Quentyn

"Where is Arianne?" Quentyn asked.

"Your sister's last raven was from Bitterbridge," Doran answered.

"And Trystane?"

"I sent him to Lemonwood, to squire for Ser Andrey Dalt. He was in Sunspear during the attack but was unharmed. He grew fond of Princess Myrcella, and it is my hope Ser Andrey will keep him busy and dull the wounds of her loss."

"The princess is dead?"

"We never found her body. I expect Euron took her."

"As a hostage?"

"If she's lucky."

Sunspear had smelled like smoke and ash, but breath deep enough, and the salty air and familiar smells of home were still there. The Water Gardens was worse. The blood and ash and smell of rot flew in the face of every memory Quentyn had of them. Queen Daenerys and her court had returned to Sunspear shortly after meeting with Quentyn's father. Back to Sunspear to oversee the ships and the offloading of all her people.

"How many people are on the ships?" Doran asked as if he was reading Quentyn's mind.

"I don't know," Quentyn said. "Ten thousand Unsullied, perhaps twice as many freed slaves, and many them are children."

"So I must find homes and food for twenty thousand more mouths even as winter comes. A winter that promises to be long and hard."

"She," Quentyn shook his head and shrugged. "She wouldn't leave them in Slaver's Bay just to be put back in chains but couldn't stay either, so she saved who she could."

Doran nodded.

"That's good, isn't it?" Quentyn asked. "A good ruler needs a good heart."

"So the Seven-Pointed Star says, but too much heart can be a weakness as well. Sometimes a ruler has to make hard choices."

Quentyn nodded. "Yes, of course," he spent a few seconds knotting his fingers together as he thought. "We can sell the ships or dismantle them for materials."

"The latter, I think," Doran said. "To rebuild the Shadow City, it will help at least," Doran laughed. "I foresee many brothels and taverns named after ships in the near future."

Quentyn chuckled and then stood to walk to the balcony and lean on the balustrade. The stones were still warm from the sun, but the night was cooling rapidly, a crescent moon hung in the sky, and its reflection rested on the ocean, though clouds were pushing in from the north to hide it.

"Father, the Red Priest, Moqorro, he said, he was saying there was something else, something worse than Euron, what was he talking about?"

Doran took his time answering. He sipped his wine and adjusted his blanket, pulling it further up his chest to ward against the evening chill. "No doubt he speaks of the Wall. It has fallen."

"The Wildlings?"

"Yes, them and more, or so the ravens say."

"More?"

"The Others."

"What? No, father, you're having a jest. You must be."

"I am not. Word came thrice from the Wall, the Dreadfort, and your sister. King Stannis and King Aegon believe it."

He called Aegon a king now, but not in front of the Queen. Quentyn couldn't help but notice that detail and wonder at the meaning behind it. He crossed back across the balcony and sat down. "But," Quentyn was at a loss for words. "But we must tell Queen Daenerys, we must tell her. Why… why didn't you tell her?"

"Today was not the time," Doran said. "The Northmen say it's true, the Kings believe, Arianne believes, but do I? Who can say for sure, were it not for Oldtown, I would have dismissed it as nothing but talk, but the Storm at Oldtown did happen, and I doubt rumours could spread so quickly to the North. The world is changing," Doran sighed. "But you are right, my son, we must tell Queen Daenerys, tell her and send her on her way."

"Queen Daenerys spent most of the journey planning her campaign against Stannis," Quentyn warned.

"And she was wise to do so, but things have changed. Let us hope she is wise enough to change with them. Oh," Doran said, suddenly startled. "Look, Quentyn, it's snowing."

Quentyn turned and saw the flakes falling for himself. The snowflakes melted the moment they touched the ground, but it was the first time he'd seen snow outside of the mountains around Castle Yronwood. He didn't think it had ever snowed at the Water Gardens before.

Quentyn spent the night at the Water Gardens in his childhood rooms. The Ironmen had ransacked it, of course. The wardrobes, chairs, and tables had been broken up with axes to better rip off the gilded panels and tear away silver inlays. They had stolen the silk sheets from the beds, and the goose feather mattress had been torn open in the search for hidden treasures.

Servants had restuffed the mattress and had sewn it back up, and others had replaced the silk sheets with linen. The mattress was still a little lumpy and uneven, but compared to the ship's cabin he'd been sleeping in for months, it was like a gift from the Seven Heavens. He was asleep only minutes after his head touched the pillow.

After Quentyn woke, he broke his fast on bread, bacon, and dried fruit with his father. All from the stores of the Water Gardens, which had been mercifully spared in the sacking. There was no evidence of the snow that had fallen the previous evening. It had all melted away before even the sun had risen. The air, however, still felt strangely chill, as if the wind was carrying a hint of cold air all the way from the frozen mountains of the furthest north.

"I will return to Sunspear today," Doran said. "And speak to the queen."

