The Crossroad
Through the window in the tavern, Arya could see flames lick the dark sky.
At dusk, the Queen's Men lit the bonfire from heaps of kindling, the sparks blending first with the fading rays of sunset before roaring into an orange, yellow, and red blaze. As night fell, more worshippers gathered around, and the shadows grew longer and longer. Stannis and Davos did not attend but there were plenty of Baratheon knights and men at arms, their eyes drawn to the sultry curves of the priestess. Melisandre stood closest to the fires, her long copper hair and dark red robes melding with the flames.
The pattern of prayers was always the same. The Red Woman thanked the god for the gifts of light, fire and heat, while beseeching him to bring back the dawn and banish the darkness. The followers chimed in with short staccato invocations to the Lord of Light. At key moments, when Melisandre invoked the name of Azor Ahai, Lightbringer and the Great War to Come, the flames would surge higher, striking awe into the rapturous crowd.
It was a mummer's trick. The Red Woman had long sleeves, to hide powders and sleights of hand. She had an excellent voice, rich and deep, that carried well and reminded listeners of spices and cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg from Asshai, Essos and the gates to the Jade Sea. The priestess could beguile many into following the Red God. Arya was not one of those.
"Why don't they stop that chanting?" Rickon cried out.
"It will be at least another half an hour." Arya replied. "The Red Woman still needs to warn her followers. For the night is dark and full of terrors. Then she will ask for the return of the sun."
"The sun always comes back. We don't need this Red Rahloo for that."
"R'hllor, Stupid. The Lord of Light is named R'hllor."
"R'hllor, Rahloo – what's the difference? We wake up in the morning and see the sun again." Rickon spat in disgust.
Arya hoped her youngest brother would always be right. Arya was now two and ten, and for every day she had lived, the sun set in the west and rose in the east. Prayers to the gods, whether it was the old or the new, were not required. But that was not what the followers of the Lord of Light believed. R'hllor's main purpose was the War with the Great Other.
"Melisandre says that the Long Night will be upon us. Her prophecy is that when the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai will be born amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone."
"So?" Rickon replied.
"The red star was the comet which has come and gone. The Red Woman thinks that darkness is gathering beyond the Wall. Once the Long Night falls, the sun won't rise again."
"She is lying." Rickon snarled. "That is just a scary story. Old Nan told us about the Long Night, but it won't come true. It is a lie!"
"It may not be a lie." Jon said calmly. He and Robb had returned. "Bran also sees enemies assembling. Cold shadows with cold blue eyes and pale white swords."
Robb slumped down heavily at the table. "His visions are getting more and more vivid. And frightening. White Walkers, ice spiders, an army of the dead. Bran says the Great Other will bring the Long Night back with all its horrors and the realms of men will fall."
"How long did the Long Night last?" Arya asked.
"Years. There are hundreds of legends of the Long Night, all slightly different. In Yi Ti, they say the sun hid its face for a lifetime, until the Monkey Warrior accepted her tail. In the Rhoyne, the Long Night lasted a generation and froze the great river. There are stories too in Qarth, Lhazar and Ghis of a creeping darkness. In the North, the First Men were driven south by the Others. Children were born, lived and died all in the darkness, but how long a life lasted back then is hard to say." Jon answered.
"This was eight thousand years ago." Robb said. "Who knows what is real and what isn't. Maybe this time, the Great Other can be stopped before his forces march south."'
Arya snorted doubtfully. "Do you expect Stannis Baratheon to be Azor Ahai reborn? If he can't defeat the Lannisters, how can he beat the White Walkers? Melisandre is afraid to even say the name of the Great Other."
"Stannis Baratheon is a good fighter and a fair leader of men. He defeated the Ironborn in the Greyjoy Rebellion but Arya is right. Beating a pirate fleet does not mean you can face a god. The Great Other is the Red God's equal. Stannis might blunt the attack for a bit but he will not win a war against the dead, even if his army was much larger. Prayers from the Red Woman will not make a difference. None of us are ready to battle a god." Jon said.
"Maybe Thoros is right." Robb murmured. "Maybe you are Azor Ahai, and can find a way."
Jon interrupted. "I have no desire to be Azor Ahai. Who would want to suffer such a fate? The Last Hero went to the cold lands and searched for years. He lost his companions, his horse, his sword, and even his dog. It is not a good tale. He won by killing his wife, and only after the deaths of tens of thousands, many of them innocent women and children from famine and cold. If that is the future, then it is a dreadful one. We must do everything possible to stop this. Why should we accept the words of the Red Woman?"
