "With the Kingslayer freed, they can do what they wish to her, and we have no recourse."
"We still have two squires," Robb reminded.
"Both of which must be killed as a lesson!" Karstark snarled, recovering from the blow. "If you do not execute them, then you'll be seen as weak. You spared Theon when his father attacked us and. . ."
"Enough," Robb spoke, considering his options. "Send some men out to look for him. Make it clear I want him brought back here alive. It would be highly inadvisable to arrange any 'hunting accidents'."
"Your Grace, perhaps now is the time to march on King's Landing," Yohn Royce suggested. At sixty-one years old, he was the oldest individual in the room, as tall as the Greatjon, though not so wide. "You will never be stronger than you are now. The longer we wait, the stronger the Lannister's position will be. Edmure is already preventing Tywin from raising reinforcements from his land."
"Do we have enough supplies to last the journey?" Robb considered his options. Renly had failed in his efforts despite possessing over twice as many men. However. . . he had attempted to storm the city, something Robb knew was far too risky.
"The smallfolk will be able to provide supplies, given sufficient incentive," Bolton informed. "We can deny food from the Crownlands to King's Landing, which they cannot survive without."
"What of their forces?" Robb questioned Bolton, who was currently the closest to a spymaster he possessed.
"Similar to our own, perhaps slightly lower," Bolton responded. "But you have won numerous battles against worse odds. So long as you refrain from storming the gates, victory will be yours, Your Grace."
"Regretfully, we will not be able to spare many more men," Royce warned. "Lady Arryn is willing to avenge her good-brother's death, but many are tasked with hunting down the Imp's savages burning our villages and taking our women."
"I'm going to need them now." Robb sighed. The smallfolk would have to fend for themselves and retreat behind castles until he could avenge them.
"Your Grace, with all respect, I cannot allow those brutes to burn their way across the Vale with impunity," Royce refused.
"I understand your position, but if I am to take King's Landing, more men will be necessary."
"We could wait them out," Catelyn suggested. "The Lannisters are on their own, and we have all the power of the North, Riverlands, and Vale beside you. Joffrey is without allies and will grow weak."
"A woman's got no place at a war conference!" Karstark spat.
"Insult my mother again, and you will lose your tongue." Robb approached Karstark, faces mere inches apart. "If you have an alternative plan, tell me. I will tolerate no more insubordination."
Staring into Robb's furious eyes, Karstark lost his nerve. "Of course, Your Grace."
"There is little we can do to stop Jaime Lannister from reuniting the rest of his family," Robb concluded. The Gods keep Sansa safe. "But I defeated him once on the battlefield. I will do so again. Winter is coming, My Lords. It hits our lands hardest of all. This war must be brought to an end soon."
"Perhaps a betrothal with Margaery Tyrell," Catelyn suggested. "The Reach still have the largest army in the Seven Kingdoms. Tywin Lannister cannot hope to stand against all of us."
"Will they be so willing to take the field again after such a beating?" Bolton considered.
"The Reach has always been full of cowards," the Greatjon dismissed them. "They don't possess northern spirit!"
"Mace Tyrell's children are still hostages to the Iron Throne," Royce reminded. "He will make no move so long as his children are in danger."
"Staying at Harrenhal is what Tywin would expect us to do," Robb considered. A direct assault on the city would be futile. Even a siege would be impossible to sustain. "But I'm not going to let him control this war. King's Landing has half a million people. We can seize the farmland around the Crownlands and use it to sustain ourselves."
"We can't avoid a battle forever!" Greatjon insisted. "Make Tywin stop cowering behind the city, lure him out, and slaughter his men!" Catelyn frowned at this, though Robb was unsure why.
"Do you propose to storm the city the way Renly attempted?" Bolton asked.
"No, I won't send my men on a suicide mission," Robb refused. They argued over the details for most of the day, but in the end, ten thousand out of the seventeen thousand strong garrison inside Harrenhal were sent out to seize land in the Crownlands.
I don't think it's going to be enough. Food from the Crownlands would be denied, but food from the Reach and the Stormlands would be uninterrupted. Tywin would not care how many smallfolk died for his ambitions.