Quentyn nodded. "Yes, of course. When will we travel?"

"Within the hour."

The trip back to Sunspear was far slower than yesterday's ride to the Water Gardens. Though they followed nearly the exact same route as the previous day, they were slowed by Prince Doran's carriage, which only moved at a walk for the comfort of his gout, he said.

Five hours after leaving the Water Gardens, Sunspear came into sight. The sky was grey and overcast, but the burnished tops of the Spear and Sun Towers still glowed warmly with the light that pierced the clouds.

The former slaves from Slaver's Bay had set up their encampment over the burned ruins of the Shadow City. It was a huge sprawl of tents and shelters. Many ships had been beached and were already in various states of deconstruction for reuse as building materials. Work crews of Dornishmen and Freedmen were busy at the ships and in the Shadow City, repairing what they could and salvaging what they could not. Quentyn thought he spied Queen Daenerys and her courtiers overseeing the work.

The Dornish bowed as Prince Doran and Quentyn passed them on the way to Sunspear. Some of the Freedmen copied the Dornish, others knelt and touched their heads to the ground as they would to a Master in Slaver's Bay, while others stood silent and still as the princes passed.

Quentyn stood in his saddle to look for Swift Blow and its crew but did not see either.

The Three-Fold Gate opened for them without hesitation.

Ser Manfrey and Ricasso were waiting in the courtyard to welcome their prince back to his seat of power and quickly hustled him into the great hall, where Prince Doran took his place on one of the twin thrones of Dorne.

The queen arrived shortly after, with her bloodriders and Ser Barristan close behind her.

"Your Grace," Prince Doran bowed as well as he could.

"Prince Doran," Daenerys curtsied.

"Please let me take this moment to welcome you properly to Sunspear. I fear with winter come and so many new mouths to feed, I daren't hold a feast for fear of seeming cruel and uncaring to my subjects who have lost so much recently, and so I hope a private dinner will suffice."

"Of course, my prince," the queen replied.

The dinner was hosted early in the evening in a dining hall in the Tower of the Sun. It was small compared to the great hall but still large enough to host all the guests comfortably with room to spare. Doran, Quentyn, and Ricasso were joined by Ser Dezial Dalt ridden up from Lemonwood. Daenerys was accompanied by Ser Barristan, of course, and her eunuch, Strong Belwas. Her bloodriders also came. The three Dothraki seemed both puzzled and excited by the castle around them. Victarion and Moqorro and several Ironmen captains Quentyn didn't recognize came in a while after them.

Before long, people were beginning to mingle. The Dothraki gathered around Ricasso as the old man was one of very few in Westeros to have studied their tongue. Two of the Ironmen were trading boasts with Strong Belwas, while Moqorro spoke quietly with Queen Daenerys and Ser Dezial. Quentyn even spied Ser Barristan and Areo Hotah chatting quietly in a corner. He wondered if they were comparing the merits of swords against axes. He smiled slightly and sipped his wine, and then looked for Victarion.

The huge man had left his armour behind in favour of a black wool doublet that must have been terribly hot in the Dornish heat. Or it should have been. It was strangely cold of late. Even so, he was standing near one of the open windows to catch the breeze.

Victarion barely paid Quentyn a second glance as he approached.

"Lord Victarion, welcome to my father's hall."

Victarion glared daggers at Quentyn and chewed slowly on his words before speaking, but at the last moment, he seemed to decide not to speak at all.

Quentyn half-smiled as he tried to push through. "I did not spy Swift Blow or Captain Urri upon my return to Sunspear. Has he departed already?"

That at least was something Victarion was willing enough to answer. "I sent Urri and Swift Blow north to follow Euron's fleet and scout the Stepstones," Victarion turned and quickly left Quentyn behind before he could ask anything else.

"That went as well as it could have gone, I guess," he muttered under his breath.

The servants began placing food. The first course was a vegetable soup, flavoured with spices and served with warm bread. The soup was only lightly spiced to Quentyn's and the other Dornishmen's tastes, but even so, he saw the others struggling with red faces, watery eyes, running noses, and burning tongues.

No one complained openly at least, and before long, the servants were taking away the first course and replacing it with fish baked in breadcrumbs with orange slices, peas, and carrots.

As they dug in, Prince Doran raised his voice. "Your Grace," Quentyn's father said to Daenerys. "I fear as things do we must turn from dinner and pleasant conversation to matters of the kingdom."

From the corner of his eye, Quentyn caught Moqorro smiling so widely the flames on his cheeks looked warped and distorted.

Queen Daenerys noticed as well. She laid down her cutlery and sat straight in her seat. "What have you to say, Prince Doran?"

"There has been word from my daughter Princess Arianne confirming what other reports I have received of all kinds of strange things in the distant parts of the Seven Kingdoms."

"What things and where?"

"In the North, it is written that the Wall has fallen and that the Others have returned."

It was like all the air and warmth had been sucked out of the room.