"Do you think she is lying?" Arya asked.
'I don't know and I don't care." Jon shrugged. "A storm is coming. That is clear from Bran's dreams. We can listen to prophecies but we do not need to obey them. If the world will end, then let us fight. We will face the Great Other and our enemies like men."
"And women." Arya said. "Women can fight too!"
Jon smiled and ruffled her hair. "Of course, sister. Women are just as brave as men."
"So you have decided, then." Robb said. "You will sail to Braavos."
"To get allies. I will speak with the Iron Bank first but I mean to travel further. We cannot fight this threat with swords and spears. We need magic."
"You are going to get dragons." Arya smiled. "Do you think Daenerys will be another Visenya? Will she be a warrior as well as a dragonrider?"
"Daenerys is a conqueror. She has defeated three cities in Slaver's Bay. I hope she will look favorably on our needs, given shared blood and the cure to the plague."
"I will head to the Wall to see whether Stannis and the Red Witch can stop these threats. The Night's Watch must be warned and our bannermen prepared. I will write a raven to the lords." Robb said.
"I am going with Jon to Braavos." Arya declared.
"You can come, sister. But Essos is a queer place, full of mystery. We may find allies there, but also enemies. We know little about the Free Cities - only that they are the colonies of Valyria. The Freehold is still a great unknown. The dragonlords were strong in sorcery, and those secrets may still linger in Essos."
"No one has ever returned from Valyria." Robb said. "Magic is a dangerous thing. Be careful in your travels, brother."
Her older brothers looked grim. It was a heavy burden on Robb to be the head of House Stark. The Long Night might be a threat to everyone, but would fall first and hardest on Winterfell and the Stark bannermen. As for Jon, he had a more difficult task - to find some way to strengthen the North against an impossible threat. He had wanted to do so with farms, harbors, bridges and roads but that would not work against the dead. Dragons might, but even that was no sure thing. Since Robert Baratheon died, House Stark had been in a perpetual state of war with only little respite. We have no choice, Arya thought. Wolves were born to fight.
The Sealord's Palace sat northeast of the Iron Bank on a canal overlooking the lagoon marking the end of the sweetwater river. Built around a courtyard, and patterned with soaring arches and gold painted domes, the structure was the meeting place for the merchants, magisters, officials, keyholders and noble families of Braavos. What it lacked in size compared to the great castles of Westeros, the Palace made up for in rich gaudy decorations - elaborate facades, sculptures of marble and stone, and giant frescoes on the walls and ceilings. Commerce, not wars, had made Braavos wealthy - first the treasures of the lagoons in salt, fish, and a sea snail that excreted a dark purple dye, and now the fleets of ships that traveled the Shivering, Narrow and Summer Seas. The purple sails traveled as far north as frozen Ib, east as the Jade Gates, and south as the jungles of Sothoryos.
Braavos was a young city, full of energy, exuberance and vitality. In many places, death was greeted with mourning. King's Landing prayed to the Stranger after the Great Spring Sickness, and Oldtown wept and wailed when counting those who fell from the Shivers. But after the Dragon's Cure was distributed, Braavos celebrated with music, dance, drinking and feasting. Dandies strutted about the Moon Pool eager for a duel with their rapiers, minstrels serenaded courtesans on sleek barges, and mummers performed free shows and farces in inns and alehouses along the bridges and docks. When the playhouses opened next week, patrons would pay full fares to attend but for now, the city rejoiced in their escape from death. That was doubly true at the Sealord's Palace.
Mira, along with Captain Sarra Snow and her brother Asher, joined the revelry in the courtyard. Mira wore a black lace mask, a simple disguise next to the full and half gilded, jeweled and feathered masks in the crowd. Sarra hid her face behind a Yi Ti veil attached to a golden circlet and Asher wore a barbuto helmet with a T for his eyes and mouth. The gray steel matched his breastplate and sword. Asher grabbed a cream cake stuffed with nuts off a servant's tray.
"You look like a lady from the Reach." Sarra commented. She was dressed as an imperial courtier, in yellow robes adorned with birds and clouds.
"I have no other clothes." Mira defended herself. "Most shops are closed, and the few open ones charge a fortune. Besides, Asher came as a sellsword."
"He is a guard. Guards and servants come as they are. But you are meeting the Sealord tonight." Sarra sighed. "Well, perhaps it doesn't matter. There are more important things going on tonight than the Uncloaking."