He ran through countless scenarios in his head. An alliance with the Tyrells might be sensible, but they would first have to rescue Loras, Garlan, and Margaery from King's Landing. The North possessed no intelligence of the city, negating that option.
"Stalemate," Robb groaned out loud. The Lannisters couldn't take the offensive, but neither could he.
"Robb, I didn't want to say this in front of the others, but we received a letter," Catelyn informed quietly. As the news about her father kept getting worse, his mother's mood continued to darken. "We just received a letter from the Night's Watch. They've informed us that an army of wildlings intend to march on the Wall."
"How many?" Robb questioned, fearing for his half-brother. He would have given anything to see Jon at his side now.
"At least 100,000."
They couldn't hope to stop an army like that. Robb realized. The Night's Watch of old could, but it had long since fallen to less than 1,000 men, with only three out of nineteen castles still garrisoned.
And protecting the North was his responsibility. Many of those who remained, at least his bannermen, were either too old or too young to fight. "What am I do to, then? I can't abandon the field to the Lannisters."
"Nor can you allow the wildlings to ravage your lands," Catelyn advised.
"So what am I to do? I can't leave Sansa in their hands!" Robb cared little for the Iron Throne despite taking it being his technical goal. King's Landing could rot, so long as he had his little sister back.
"The Iron Throne can wait. Your people need you in the North. They can't be abandoned for mere ambition."
"If it isn't one thing, it's another." Robb considered sending Theon to assist in their defense, but his friend was only barely tolerated. Wildlings were no match for seasoned fighters. . . of which there were now few in the North. Harrenhal provided a formidable barrier to Tywin, even as a ruin. The Ironborn and now Mance Rayder. . .
"Send a raven to Winterfell, have them assemble what men are still available to face him. The smallfolk will likely need to take up arms as well. I'll have to inform my bannermen and discuss how many we can spare, if any. And we'll move toward King's Landing. It's the last thing Tywin will expect and I want him shaking with fear." Robb would have been cruder, but could not say such things in front of his mother.
Seeing her worried face, Robb added: "And send a raven to Mace Tyrell proposing a match between myself and Margaery." He wasn't sure if the Tyrells would have any interest with three of their children hostage, but he would make the effort.
XXXXXXXXXX
"It appears as if Stark is making a move on the Capital after all." Tywin looked through the latest intelligence reports. Matthew slapped himself, trying to stay awake. A combination of nightmares from his wartime experience and Joffrey's torments made sleep very elusive for him.
"Perhaps he's getting too arrogant for his own good," Matthew suggested. "So far, Robb's won every battle. Easy to believe you're indestructible, especially at his age."
"A lesson you would do well to remember," Tywin advised. Matthew allowed himself a private laugh at the thought of the Lannister patriarch learning his true age. "Fortunately, my son has managed to free himself thanks to a few trusted men. More than you accomplished, dwarf."
"Being an eternal disappointment is more than worth it, father," Tyrion grasped the table, looking ready to charge across the table and pummel Tywin.
"Let's leave our private quarrels for when the war's over," Matthew once again kept them from tearing into each other. He'd never been more grateful to come from a loving family. "Any success raising a new host?"
"No, the Tullys have kept us off-balance, although it is at least tying down many of their knights. I hear you've been speaking with Lady Margaery."
"She seems interested in an alliance, provided of course she becomes Queen. The idea might have originated with Mace, but Margaery seems quite delighted at the prospect."
"With the Tyrells on our side, the Seven Kingdoms would belong to us."
"I wouldn't expect support from the Reach in the near future," Matthew mused. "Supporting Stark is a risk, one they won't take with three hostages. No, they'll sit back and wait to see which of us triumphs. Then they'll swoop in once the outcome is already decided and work behind the scenes to gain more influence. Highgarden is too powerful to ignore and the Tyrells know it."
"I've just been informed that Stark has sent a proposal to Highgarden to marry Margery Tyrell," Tywin informed, leaving Matthew momentarily dumbfounded. If he remembered correctly, Robb was supposed to marry a Frey.
"You seem remarkably unconcerned about this," Matthew studied Tywin.