"Who writes that?" Queen Daenerys asked quickly.

"The Night's Watch, Lord Bolton, Stannis and Aegon, and my own daughter as I said."

"And you believe them?"

Doran smiled. "It snowed at the Water Gardens last night, never has it done that in written memory."

"Why did you not tell me last night?" Daenerys' tone was stern, and her purple eyes were like chips of amethyst.

Doran sighed. "Prince Quentyn asked me the same question, and I couldn't answer. I think it was simply that I didn't want to believe it."

Queen Daenerys took a sip of wine before she spoke again. "Who says the Others have returned?" She asked for a second time.

"Everyone who writes to me," Doran said. "From the North and from my own daughter, the story is the same. The Wall fell first to Wildlings and then to the Others. The killing cold spreads across the North as we speak."

Daenerys stood suddenly. "Forgive me, my prince, I find I need some fresh air," she quickly strode to the doors to the balcony, opened them, and stepped into the chilly evening outside.

Silence continued to reign over the dinner. For a few tender and awkward moments, one dared to act. It was Victarion who finally broke the quiet. The Ironman lord noisily started digging into the fish. A few others began to eat as well, while others no longer seemed hungry. Ser Barristan had left the chamber to follow Queen Daenerys outside. Moqorro was not eating either but did not seem displeased. Quentyn put his cutlery down, the Red Priest had always put Quentyn on edge, but his too wide smile seemed almost unnatural given the sombre feeling that had overcome the rest of the dinner.

Quentyn stood and walked around the table, making his own way to the balcony doors as the food on the table was slowly eaten.

He failed to suppress a shiver when he stepped outside. His long-sleeved silk doublet suddenly felt like it was hardly there. He'd never felt such a chill in Sunspear before, only in the mountains around Castle Yronwood. Ser Barristan and Queen Daenerys were standing at the far end of the balcony where there was a view of the harbour and the Shadow City.

Ser Barristan whispered something into the queen's ear when he saw Quentyn approaching.

"Your Grace?" Quentyn bowed as he grew closer.

Daenerys said nothing but waved Ser Barristan away. The white knight stepped aside.

Quentyn came closer. "Your Grace, for myself, my prince father, and House Martell, I apologize if we offended you."

The queen's hands tightened, her knuckles white against her pale skin. She relaxed suddenly and sighed. "Can I trust your father, Prince Quentyn?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Quentyn said immediately. "He has worked so many years for this moment."

"And yet your sister and uncle were sent to treat with my nephew, and now your sister stands beside the Usurper's brother as well. Your father tells me I must join forces with them both to fight Euron Greyjoy."

Quentyn stuttered. "Y-your Grace," he knelt, trying to gain a second to think, but the queen continued.

"Then, as if afraid I might suddenly balk, he delivers the news that the Wall has fallen and the Others are returning," her hands tightened again.

"Your Grace," Quentyn found his voice. "I know not what to say to you, but I must say that I trust my father's good intentions and my sister's as well. Neither have any love for House Baratheon in their hearts. I cannot believe that this is some kind of plot against you."

Daenerys nodded and tapped her fingers on the rail.

"If it pleases Your Grace, I would accompany you on your voyage north. If you distrust my father, then place your trust in me, and if I am wrong… then my life is yours."

"Then your life is mine," Daenerys said quietly.

Quentyn felt goosebumps spread across his skin and wasn't sure it was due solely to the cold wind.

"I must return to Balerion," Daenerys said. "There is still work to be done if the fleet is to follow Euron on the morrow."

"Of course, Your Grace," Quentyn stood. "Have a good evening, Your Grace."

Quentyn watched Daenerys, and Ser Barristan depart. He didn't return to the dinner. He wasn't hungry anymore. He waited in the cold until he heard the door open again and the tell tale squeak of his father's wheeled chair.

"Whatever you said to the queen seems to have mollified her," he said. "What did you offer her?"

"To go with her," Quentyn said. "If, if what was said about Stannis, Aegon, and… and the Others isn't true."

"Then your life is forfeit," Doran sighed. "You've made yourself a hostage."

"But there's no risk, isn't there? Nothing you've said is a lie."

"It's not that simple. It never is. Lies and truth they rest in the eye of the beholder."

"So then…"

Doran waved his hand to silence Quentyn. "Enough, my son, what's done is done, so now we must ride what comes. Go and warm yourself, have something to eat, and then rest. Queen Daenerys plans to leave early tomorrow."

"Yes, father," Quentyn bowed respectfully before leaving.

His sleep was fitful, and when he woke in the earliest hours of the morning, he felt like he'd hardly slept at all. He ate quickly, dressed himself in his warmest clothes with the aid of a servant, and packed more for the journey. He received armour of mail reinforced with overlapping metal scales and a helm with a gilded sun from the armoury. A shield faced with a gleaming copper sun and spear, a footman's spear and a sword of castle forged steel completed his equipment. He went to the sept and prayed to the Warrior for the courage and skill to use them.