"Why do we need to meet with Lord Antayron? Surely, he does not concern himself with every mercenary in the city." Mira said.
"When the Sealord sends an invitation, he expects a reply. The Company of the Rose is not just a band of traveling sellswords. Braavos has been our home for many years. The Sealord acknowledges the debt to Jon Snow but he may not be ready to declare the lions and stags his enemy." Sarra said.
"Would Braavos really fight for the North?" Mira wondered.
"The North? No. The eventual ruler of the Iron Throne in a Targaryen restoration? Possibly. But it will depend on what Braavos receives as payment." Sarra said.
"Everyone wants to be on the winning side." Asher snorted cynically. "The Sealord wants great rewards with little risk. Like every sellsword. Why do you think Braavos is so rich?"
It was not just the Sealord who demanded an audience. There were half a dozen robed priests in the grand chamber and two envoys of the Iron Bank, in purple and black. Mira noted that none of these, except the Sealord's son Niko, bothered to wear a mask. These were serious people intent on serious business.
The Sealord was an old man whose hard black eyes belied his failing body. He had a thin smile, and despite sitting by a roaring fire, was covered in thick silk blankets. A cup of dark liquid rested in two bony, spotted hands. That was the only drink in the chamber.
"Have you been in Braavos long?"
Mira was certain the Sealord already knew the answer. "Two moons. My ship arrived when the plague hit Braavos. I am glad that the city has recovered from the recent troubles."
Ferrego Antayron gave a brief nod. "Thanks to the elixir. Tell me, Lady Forrester, what do you know of this Daemon? Captain Snow says you wish to hire the Company of the Rose to serve the Targaryen prince."
"In truth, I did not know he was a Targaryen. I was sent here to smooth ties between the Reach and the North. My lady thought it would be a sign of goodwill, if the Company of the Rose returned to the service of Winterfell." Mira paused to gather her thoughts. "This may seem poorly timed, but when I left King's Landing, we had little news of House Stark. There was no reason to believe that Snow would travel to the Crownlands, or that he would cure the plague."
"The ships from Maidenpool say that House Tyrell invited the Targaryen to come South. Did they suspect his identity? Is this a scheme by the Tyrells and the Starks to claim the Iron Throne?" The Sealord's son asked suspiciously.
"My lords, I cannot see how. Ned Stark was an honest and honorable man. Robert Baratheon held him in great esteem, almost as a brother. When I was a child, I met the Starks several times with my family. There were no rumors of Snow at the harvest feasts - only that he was Ned Stark's bastard. The South sees the North as a harsh and remote land. If there was no talk at Winterfell, then there would be even less in the Reach or King's Landing. No, I am certain that this was a secret." Mira replied.
"Had the Stag King known, there would have been a war." The Sealord said. "A war five or ten years ago would have been a simple thing - a few houses pretending to be lions and stags sending knights, archers and spearmen to die in the frozen North or the royal fleet blockading House Manderly and White Harbor. But this has become a complicated affair - bloodier and of far greater danger to Braavos."
"But why, my Lord? If I sail North, then I would seek an audience with Jon Snow and Robb Stark. It takes time to call the banners. By itself, the North cannot defeat the Iron Throne. The Starks will need to seek allies. I do not see how that would put your city in peril." Mira said.
"In a war, things can change quickly. No one is truly safe, and small pebbles create great ripples." The Sealord said.
The hunched over crone in a dark red felt robe spoke. "The dragon king is coming to Braavos."
"He is still a prince." The Sealord said. "A king requires a kingdom. Prince Daemon has no throne, only a name. A great name, to be sure…."
"Call him what you like." The priestess interrupted. "He will be here before a fortnight passes. Braavos must choose soon whether it stands with the dragons."
"Why is Snow coming?" Mira wondered aloud.
"We do not know but the moonsingers have seen this in their visions. The House of Black and White and the Temple of the Lord of Light also believe this to be true. We have no spies in the North. Even if we did, this Daemon does not seem very predictable." The Sealord said.
"An enemy would not save us from the plague. Daemon Targaryen does not sail with an army. He may be here to talk or gather sellswords." The Sealord's son said.
"Dragons are known for deeds, not words. They rarely rely on paid swords." A tall man, richly dressed, from the Iron Bank said. "History shows that dragons are violent creatures. Methinks Daemon is like others of his house, ready to unleash blood and fire."
"You are speaking about Queen Daenerys in Meereen." Niko Antayron remarked.