"Wildlings are ready to march on his lands, the Ironborn are already raiding them, and belief in his cause weakens by the day. We are in a better position to form an alliance with Highgarden than him.'
"Isn't he supposed to be marrying a Frey? I can't imagine Walder will be happy to learn about this."
"Walder's unaware of this. . . for now. Once he does learn of this, the Freys will return home and he won't have enough knights to face us."
Tyrion broke out in dark laughter. "Robb's humiliated you every time you faced him. Your only victory was against a half-broken army led by a green commander."
"And you have done nothing but drink and whore for more than a decade. You are a worthless, pathetic, loathsome little creature who possess nothing but quips and low cunning. The Gods have. . ."
"Enough!" Matthew slammed his fists on the table. "Tyrion, perhaps it would be best if we continue this discussion alone, so if you would excuse us. . ."
"Far be it from me to continue soiling my father's good name. That reminds me; there are a few whorehouses in King's Landing I've yet to visit."
"Out!" Matthew snapped. He hadn't intended such harshness, but he was growing weary of dealing with their constant quarreling. Tyrion cursed, hopping off his chair and slamming the door behind him.
"Now that my son is no longer a concern, perhaps we can accomplish something," Tywin sighed. "I have hired two sellsword companies from the Stormlands and several lords have already pledged fealty to you. In total, they will provide an addition 4,000 men."
"Not enough to be decisive, although it'll provide us with an advantage. At least my Uncle is free of their grasp for the time being. I'm curious as to how this was accomplished."
"Every man has his price, even those who claim to be honorable. I received a letter from the Queen of Thorns, demanding I release her grandchildren as a precondition to a marriage."
"I trust you turned her down."
"Do you take me for a fool, Your Grace?" Tywin stared at him. "Of course I refused, and made clear that if she wishes to negotiate terms, either she or her fool of a son must travel to King's Landing in person."
"That should be a lot of fun." Having Olenna in the Capital meant she could poison him. Best not give her a reason. . . and watch her very carefully.
"She is not to be underestimated. Her rudeness is a mere façade to keep her enemies off guard."
"No doubt Olenna still considers us foes. However, we do have another issue that must be dealt with." Matthew explained what Tyrion had discovered, warning of what Littlefinger had done during his time at King's Landing.
Throughout the entire conversation, Tywin's face grew colder, though he made no audible sound of rage. Despite himself, Matthew felt slightly intimidated. Once he finished talking, Tywin responded: "I never trusted the man, but I believed Baelish had only his own ambition in mind."
"Would have been a lot easier if he had. Baelish had Ned Stark killed, destroying any hope we had of making peace with them. I think he might have wanted to become King, squirreling away enough gold and gems on his land to buy supporters. Few others would have possessed such funds."
"We still have a war to win before we can worry about Baelish's games."
"Speaking of which, I have a few ideas for it. How many gold dragons do you currently possess?"
"What possible relevance does this have? Have you forgotten that I still have a war to win?"
"We," Matthew corrected. "And I believe you'll be interested in my proposal. We can turn the Westerlands into the dominant power on the continent. I'm sure you know the saying: 'The Iron Bank will have its due.' This proposal can provide them with a direct rival. Now how much gold do you currently possess?"
Tywin stared at him for over a minute before responding: "Right now, approximately 25 million gold dragons."
Okay, if I remember correctly, the rough exchange rate is ten silver stags and two hundred bronze coins for each gold dragon. "Once this is over, there's going to be a lot of rebuilding to do. And all that gold isn't doing any good sitting in vaults. Therefore, what I propose is a Bank of Casterly Rock. Many lords will be in desperate need of funds, and who better to provide them than us? It'll give us another hold over our enemy bannermen. I believe that was your rationale for loaning three million dragons to the crown."
Tywin stayed silent, but had at least not dismissed the idea. Encouraged, Matthew continued: "We won't be able to use all the money at once, not without creating economic catastrophe. What we can do is lend money to the Lords I mentioned, along with others throughout the Reach and the Stormlands who wish an alternative to the Iron Bank." Matthew expected the Iron Bank wouldn't be pleased about the idea, but he intended to act in his best interests.