Twenty Martell guardsmen accompanied him to the docks, where they joined a force of two thousand more Dornish spears. They were all Prince Doran could gather in time to join Queen Daenerys the haste demanded left too little time to gather any more Dornishmen.

Prince Doran and Queen Daenerys were waiting for Quentyn. He hardly heard their speech to the gathered soldiers and the freedmen being left behind. He had to remind himself to breathe.

When the time came, he followed the queen onto her flagship Balerion, and beneath steadily falling snow, the fleet left Sunspear and turned north.

Imry

The Royal Fleet pushed south, driven by a strong north wind. A steady wind, they made such good time Imry was almost worried he'd dart right past Greyjoy and his pirates. The wind had been frustrating at first, for it had threatened to drive the fleet onto the shores of Massey's Hook as they moved across Blackwater Bay. It had been oars, not sails until they'd rounded the Hook and turned south. Once past the peninsula, the Royal Fleet seized on the wind and quickly made up for the lost time.

As they advanced, more ships joined the fleet, Salladhor Saan's sellsails, warships belonging to the lords of the Narrow Sea coast, from Massey's Hook and the Stormlands, small galleys coming in ones and twos but still welcome. Finally, a contingent of fifteen ships with the suns and moons of House Tarth joined them at the northern tip of the Saphire Isle. All were welcome.

Other ships were less welcome. The captains sent to Pentos, Myr, and Tyrosh to look for Princess Shireen returned one by one with no news and no princess. Likewise, there was no sign of the ships that had gone to Lys, Braavos, or Lorath. The last two were to be expected, for they would head directly back to King's Landing. But the Lysene ship should have returned by now. Perhaps it continued on, Imry wondered, or maybe it went to Volantis?

He pushed the thought aside and focused on the present. The captains who joined the Royal Fleet reported that Euron's pirates had moved around the Broken Arm of Dorne and were headed north. Imry smiled at the thought.

To his oarmaster, he said. "If this wind keeps up, we will have the advantage."

The oarmaster, Maric Seaworth, did not seem so happy. "I've never seen a wind like this," he said. "To come so steadily from the north for so long, even in winter it should turn to come from the east just as often."

"Bah, only the Seven know the weather," Imry said. "Let us count our blessings without worrying."

"Yes, my lord," Maric said. He turned on his heel and returned to the lower decks.

Imry turned away as well, looking south.

They were off the southern coast of Tarth when a shout came down from the crow's nest.

"Smoke!" The crewman cried.

Imry raced to the forecastle to see it with his own eyes. He searched, eyes burning from the effort. There. The clouds almost hid the grey smoke, but he could see it there, rising into the sky from beyond the horizon.

Some bit of instinct informed his decision. "Change course," he ordered. "Make for the smoke."

The fleet tacked east and started pushing toward the smoke. Lookouts up in their nests high on the masts kept their eyes peeled on the horizon.

They sailed closer toward the source of the smoke, closer and closer, but it remained stubbornly hidden beyond the edge of the horizon. Time passed with painful slowness as Imry struggled to keep his attention on the horizon.

"Sails ho!" The sailor shouted.

Imry looked up to see where the sailor was pointing and had to quickly raise a hand to ward off the sun despite the thick clouds. South by southeast. The right direction for Greyjoy's fleet.

"Sound drums," he told his deckmaster, then, recalling the too near to disaster that the opening stages of the Blackwater had been, he shouted. "Raise the flags! Form the battle line!"

"I will not be caught flat-footed this time," he said quietly. "The Imp might have been able to get the drop on me, but not this pirate." This battle was on the open sea, and the closest rocks and reefs were miles to the west around the Isle of Tarth. There was nowhere to hide. There would be no surprises here.

The minutes ticked by, and one by one, more ships and sails revealed themselves on the horizon and formed a long and dark line that spanned the horizon. Lookouts called out banners and sails as they saw them. But the only one Imry cared about was the golden kraken of Greyjoy, which was there aplenty. He looked at the enemy fleet through his Myrish Eye, and there were more ships than he had expected. Sellsails from the Stepstones? "Yes," he said. "They must be."

"My lord?" Maric Seaworth asked.

Imry turned to face his oarmaster. "Sellsails," he said. "From the Stepstones, hired to fill out Euron's fleet with dregs," he paused and looked in the distance behind the Royal Fleet. "Speaking of sellsails, Salladhor Saan looks to be lagging behind."

"He's guarding our rear," Maric said.

"From what? Clouds and waves? Raise the flags. I want the whole fleet into a line to match the enemy. I don't want to be flanked!"

The officers saluted and went to work. Drums beat a quick rhythm, and flags flew. The rest of the fleet responded and began pulling into position one by one.

"Spread out!" Imry ordered. "We don't want the bloody oars to get tangled together or have the Seven Hells damned Ironmen slipping around us."