The envoy's face was unreadable. "Great forces are gathering in the Free Cities. Volantis thirsts for war. The triarches are only the tip of the spear. Magisters, mercenaries, archons and princelings have joined the cause of the Masters who offer enormous bounties in gold, gems and slaves for revenge. A great fleet is gathered at the mouth of the Rhoyne. Had the plague not occurred, they would already be at the gates of Meereen. Volantis wishes to lead the other Free Cities. They will kill the dragon queen, enslave the freedmen, restore Slaver's Bay, and bring back the slave trade. There will be blood."
"And what will Braavos do? I thought the First Law of Braavos was that no man, woman or child of the Secret City would ever be a slave or a thrall." Mira said.
The Sealord's face looked old and haggard. "The law of Braavos, but not Essos. Braavos is only one city. One city cannot defeat eight. Our trade happens on the seas. We are a naval power, and cannot hold land. Braavos is opposed to slavery, but cannot stop the slave trade."
"We should, Father. We should end all slavery. It is an abomination." Niko said fervently. "Let us do what is right."
"A war against the Masters would damage trade. The magisters join the fight because Daenerys is costing them gold. A great, great deal of gold. Slaves are the source of wealth for much of the Free Cities." the banker replied.
"And that wealth pours into the Iron Bank! We know the truth. Many keyholders profit from the slave trade. How long has it been since Braavos fought against slave masters?" Niko shouted.
"We defeated Pentos in the Fifth War." The banker said.
"That was a hundred years ago. The Pentoshi still practice slavery. The magisters collar and brand their servants." The Sealord's son said in disgust.
"Volantis is far, and Meereen is even further." The Sealord sighed. "A war over the slave trade will be long and bloody. We do not know whether Queen Daenerys can be trusted. She did end slavery but in a brutal way. She killed the Good Masters after buying a legion of Unsullied in Astapor. She sacked Yunkai and Meereen."
Mira thought the Sealord was being unfair. The dragon queen put her enemies to the sword. So did many others. Tywin Lannister gained his fame by butchering House Reyne and the Rebellion, Robert Baratheon and his allies had killed many followers loyal to the dragons. The great houses survived but many smaller names were extinguished. "Pardon, my lords. But what will Jon Snow do when he hears about the Queen being threatened?"
"He has never met his aunt. The dragon queen is a potential rival. Her death costs him nothing, and would strengthen his claim to the throne. The Targaryens have always been a quarrelsome family. They have been guilty of kinslaying before." The envoy from the Iron Bank said.
"The Valyrian Freehold united against outside threats." The old priestess closed her sharp eyes. "Dragons may quarrel with each other but they will not suffer the harpy, the tigers and the rabble of old Ghis. Tell me, girl - what will Daemon do if the Masters threaten his aunt?" "Jon Snow will fight. Wolves do not let their brothers and sisters die." Mira replied immediately.
"That is your answer, Sealord. Volantis has declared war against the dragon queen. But there are other dragons, and they are just as capable of fire and blood. Valyria is eternal."
"Valyria is dead and buried. Shattered islands in a smoking sea." The older banker said. "The Freehold died in a single day, leaving only scorched and demon haunted lands."
The priestess shook her head. "Valyria is not a place. It is a dream. The Freehold was more than an empire. The glass candles are burning. The dragons are growing. Magic returns and so will the dragonlords. Before this war ends, we will see sorcery greater than anything since the Doom. The embers will spark in Essos, before consuming the world."
Aegon forced his tired eyes open. His bones ached and his face dripped with beads of sweat. He flexed his fingers and toes, grateful that blood was returning to the extremities. The shivering was gone, and his teeth no longer convulsed in an odd chatter. Aegon tried to rise, only for his head to swim, and fell back heavily onto the feather stuffed mattress.
"Your grace, you are still too weak." The healer splashed broth from a silver goblet into Aegon's mouth. "The fever has broken but you must rest to regain your strength." Haldon wiped a cool cloth, cleaning up both the errant droplets of soup and the damp sweat.
The large tent held half a dozen others. A few blurry faces were familiar – Septa Lemore, Duck, and Haldon Halfmaester - but Aegon did not recognize the hairless servants or the bearded guards. "How long?"
"Two weeks, your grace, but Illyrio managed to secure the elixir four days ago. " Lemore said. "I will let Lord Connington know that you are awake."
"Wait." Aegon rasped, his voice hoarse with disuse. "What of the Golden Company?"