"Go on."
"Certainly some might try and not repay the loan, but I expect they won't wish to contend with the likes of Tywin Lannister. I don't doubt a few might attempt it anyway, and what happens to them will be an example to others. Then there's developing your regions. The designs I've given, along with the raw materials in the mountains, will catapult us into the dominant power, militarily and economically. I don't have the resources here to mass-produce them, and you do."
"Even if they prove as effective as you believe, Your Grace, I cannot hope to both mass-produce them and keep them secret."
"No, eventually our rivals will learn how to build their own versions. This is to give us as efficient as head start as is feasible. Then there's transportation, something absolutely crucial when it comes to war. The North is vast, but it is poor, undeveloped, and far slower to assemble troops. Another future advantage. Building stone roads, constructing canals which can be used for both offensive and defensive applications."
"Such a project would take many years," Tywin mused. "Nor can I divert my resources to this during a war, and it will be exceedingly difficult during the winter."
"King's Landing wasn't built in a day. I understand even in winter, there is still some activity." According to the Maesters, there were two sets of seasons. Crops could still be grown during the winter years, though yields were considerably lower. Another thing Matthew intended to change.
"Yes, crops are still grown, although famine is common during winter," Tywin informed.
"Last question: how many warships do the Westerlands possess?"
"Lannisport currently has around seventy longships, twice the fleet I possessed before the Greyjoy Rebellion. Other vassals have smaller navies, perhaps one-fifty in total."
Not bad, but I expect the Westerlands aren't much of a naval power. "And if we have to fight the Ironborn?" Matthew considered it a certainty.
"All the Iron Islands can do is launch occasional raids. They cannot hold territory and our land forces are far more important."
"I'd prefer to be strong enough to where if they attack us again, we'll be able to crush them. And if they do, make sure the Ironbon won't be capable of another attempt." Matthew knew such an action would be extremely bloody, but he'd been involved in similar actions during the war. "And the Iron Islands may have resources we can use."
"That I would consider a lower priority, and certainly not when my lands are being pillaged."
"All of this is long-term planning. So what do you think?"
Tywin mulled it over for several minutes. "Some of your proposals have merit, but few will be possible in the short-term. It's unlikely I will live long enough to see them completed."
"You're the one always talking about the importance of family. And if I could come up with such ideas, so can our rivals. I don't intend to be left behind."
"Once the war is won, we will be able to construct such ideas. There are times I wonder if you truly are my grandson. You are nothing like what I expected."
"War makes you grow up fast." Matthew fidgeted, knowing how close Tywin was to discovering the truth. This wasn't the first conversation he'd had with Tywin on the subject, and Matthew knew he wouldn't be able to stall him forever.
"A rather convenient explanation. There are days I think a mummer wears the face of my grandson, but even that wouldn't explain all your knowledge."
"Perhaps it's a gift from the Seven." Matthew suggested, but Tywin snorted at the very idea. I'd better prepare for the possibility of him learning the truth. What Tywin would do then he did not know. Perhaps he could be persuaded that such an arrangement was in his best interests.
Days continued to pass, one very much like another. Matthew spent as much of his time training with Barristan as he could. Each day brought further improvement, but Matthew knew he was a mediocre fighter at best.
He hired more men and increased the amount of resources available for his new weapons, but progress was going far too slowly for his liking. Matthew feared his advantage would soon be copied.
"Have some of the gold cloaks search for the secret passageways," Matthew ordered Bywater. Much as he'd preferred not to spook Varys in hopes of the Spider making a mistake, he didn't have the time to do it himself. "I believe the dragonpit will be an excellent place to start."
"At once, Your Grace." Jacelyn bowed.
"And keep me appraised of any progress you make." I'd like to know how he managed to win the Mad King's trust enough to learn of him. Or perhaps Varys discovered them on his own.
What little time Matthew had to himself, he used to make notes on his various ideas. Each time, he checked his information, ensuring no one had been able to steal it, memorizing where every piece of paper was. On occasion, Matthew burnt ones he felt he no longer needed notes to remember.