More flags flew, and the drums beat another command.

Imry smiled, slightly nervous, and his hands squeezed the wood. "We have the wind," he said. "It's in our favour."

But even as he spoke, he watched the sails suddenly deflate as the north wind, so reliable for so long, quickly died. The air hung still and silent, and then a new wind rose. It was a gentle, almost imperceptible breeze from the south. The Royal Fleet's maneuvering slowed to a crawl for a few precious minutes as the oars were extended. Then like many-legged insects across the surface of a pond, the oars took over where the sails failed, and the Royal Fleet advanced.

Imry watched the enemy fleet make the same maneuvers.

As the wind turned to blow from the south and continued to grow stronger, the clouds above them descended, growing thicker as they did until the whole sea was smothered in fog. It was so dense and so thick Imry could hardly see across the deck of Fury, let alone any of the other ships in the fleet. His world shrank to the dozen or so feet he could still see. Beyond that, there was nothing but the faintest hints of nearby shapes. Sounds were muffled as well, shouts sounded strangely echoed as if they came from deep within a cave, the beat of drums was as if the instruments were hidden behind hills and trees, and the bugles he could barely hear at all.

There were many long minutes of nothing, but silence before a cry went up.

"There!" A lookout shouted. "In the mist!"

Imry was one of many who looked around so quickly he almost pulled something in his neck. There was a shadow in the mist, but it gained form rapidly. An Ironman ship, far smaller than Fury, he watched the crew of reavers panic at the sight of the enormous triple-decked and three hundred oared war galley. Then, before Imry or any of his officers spoke any commands, the archers and scorpions of Fury were sending volleys of missiles at the exposed deck of the enemy ship. Some were aflame, many were not, and blood-stained timbers and water in equal measure before long.

"Turn!" Imry shouted. "Ram her!" He ordered as he tried to regain some measure of control over the battle.

Fury turned slowly, but the faster Ironman ship had backed oars and fled out of sight before the war galley had made even a quarter turn.

"Damn them to the Seven Hells," he cursed. "Bloody cravens."

Something caught his eye. Flame burst into vision, muted by the fog and distant even so, he couldn't see the source. But he saw flame erupt and outline the mast and rigging of a ship in flames of emerald and scarlet.

The sudden light hurt his eyes after the gloom of the fog. He raised a hand to ward off the light.

Then he saw it, a shadow in the clouds, a long and sinuous shape with vast wings. It was all in shadow, silhouetted against the light reflecting off the fog. Imry lowered his hand and waited in fear and dread as the shadow grew darker and darker, and then vast wings beat once, and the horrible shadow disappeared into the fog. A roar echoed over the water.

"Dragon," Imry said, his voice was thin and quiet, hardly audible even to himself.

Thoughts hit him one by one like the beating of the drum from below deck. He was outflanked. The fog hid the dragon. The Ironmen were doing… something. If the ships of the Royal Fleet had been closer together, maybe they could drive it off with volleys. But no, he'd ordered them to make a long line. He felt panic rising in his chest, reaching into his throat to strangle commands before they were spoken.

"Retreat," Imry managed to say quietly. "I need to order a retreat," he said to himself. He looked up to the signal flags and remembered that the fog was too thick. No flags could be seen. "Drums!" He shouted. "Drums! Sound the retreat!"

A cry rose up from behind him. Imry turned, half drawing his sword on instinct, before slamming it back into its sheath. What good would it do? He saw the shapes darting through the fog. Small Ironmen ships moved like wolves after sheep as they looked for easy prey among the Royal Fleet. Some shot arrows at Fury, and Imry had to clumsily dodge a pair of arrows that threatened him by hiding against Fury's wooden parapet.

He heard the drums beating, and through his fear, he thought he recognized the signal for retreat. His careful line must have been in chaos as the enemy fleet closed in. The dragon roared. Fire burst into view, highlighting a war galley less than a hundred paces away from that Imry had never known was there before now. The flames

He heard the distant sound of drums beating a chaotic rhythm. Horns were sounding warhorns, not southern trumpets. The Ironmen were among the fleet. Arrows fell, and Imry dived for cover. One pinged off his helmet and stunned him. He stayed on the wooden planks for what felt like a few seconds but might have been minutes. He wasn't sure. Smoke spread and mingled with the fog, making it even harder to see. Imry was having trouble breathing. Was it the smoke? It must be, he decided. He was a Florent the blood of Garth Greenhand himself, and Florent's didn't get frightened. He forced himself upright just in time to see the dragon again.

The beast was sweeping high, barely visible in the mist, but was made clearer by the flames beneath reflecting off the fog banks above. Imry fell back down. The crew of Fury was shouting and screaming, and he thought someone mentioned the longboats. It might have been any one of a dozen officers. Imry wasn't sure. He forced himself upright again. I am no craven, he repeated in his mind, or was he saying it aloud? He wasn't sure. He forced himself forward and toward the midships where the boats were being readied on two tottering feet.