The maester placed the goblet down. "A few hundred died, a quarter of the Company are still ill but many will recover. You received the first batch brewed by the Temple of R'hllor. Shipments of elixir continue to arrive from Braavos. The magisters may grumble about the high cost but their coffers remain open. It will be a close thing but Pentos will survive."
It had been a close thing for Aegon as well. He knew from lessons with Haldon that plague often struck down armies but this outbreak had happened without any war. The vaunted Golden Company - the finest band of sellswords gold could buy - might have been vanquished without a fight. Aegon shuddered for the past few days, lost in a haze of weakness and pain. The fever, the aches, the chills, and the swelling of those dreaded black spots - he could have fallen into a sleep that never ended. And then what would have happened to all of their plots?
"I need to get up. Tell Connington to gather the leaders of the company to meet with their king." Aegon swung his legs to the side. The bed was high, and his feet dangled in the air. Aegon jumped off, grimacing as he landed on both feet.
"Your grace, this is not wise. You are still weak from the ordeal." the maester said.
"I will look weaker if I don't rise." He snapped as the servants rushed to dress him in red and black. Young Griff, the blue haired boy sailing down the Rhoyne, was gone. He was Aegon the VI, last of his name, and needed to be seen as such by the Golden Company. Sellswords demanded gold but they respected strength more. Aegon settled himself by using a sword and scabbard as a makeshift staff. "Lead the way, Duck."
Strickland and Illyrio waited in the tiled courtyard. Those two were seated while Connington stood with the other captains - the Summer Islander, the Lyseni spy, the bastard who hated apples, and veterans who wore their wealth in golden arm bands.
"Your grace, I am overjoyed to see you better." The magister exclaimed, stroking a forked oily yellow beard. Casks of pale green and amber wine were stacked next to platters of fried finger fish, suckling pig with a plum sauce, goose livers drowned in wine, quails in honey, and a single plate of buttered parsnips. The vegetables were untouched.
"Pardon me for not getting up, your grace." Strickland smiled. "My poor feet - blisters from the march from the Disputed Lands."
Aegon swallowed his distaste for the lavish feast. The Golden Company had been hired to win back a throne, not eat rich and fatty foods. Then again, Strickland was a cautious man, more focused on gold and contracts than battle. The Commander General seemed more a paymaster than a warrior. "My lords, is there news from the Seven Kingdoms?"
"A riot broke out in King's Landing over the death of a Reachman. The lions have been feuding with the roses." Lysono Maar, the blond effeminate and perfumed spy, said.
"What about the North? What more do we know about this secret Targaryen?" Aegon asked.
"Jon Snow?" The Lyseni spymaster shook his head. "There are fanciful tales about his actions during the war in the Riverlands. He attended the Citadel. He commanded the Northern army in Robb Stark's absence. But your brother has been hidden for years." "Half brother." Connington said sourly. "And we do not even know if that is true. It might all be a lie, spread by the Starks."
"The boy declared himself to the Tyrells and Martells at Maidenpool. The world certainly believes that he is a Targaryen." Illyrio said.
Since birth, Aegon had been told by Griff that he was the last hope for his house - that he would avenge his father and regain the Iron Throne. Now there were two other dragons, and neither knew of his existence. "Will the North be an ally or an enemy?"
"Even if Jon Snow is Rhaegar's son, he is a bastard. He is also younger than you. He owes you an oath of loyalty. He should bring the Starks to your side." Connington said.
"That may be true in a Southern court." Harry Strickland cautioned. "But in war, blood matters less than swords and gold. The first Daemon started a war to secure his wife's crown. The North may not rally their banners for us. They may declare themselves independent."
"The North is full of savages who worship trees." Connington bit back. "They should be happy to follow a Southern king."
"The Starks don't agree. They overthrew the Mad King in the Rebellion. They defeated Joffrey's lions in the Riverlands. If they support Daemon's claim, then claiming the throne will be much more difficult. The wolves beat the lions at war." Strickland replied.
"Lions, wolves, stags. The Westerosi are obsessed with sigils." The obese magister sucked the bones of a suckling pig. "There is only one house that matters – the dragons. We need to look East, not West. Make Daenerys your wife, and gain her dragons, then the conquest of the Seven Kingdoms will be certain."
"The queen has not left Meereen for many moons. That may be due to the plague, but there was no sign before the outbreak that she wishes to depart. Are we certain she will join us?" Strickland asked.
"We can give her an army." Connington said.