"Why didn't I think of this sooner?" A sudden burst of inspiration entered his brain. With all the income coming in, I can certainly afford to assemble an army of my own.
Matthew rushed to the armory, counting how many spears and crossbows they had in their possession. He would have preferred to arm his men with flintlocks, but more primitive technology would have to do for now.
There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of spears, and it wouldn't be very difficult to construct more. A couple hundred crossbows, battle-axes, poleaxes. . . This will do nicely, at least for now.
Next, Matthew ordered a dozen people to act as town criers. "Send a message throughout the city. Anyone who is interested in making some gold, assemble outside the city walls at sundown."
"At once, Your Grace." Each bowed and marched out to follow Matthew's orders.
All right, this will take some time to arrange, but I'm confident I can manage it. Matthew instructed the man-at-arms to assemble all weapons at the armory before sunrise, requiring everything to be ready before then.
How many would assemble, he did not know. Matthew knew he wouldn't be able to raise an entire host and training peasants would take time, but it would be a useful supplement to the Lannister forces.
"Why are you so insistent on doing this yourself?" Cersei questioned upon learning of Matthew's plans. "Father is just as capable of turning the dregs into fighters."
"Sooner or later, Stark is going to march on the Capital," Matthew explained, refusing to give the whole truth. "We barely survived Renly's attack, and Robb has been far more successful. We need more men and how better to inspire them than seeing their rightful King alongside?"
"Your father would have said the same thing." Cersei gave him a sad smile. "He was just as hard-headed."
"I'll whip them into shape." Matthew promised, having a strong feeling that he was speaking in literal terms. "Stark's already lost. He just doesn't know it yet."
"And I suppose you intend to fight on the battlefield?" Cersei sighed, hugging Matthew. Having a woman his age consider him his mother was still difficult to adjust to.
"Father did the same thing. All rules of succession aside, the Iron Throne belongs to whoever is strong enough to keep it."
"Yes, he did. Your Father loved nothing more than battle." Matthew wasn't sure whether she was referring to Jaime or Robert, but the description applied to both.
"Nobody wins a war by doing nothing," Matthew insisted. "Keeping the Seven Kingdoms together is now my responsibility and I won't let anyone tear it apart. Would you prefer people say the King is too frightened to fight his own battles?"
"I'd rip the tongue out of anyone foolish enough to say such a thing," Cersei proclaimed. Matthew knew her efforts could be useful, provided she was kept away from any real power. Cersei's viciousness would serve well for hunting down and killing potential traitors.
"I would appreciate such efforts, since I don't have the time to do everything alone." Doubly so on occasions when it felt like his mind was being torn apart.
Matthew's eyes closed within moments of entering his chambers, although not without a slight amount of fear. Varys was still out there, waiting to strike. "No harm will come to you, Your Grace." Barristan promised, keeping guard inside his room. At least until the passageways were found, Matthew was insistent on that point.
XXXXXXXXXX
Feels like I barely slept. . . Matthew groaned, stretching his arms and legs. Barristan still stood inside, having barely moved all night. "Good morning, Ser Barristan."
"Good morning, Your Grace," Barristan nodded. "Your breakfast is already prepared and I took the liberty of having a servant taste the food for poison."
"Thank you." Matthew gulped it down quickly. Having a food taster might have been paranoid, but as far as he was concerned, there was no such thing as too paranoid in Westeros.
Not waiting for his food to digest, Matthew rushed out his chambers, only just remembering to lock them in time. He knew this effort would not solve their manpower problem by itself, but should prove a useful supplement to the main Lannister army.
Matthew spotted horses waiting for him and the Kingsguard at the base of the Red Keep. Mounting it in a single swing, he galloped through the streets of King's Landing, trusting his bodyguards to keep up. Despite the sun only just peaking over the horizon, King's Landing was alive with activity. Businesses were open, with smallfolk going about their daily tasks. Chamber pots were emptied into the tunnels Matthew ordered dug. . . mostly, at least.
"Open the gates!" A voice called out as Matthew approached. Giving a nod to their competence, he prepared himself for a day of training smallfolk.