The dragon burst out of the fog like a demon from the Seven Hells. It swooped and breathed flame over Fury and set the mainsail ablaze. Heedless of the heat, smoke, and sudden light Imry turned to watch the dragon continue its carnage. He saw arrows rise into the air, trying to hit the dragon, but missed and more often than not fell back down to threaten the crew. He saw the dragon turn and scorch the stern-mounted catapults. The dragon flew on, and he saw it make a turn back toward Fury.

Imry quietly pulled off his helmet and tossed it over the side. It wouldn't do any good against the fires that were spreading. He heard it splash as it struck the water. He closed his eyes and felt the heat of dragonfire flash over him. He tried to scream, but his lungs had turned to ash.

Arya

She was running. Four furry paws were pounding the ground like a racing heart, kicking up snow with each step. It was cold and wet, but her fur was thick and warm and proof against cold far worse than this. She knew her two brothers, one silent and white, the other furious and black, had survived far worse than this. The thought gave her strength as she ran. Her little cousins followed her, howling and yelping as they chased the prey, elk and moose, deer and mountain sheep, rabbits and hares, beasts and birds of every kind. She knew the cold and snow should make the prey scarce and skinny, and skinny the prey was, but not scarce. There was more and more every day. Prey that smelled of old forests, wild fields, and creeping marches. Lands very different from the rivers and hills she and her little cousins lived in.

She leaped a fallen tree and was on the trail of a moose. She sniffed the air and sneezed when a snowflake slipped inside her nose. But she had the scent and howled. Her little cousins answered. The chase was on.

Arya woke up.

Her hammock shifted gently with the swaying of Wraith. There was no sign of the strong winds and small storms that had dogged and driven Wraith south since the moment they'd departed Braavos.

She heard Shireen snivelling. The princess had slept in the bed that night. It had been her turn to take Lord Dale's bed. The Captain of Wraith had given up his cabin for Arya and Shireen to use.

"Are you alright?" Arya asked.

"I'm fine," Shireen said. "Just a bad dream."

"Was it… was it the storm?" Arya had had bad dreams about the massive storm that had consumed Braavos as well.

"No," Shireen sighed. "It's stupid. I used to have them all the time, but not since I let Dragonstone," Shireen sat up in bed, arms wrapped around her knees. "At Dragonstone, all the towers and parapets and buildings look like dragons. Sometimes in my dreams, they come alive and try to eat me."

Arya nodded and got up from her hammock, feet as quiet as a cat as she crossed the cabin to Shireen. "Let's get up. It must be close to morning anyway."

"You go," Shireen said. "I'll catch up in a few minutes."

Arya nodded and left to dress herself. Of late, she hardly recognized herself anymore. Her reflection in the ocean water was like that of a stranger. Lord Dale had replaced Arya and Shireen's dirty commoners' clothes with silk dresses. A maid had washed and cleaned their hair, and then the rest of them before Wraith had even left Braavos. Arya felt cleaner than she had since before being taken from King's Landing. With her new dress, a little too long for her, so it dragged on the deck, and her hair worn loose, Arya made her way up the ladderlike stairs to Wraith's prow.

She could feel something was different immediately. For the first time in weeks, the winds didn't blow from the north. In fact, they hardly seemed to be blowing at all, just the most gentle of breezes from the southeast, but there was no more warmth to it than the north wind had had for the last few weeks. Like she'd guess it was morning, and the eastern sky was turning brighter by the second.

She leaned over the rail, letting the breeze catch her hair until Shireen joined her on the prow.

"No sign of the fleet?" Shireen asked. She was fiddling with the end of her long braid.

"Nothing," Arya sighed. "Just water and clouds," she pouted. "Sailing is boring."

Shireen giggled and said. "At least this time, we aren't locked up in a cabin."

Arya snorted. "Where are we supposed to be anyhow?"

"We are supposed to be going to King's Landing," Lord Dale himself came up from behind. They turned, and Dale bowed. "Princess, my lady," he straightened. "But the winds have not been kind, I've never seen winds like this, to push south so determinedly, and the storms with them, small ones, thank the Seven," he shook his head. "We've drifted so far south. We're off the coast of Tarth now." A sailor shouted something, and Dale sighed. "My pardon my ladies, I must see to this."

Lord Dale left, and Arya looked back out to sea. Wraith rose with a large swell, and she saw something floating in the ocean. She felt the ship shift slightly as the drum began to beat a new pattern and the oars started working. The drum was slow and steady, and the oars worked the sea, and Wraith turned and moved closer toward what Arya had seen. The closer they got, the more Arya saw. Dark things were floating in the sea.

They drew closer, and Arya could finally see what the floating things were. They were bodies. Some looked torn, while others were charred like they'd been burned. Mixed with the bodies were pieces of timber and spars of wood that also looked like they'd been burned.