"She has an army. Eight thousand Unsullied soldiers, the remains of Khal Drogo's forces, Thousands of fanatically loyal freed slaves, and three large dragons." Strickland mused. "The Golden Company can add to her numbers but enough to ask for dragons?"
"She will have no choice." Illyrio's voice hardened, a sharp contrast to the bloated fleshy body. "Volantis has a fleet of six hundred ships. The Great Masters have support from Tyrosh, Myr, Lys, Qohor, Qarth, and the cities of the Ghis. Dothraki khals, ironborn reavers, merchant caravans, the spicer guild, the Pureborn – all benefit from the slave trade. Once the Volantene fleet arrives in Slaver's Bay, the dragon queen will need to flee Meereen. Who better to rescue her than a lost nephew? When her enemies siege the cities, we will whisk her dragons away."
"I have spoken with the Yunkish envoy." Lysono added. "He has offered an enormous sum of gold to fight against Daenerys Targaryen. The amount is so great that it will beggar the Masters if they lose, and will attract the other sellsword companies like flies to shit."
"We did not accept the contract, your grace." Strickland said. "Not officially. But we offered to help with training the forces, and some of our sergeants are preparing the battlefield. We won't fight against the Queen but we will know when and where Volantis plans to strike. Our men are sailing with the fleet, as observers."
"What will happen to my aunt's followers?" Aegon said.
"The Unsullied will be cut down. Her Dothraki will be killed or enslaved by their own. Targaryens are difficult to control. It will be easier if her army is destroyed." Connington said.
"And the slaves?" Aegon asked.
"They will be put back in chains." Connington shrugged. "Unless they took up arms - those will be crucified along the roads and gates as a warning to others. Many will be butchered but not all. The masters need to replenish their numbers for the slave trade."
"There is no need to worry, my king. Slavery is like water in Essos. More slaves can always be found. Pirates and raiders harry the coasts, Dothraki shear the Lamb Men, new slaves breed in cities to serve their masters, be given as gifts, or sold in the markets. That is the way of the world. Lords can do what they want with smallfolk, and so can masters with chattel. The strong rule the weak, and the weak suffer as they must." Illyrio explained.
"But slavery is not accepted in Westeros." Aegon said.
"You have a kind heart, your grace. When you sit on the Iron Throne, you can assemble a great host in the name of justice. No doubt, the houses of Westeros will join a crusade against evil, and the cities of Essos will submit. For now, such things are not possible. You can be righteous and honorable after victory. Those who lose in war are remembered for failure, not kindness." Illyrio said to the nods of the other commanders.
Aegon was not fool enough to believe those honeyed words. Without the Golden Company's support though, he had no chance. He needed the magister's gold and influence. He needed his aunt's dragons. A king must make sacrifices to gain a crown.
Her dreams had changed.
In Dragonstone, when the cold winds gusted at night through the gloomy castle, Shireen dreamt of dragons waking from stone, ready to devour her. The old maester had assured her that the visions were false but then he died. Cressen drank a cup of wine with the Red Woman at a feast. Melisandre survived. Cressen did not.
In the North, her dreams had changed. The dragons did not need to come to life. They had already awoken. They flew through the sky, their shadows eclipsing the sun. There were three - of different colors and sizes. But the great beasts seemed to mean her no harm.
Shireen was not convinced the danger had passed. Dragons were willful creatures, and only a bonded rider was safe from their anger. Was she too small and insignificant to matter? Her father proclaimed himself as the rightful king. That made her Princess and Heir to the Iron Throne, but she knew that titles were only words, and words were wind. The Targaryens had a stronger claim to rule, and they had dragons. A fully grown dragon could destroy an army.
Snow was a Targaryen. When she was young, on those few occasions she attended court, Shireen heard the King revile the Targaryens as treacherous scum, half mad with incest and lust. Uncle Robert was a bad judge of character. Jon Snow did not have the Valyrian features mentioned in songs – pale skin, silver gold hair, and violet purple eyes but he had the other attributes of the dragons. He was brave, clever, ambitious and honorable. Perhaps he was terrible to his enemies but he cared for family and followers. Shireen debated telling Jon Snow about her dreams. He would protect her from the dragons, even if she was a Baratheon. She was sure about that, given his kindness to the Wintertown children.
The trestle table in the taproom groaned with platters, trays, and trenchers surrounded by jugs and pitchers. The Northmen broke their fast with large quantities of simple but comforting food - thick loaves of golden brown bread, porridge with honey and cream, twice baked honey cakes, soft boiled eggs, and oat biscuits. The cheese, bacon, sausage, salt pork and smoked fish would be saved for the colder days to come.