Standing in front of him were thousands of people in a loose formation, engaged in conversation with one another. A few appeared apprehensive, but most wore eager faces. Matthew estimated at least a third were boys, rather than men. This is Westeros, not the United States. He reminded himself. Modern values would only get him killed.
"Form up!" Matthew ordered, riding from one end of the crowd to the other. Most moved slowly, unaccustomed to military organization. This is going to take some time.
"Now before we do anything, all of you will swear an oath of loyalty to me and only to me." Matthew spoke as loud as he could, hoping his voice would be able to reach those at the back. "Those who refuse to do so can be excused without harm."
Those at the front were the first to go to one knee, gesturing for those beside them to do the same. Matthew personally expected they were more interested in the money he offered, at least in the short term.
Row by row, the crowd of thousands went to one knee, lowering their heads and pledging loyalty. "I am your king and I am your trainer! When I'm done with you, you'll be the new Royal Army, Gods have mercy on us all!"
Spears, shields, and crossbows were brought out, little by little, although Matthew could see they weren't going to have enough to go around. He hadn't anticipated such a massive crowd. "As of this moment, you are mine! You have many reasons for being here: gold, a call to adventure, perhaps even boredom! I really don't give a shit! From now on, you have only one purpose: to slaughter the enemy!"
"Do we get our weapons now?" A voice called out from the crowd.
"Who the fuck said that?" Matthew screamed. The unfortunate man was dragged to the front of the crowd until he was face to face with Matthew.
"I. . . did, Your Grace." A boy of sixteen, he could not bring himself to make eye contact.
"Do I intimidate you, boy?" Matthew demanded.
"Y. . . yes, Your Grace," he gulped.
"Then how the hell do you expect to face down a cavalry charge?" Matthew intensified his stare. Rather than respond, the boy shrank back into the line.
"I'm ready, Your Grace." A similar-aged boy jumped forward with an excited face.
"Are you ready to slaughter the enemy?" Matthew demanded, standing mere inches away from him. He shook, but unlike the other boy, was able to make eye contact.
"Yes, Your Grace!"
"Can you fight with your fellow men dead and dying all around you?!"
"Yes, Your Grace!"
"Well, then, I guess you're ready for action, aren't you?"
"Yes, Your Grace!"
"Wrong!" Matthew bellowed into his face. "Bravery will only get you halfway! I'm here to train you how to do the most important task in war: live! You will scream, you will bleed, but when I'm done with you, you will be ready to fight!" Matthew had his misgivings over it, being that medieval weapons often took years to become proficient at, rather than weeks.
He spent the remainder of the morning training them to stay in formation, threatening to flog those who were too eager for weapons. "None of you are going to touch a single spear until you shit-for-brains can manage to walk a straight line!"
By the end of the day, his peasants were ready for drills. Matthew demanded loyalty twice more before the sun went down, receiving a massive response. With the constant political games, Matthew intended to have an army loyal to him and him alone.
Shortly before the sun set, Matthew handed out four bronze coins to all who chose to show up, the payment considerably more than what most could manage in other jobs. "If any of you don't show up tomorrow, consider yourselves finished." Most struggled to stay on their feet, stumbling back into King's Landing.
This is a lot harder than I thought. It was easier being on the other end of this. Matthew turned to his Kingsguard and said: "Ser Barristan, Ser Balon, I trust you can confirm on them the value of honor. I don't intend to see my men turn into Clegane's brigands."
"I will be certain to teach them, Your Grace," Balon promised. The remaining Kingsguard made similar promises. Matthew expected such efforts would be of limited use, given the realities of Westeros, but he intended to try regardless.
XXXXXXXXXX
Coming here was a big mistake. Daenerys believed. When she listened to the sort of treatment given to the Unsullied that Kraznys described, it took all her self-restraint not to have him burned alive.
She kept her face expressionless witnessing the conditions of the slaves. That so many would rather die than continue their lives. . . "I cannot do this," Daenerys decided. "I cannot purchase a slave army."
"Do you have a better alternative, Khaleesi?" Jorah questioned. "The Unsullied are the best fighters in the known world. They have been known to defeat a Dothraki Khalisar six times their number."