Dale looked grim when he shouted his command to the crew. "Keep an eye out for any survivors."

Arya looked again. Some of the bodies still wore surcoats with sigils that she didn't recognize, others had nothing at all, but the gold and black of House Baratheon was unmistakable on a few.

"The Royal Fleet," Arya said. Dale had told her the Royal Fleet had been going south to fight Euron.

"Who could have done this?" Shireen asked quietly.

She turned to Shireen. "The Ironmen must have done this."

The princess held herself tightly. "Where are they now?"

"Sail ho!" A sailor shouted chrome the crow's nest.

Wraith quickly became a hive of activity for the next few minutes, like a kicked ant's nest. Sailors ran this way and that, pulling on ropes and bringing the sails about. The gentle wind from the south filled the sails and pushed the ship slowly north. The oars were out as well, and the drums beat a faster tempo than before.

Arya left Shireen and made her way to the war galley's stern and watched the horizon. Minutes passed without any signs of the sails the sailor saw. But before long, she did see them peeking over the southern horizon. Then, one by one, they appeared. It must have been a whole fleet. Arya drummed her hands on the timbers and time with the drumbeat below decks. Wraith continued to plow through the seas, her sails full and oars pulling as hard as they could. But the other ships were faster, and they slowly closed the distance.

"Lady Arya," Lord Dale approached her from behind. "I must ask that you go below decks before the arrows start flying."

"But," Arya bit her lip. "I'm not afraid."

"Gods give me strength," Dale said. "I hope when I have a son, he is half so brave as you are, my lady. I don't doubt your courage, yours or Princess Shireen's. You survived the kidnapping and the streets of Braavos, but arrows will start flying before long, and I cannot risk your safety."

Arya nodded. "I understand," she turned to follow Dale down from the stern, but as she did saw something from the corner of her eye. Her head whipped around, and she saw something moving above the ships, two shadows in the blue sky with serpentine bodies and wings.

She turned. Dale had seen them too, and his face was pale.

"Below decks is a trap now," Dale said quietly. He shook his head. "Run to the boat," he said. "The crew will ready it for you and the princess."

More feverish preparations took over the crew of Wraith. The small boat stored amidships was righted and prepared with water and supplies. Arya and Shireen sat in the boat while four sailors waited nearby, ready to push the boat off the side of Wraith and hop in to man the oars. The rowers below decks slowed their pace, and the scorpions were loaded, spears and axes and crossbows were readied by the crew to defend the ship. Below decks, the rowers pulled even harder than before.

Arya watched Lord Dale pace back and forth across the deck as the enemy crept closer and closer. The two dragons were circling high in the sky and slowly growing closer and closer as well. Suddenly one of the dragons began to descend, flying faster and closer rapidly.

Arya was entranced as she watched it come close and closer until it was skimming over the ocean only a few hundred paces from Wraith. Then, flame belched from the black dragon's maw, turned the sea into steam, and hid the dragon from view. When it reappeared, it held a mouth full of fish in its jaws. It was only then that she saw it had no rider. Shireen hid her eyes in her hands the whole time.

"My lord!" A sailor shouted for Lord Dale's attention at the stern.

Arya growled, but she was too far away to overhear what was being said, and one look at the Sailors around the boat, and she knew they'd not let her leave.

Whatever Lord Dale and the sailor spoke of soon after, Wraith began to slow. The oars lifted from the sea, and the crew hauled the sail up.

"What's happening?" Arya demanded when Dale came to speak to them.

"They're flying a banner of truce," he explained.

"Why would the Ironmen want to talk?" Arya asked.

Shireen looked similarly puzzled.

"That's just it," Dale said. "They're flying Targaryen and Martell banners."

Wraith came almost to a halt, and the other fleet caught up fast. Some of the ships looked like Ironmen to Arya, but a few looked like nothing she'd seen before outside Maester Luwin's books about Princess Nymeria.

They milled around Wraith like dogs around a sheep, herding the war galley and keeping it from escaping before one finally approached.

The ship was only a little longer or taller than Wraith but had the ungainly breadth of a trading cog but scaled up. The black dragon circled high above while the white dragon landed on the stern. Sailors scurried on both ships, throwing ropes each way to tie the two together.

A gangplank was lifted into place and dropped down.

Lord Dale commanded the crew to gather on the top deck, all in a line, armed but with their weapons sheathed. He and his officers stood near the centre of the line with Arya and Shireen.

The people waiting on the other side were quick to cross, and Arya stifled a gasp of surprise when she recognized the old knight crossing the plank. He looked older and more weathered, but Barristan the Bold was almost unmistakable. Behind him was a woman was dressed in white, her silver-gold hair hung past her shoulders, soldiers with shields and spears and identical armour followed her. Arya shuffled slightly as the soldiers lined up opposite the crew of Wraith, tall and short, thick and thin, but they were all identical and moved more like cogs in a Myrish clock than men.