Shireen poured a cup of milk and spread a dollop of blackberry preserves on an oatcake before realizing that something was amiss. Edric Storm was nowhere to be seen. That was surprising. He loved to eat and drink, particularly before sparring in the yard with sword and shield or riding in the tilts with a lance or spear.
"Lady Whitestone." Shireen timidly approached the tall dark haired girl. "Have you seen my cousin?"
"No - is he missing?" Mya asked.
"He is not at breakfast. He is not the sort to miss a meal." Shireen responded. Like many growing boys, Edric had a fierce appetite.
"The Baratheon squire?" A Wintertown boy sitting by the lady's side asked. "The Red Witch took him this morning to her quarters."
"What would she want with Edric? Is he a follower of R'hllor?" Mya asked.
"No, Edric is a Warrior's man. He wants to become a knight, anointed before the Seven."
"Shireen – Does the Red Woman pose any danger to Edric? I thought that she was one of your father's most trusted advisers." Mya said.
"She is more feared than liked or trusted. I don't know what she might do." Shireen blurted out. "There is no reason for Melisandre to spend time with Edric."
"We can seek her out." Mya stood up. "Edric is my half brother. I will not see him harmed."
"Melisandre is guarded by many. They patrol the door before her rooms. I don't know much about their sigils - moths in gray and white, a winged pig, and two knights charging at each other with swords. They do not look friendly." The Wintertown boy said.
"My husband Lord Mychel could force the issue but it may come to violence. The Baratheon knights are a difficult bunch, prone to swaggering and boasting. And if this is your father's orders, he may take offense and the Red Woman might seek revenge." Mya said.
"We do not have the power to confront King Stannis, but Jon Snow does. He has no fear of the Red Witch." The Wintertown boy said. "Let us find my master."
The boy's name was Chett, and he had been with Snow since the war in the Riverlands began. That gave him easy entry, past the Stark knights and guards at the ringfort. The two great dire wolves nodded briefly as they entered the solar, where Jon Snow and Arya Stark waited. The Wintertown boy quickly explained their concerns.
"Edric Storm has only been missing since this morning. Could there be another explanation? What purpose would the Red Woman have to hold him behind closed doors?" Snow asked.
"I am not certain. Melisandre wields powerful magic but I have never seen her do more than see visions in the nightfires." Shireen said.
Arya snorted. "The Witch might claim she has visions but how do we know? Anyone can lie about what they see in flames."
"Chett, speak to the Little Birds. They watch carefully and know more. At the very least, they can tell us whether servants have seen the boy." Snow commanded.
The Wintertown boy nodded, dashed outside, and returned quickly with several Little Birds. Shireen recognized them as stable hands and serving maids. They bowed reverently before pushing Chett forth as their speaker. "The Red Woman claimed that the boy was ill with fever and the chills. Four Baratheon knights came to take him away at dawn."
"Edric is as healthy as an ox. He certainly was not sick last night." Shireen noted.
A short and slim girl, eyes keen with intelligence, spoke quickly into the Wintertown boy's ear. Chett nodded before continuing. "Frances says the boy has not been seen, but that Stannis and Ser Davos have entered and left the room. She also saw through the window the Red Woman holding a jar of leeches."
"Leeches!" Arya's face turned in disgust. "What a disgusting way to treat an illness!"
"Edric is not ill. The Red Woman wants blood. That explains the leeches." Jon said.
"Why would she want Edric's blood?" Mya asked.
Jon grimaced. "The magic of Valyria is rooted in blood and fire. And so is the story of Azor Ahai. He forged Lightbringer with his wife's blood. But leeches will not give enough blood for that."
"Old Nan used to tell us that Black Harren used human blood in the mortar for the walls of Harrenhal." Arya said.
"That did not help House Hoare when the dragons came. Blood magic is a queer thing. Harrenhal might be cursed for many reasons, not just blood in the walls." Snow said.
"What can we do to help Edric?" Shireen asked.
"There may be nothing to do. Leeches purge a body of blood. They do not kill. If Edric wasn't sick before, he would be weak and exhausted. He may seem ill, so Melisandre can cover up the lie. But if she wanted him dead, Edric would not be protected by Baratheon guards. Stannis knows of her actions." Snow said.
"So we should let her continue with this deviltry?" Arya exclaimed.