"I don't question their fighting abilities," Daenerys snapped. Her three dragons walked alongside her, few able to keep their eyes off them. Drogon was growing faster, now nearly big enough to ride.
Masters watched the dragons with terror on their faces. Slaves stared only as long as they were not being watched. Daenerys allowed herself a slight smirk in seeing the same fear they so often inflicted on others.
"Khaleesi, if you wish to sit the Iron Throne, it will require many difficult decisions. Sometimes it will involve working with men that you would rather not." Daenerys' Dothraki looked at her objections with confusion, as slavery was considered normal in their culture.
"And how will they respond if I land on the shores of Westeros with a slave army?" Daenerys counted. "I want to liberate people from the Usurper's grasp, not enslave them."
"They will be sold to someone, whether it be you or not. The Unsullied would have much better lives serving you than anyone else. Would you toss such men aside like they were nothing?"
"Of course not!" Daenerys denied. She did everything in her power to look after everyone who chose to follow her. Perhaps. . . it would be best to save as many as I can. 8,000 men brutalized into servitude, and those were the ones who survived the training.
"You're the striking image of Rhaegar, Khaleesi. He was honorable. He fought valiantly. And he was killed by Robert Baratheon. You can save hundreds of Unsullied from serving men like Kraznys."
Perhaps I can save all of them. Plans began forming in Daenerys' mind. She had barely escaped Qarth with her life after the House of the Undying. It wouldn't be long before their assassins followed, which the Unsullied could shield her against.
A woman slight older than Daenerys made eye contact with her, gesturing her to come forward. She possessed black hair and a frightened expression, wearing slavery tattoos. Her body was thin, the woman's ribcage visible.
Ignoring Jorah's protests, Daenerys moved forward, feeling pity in her heart. She could imagine the suffering the woman was forced to endure at her master's hands. Perhaps she could help ease the pain. "Can I do something for you?" Daenerys inquired. "Do you need food?"
"I am so sorry. . ." The woman whispered, gripping Daenerys' arm tightly. She struggled with all her might to break the woman's grip, but the woman possessed far greater strength. A manticore emerged from the box, Daenerys nearly paralyzed with fear.
The dragons and her bloodriders moved to protect her, but Daenerys knew the manticore would sting her. It traveled quickly down the assassin's arm, her skin trembling at its touch.
A small stream of fire incinerated the manticore just before it stung Daenerys, her would-be assassin fleeing into the crowd before harm could come to her. Daenerys fell to her knees, cursing herself for being so foolish.
She turned around, anticipating that her dragon had fired the saving blow. Instead, a light-skinned man in a hood awaited her, bowing before Daenerys.
"Who are you?" Daenerys demanded of her rescuer. Her bloodriders rushed forward, ready to cut him down, before she gestured for them to stand down. However, the dragons appeared unconcerned, with Viserion even appearing friendly toward him.
"Benerro, Mother of Dragons." Daenerys felt a small smile at seeing such admiration from him. "I've been wanting to meet you for a long time."
"Thank you for arriving when you did." Daenerys grasped his arm. "And for saving my life. What favor might I grant you?" She studied the man, looking over the slave tattoos present on his face. Daenerys could only imagine how much he had suffered in his life.
"Favors are unnecessary. I merely did what the Lord of Light commanded me. You have a destiny, Your Grace, and I wish to do my part in helping you fulfill it."
"Beware men of worship, Khaleesi," Jorah cautioned. "This man has his own agenda."
"He also saved my life," Daenerys reminded. "I owe him at least the courtesy of hearing him out."
"I thank you, Your Grace." Benerro smiled. "You will face many dangers in the battles to come. I never thought I would life long enough to see this moment. I am from Volantis, Daenerys Targaryen, and I traveled here to meet Azor Ahai reborn." He gripped her hand gently. "I humbly pledge myself to your cause."
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Much of Matthew's economic ideas I got from the website Race to the Iron Throne.
At this point, I'd say Drogon is slightly smaller than Moondancer. Not quite big enough to fight or ride, but he's not far from reaching that point. Decided to combine the respective assassinations from the book and television show. Benerro is a minor character in A Dance With Dragons, but he'll play a more important role here.