Ser Barristan stamped his armoured feet and announced. "Her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Shackles, and Mother of Dragons, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

The Targaryen queen looked them up and down. Arya felt her eyes pass over her without a second glance. Even Ser Barristan didn't notice her, though he did keep one eye on Shireen. "And you are?" She asked Dale.

Dale stepped forward. "Dale Seaworth, Lord of Rainwood Keep, and Captain of Wraith, a ship of the Royal Fleet, in service to His Grace King Stannis of the House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, the One True King of Westeros, and Protector of the Realm."

"House Seaworth," Daenerys repeated. She then turned to Ser Barristan. "I do not know that house."

"The Seaworths are newly raised," the old knight said. "Davos Seaworth was a criminal, a smuggler. He earned his name, knighthood, and a keep at the Siege of Storm's End. He smuggled supplies through Lord Redwyne's blockade. It is said he saved Stannis Baratheon and the garrison from starvation and defeat," Ser Barristan paused. "If Storm's End had fallen, Lord Mace Tyrell would have been free to join Prince Rhaegar at the Trident."

Those words hung in the air for a few seconds.

"I see, and them?" Daenerys pointed at Arya and Shireen. "Strange to find two little girls at sea on a warship."

Arya bristled slightly. Daenerys could not have been but a few years older than her. Dale looked at Shireen, who looked at Arya, who paused a moment and then nodded.

Dale took a step forward. "Wraith is honoured to be playing host to Shireen Baratheon, the Princess of Dragonstone, and her companion Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell."

Daenerys eyes darted back and forth between both of them. Her surprise was evident for all to see.

Arya let her lips curl up slightly, like a snarling wolf. "She doesn't scare me," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth to Shireen.

A dragon roared high in the sky above them.

"It's not her I'm worried about," Shireen whispered back.

Arya remembered Shireen telling her about her nightmares back on Dragonstone, of the stone dragons coming alive, terrible and hungry life.

She took her friend's hand. Shireen squeezed back and took a step forward, drawing the attention of Daenerys again.

"House Seaworth has served my father with honour and dignity since before I was born," she said. "Even unto Lord Davos' death, he did not waver in his loyalty."

Daenerys looked back at Dale. "I'm told that Stannis and my nephew have agreed to a truce. What do you know of this?"

"Yes, Your Grace, and he did. King Stannis and King Aegon fought several battles, from the Stormlands, into the Reach, and to the shadow of the Hightower itself. I wasn't there, Your Grace, I didn't see what happened, but I've heard of it, and they cannot be exaggerated, for whatever happened at Oldtown, it made King Stannis and King Aegon agree to make common cause in the war against Euron Greyjoy."

Daenerys stood silently for a moment, deep in thought, Arya supposed.

"What is said to have happened?" The Targaryen asked after a moment.

"That Euron bound a storm to his will, that he cast lightning and thunder down upon the armies of Stannis and Aegon. And that since then, he's been leaving a trail of ruined cities and towns in his wake."

Queen Daenerys frowned. "Yes," she said. "You have the right of it. We passed Lys on our voyage west. Euron had been there and destroyed it."

Arya felt strange. She'd grown up listening to stories of the Free Cities. They'd seemed a strange and wondrous place, each one of them a solid and unchanging as mountains. Now, if Daenerys told the truth, one was just gone.

"We have followed him north," Daenerys said.

"The winds have been kind to you then. The wind has been unseasonably northern of late."

Queen Daenerys sniffed. "Moqorro says Euron is binding the winds to him with blood sacrifice," she pointed northeast. "Those aren't just clouds. There's smoke as well from ships."

Arya watched Daenerys tense slightly before continuing. She wondered who this Moqorro was and how he'd know so much about magic. Perhaps he was a sorcerer from Essos like some whispered Stannis' Master of Whispers, Lady Melisadnre, was.

"Ships full of captives," she finished. "Fire and blood."

Arya bit the inside of her cheek

"You are not the first of Stannis' ships we have encountered," Daenerys said. "Others have been found, and they tell the same story. Euron used sorcery," the queen paused. "And his dragon to defeat the fleet and scatter it to the four winds. Like them, you will join us and our sail northward."

"To where?"

Daenerys smiled. "Euron Greyjoy sails to King's Landing, and I intend to catch him there."

"Very well," Dale said reluctantly.

"Princess Shireen and Lady Arya will join me on Balerion," Daenerys' tone brooked no argument.

Dale argued nonetheless. "I cannot allow that."

Daenerys half-smiled. "Do you think you can win?"

"No, but by my honour, as a knight, I must try."

The queen paused and considered for a moment. "Very well," she said. "But Wraith will still join our sail northward."

Lord Dale nodded but said nothing.

Queen Daenerys turned and crossed the gangplank back to her ship Balerion, and her soldiers followed one by one.