"Magic is not good or evil. The White Walkers have cold magic, and can raise the dead. Without those powers, they would not be much of a threat. There is other magic - children of the forest, the dragonlords of Valyria, and many others like Melisandre and priests of the Red God. We don't know what can aid us against the White Walkers."
"The witch took the blood of a boy to use in a spell. How can that possibly be a good thing?"
Jon shrugged. "I doubt that it is. We find the Red God's prayers to be absurd but R'hllor may have a role to play against the Great Other. Contrary to what the Citadel claims, the higher mysteries are real. Daenery Targaryen has hatched three dragons in Essos. The White Walkers are rising beyond the Wall. The witch may have a role to play in the fight against the dead."
"She better not do anything against House Stark." Arya swore.
"Lady Shireen. What would you like me to do? Melisandre is under your father's protection. I know little about blood magic." Jon said.
"Could you watch over him?" She asked.
"That will be difficult. Edric will follow your father to the Wall. I plan to meet with the Iron Bank soon. If your cousin needs protection, send him to Braavos. I would shelter him readily but I doubt Edric will run away due to a leeching. Like many priests and sorcerers, Lady Melisandre has power over others" Jon sighed. "Magic is a mystery to all, even the Valyrians."
The ruby glowed against her skin, the red so vivid and bright that Myrcella thought it remarkable that her dress could conceal Garin's Jewel. For the past week, she had stopped wearing the colors of her adopted homeland. The noblewomen of Dorne honored their founding house with clothes of orange and yellow and gold and red. The red of House Martell though was a dull red, with hints of brown, like the endless sands west of the Greenblood. Myrcella wore a long silk frock of crimson and gold. She would have been home at Casterly Rock.
Not even Lannister crimson was as deep or rich as the ruby gemstone. When Myrcella was certain that no one watched, in the safety of her room, she took out the jewel from between her young breasts. In candlelight or by the rays of the rising sun, the stone scintillated, and the red was the color of freshly shed blood, like a beating heart. Garin's Jewel had a terrible, wonderful beauty. Kings, queens, priests and wizards would kill for this stone.
The matron mother pressed the jewel into Myrcella's hands before she had died a week past. The body had been burned, the ashes collected in a crystal vase, and then scattered into the river. That was a shame, Myrcella thought. The priestess wanted to return to the Rhoyne. In the few lucid moments the old woman shared with her, there had been stories of ancient cities on the river. These were tales of pirate queens, bold warriors, forgotten ruins, lost treasures, and golden islands with creatures never tamed by man. The Rhoyne was a vast and mysterious place. Who knew what lurked underneath, and what horrors and great deeds the Mother had witnessed over the millenia.
Myrcella had tried to find out more in the libraries of Sunspear. Very few books told of the time before Nymeria's flight from Ny Sar. There was little detail on the cities of the Rhoynar - a quick brief mention of Chroyane but nothing on Sar Mell, Ar Noy, and Volon Therys. In these tales, Garin the Great was a minor character - the man foolish enough to face down the dragons and bring down the Sorrows. She considered asking Maester Caleotte more but that would attract Prince Doran's suspicions. Somehow, Myrcella knew that would be very, very wrong. Garin's Jewel was too precious to lose, and it had been given to her, not the Martells.
"I can see the ship." Trystane yelled.
Large white sails appeared on the horizon. Planky Town was a busy port, but swan ships from the Summer Isles were a rare sight. Prince Oberyn had sent a raven, saying that they booked passage on the Cinnamon Wind, returning to Tall Tree Towns by way of Dorne. Oberyn's younger daughters had accompanied Trystane and Arianne to the harbor, along with a battalion of Martell guards. Daemon Sand, Arianne's sworn shield, sealed off the docks.
"Do you think Father will bring us anything?" Little Loreza Sand said. She was the youngest of the Sand Snakes, and precocious for her age.
"King's Landing has nothing of value." Elia Sand sniffed. The tall, thin girl was the oldest of Ellaria's children and named after her dead aunt. Besides Oberyn, she was the best on the horse, and able to match knights twice her age in a joust.
"They are coming from Maidenpool, and the ship carries something more important than gifts." Arianne said.
"We already have the secrets to the elixir. The healers have brewed several batches with the notes that Prince Oberyn dispatched. Maester Myles says the cure is an extraordinary invention - one that will save tens of thousands even after the plague has passed." Trystane said.
"I was not talking about the elixir." Arianne rolled her eyes. "I mean news of the lost Targaryen prince. When will he march against the Iron Throne? The Lannisters want his head. The North knows that. Jon Snow also saved Lady Leonette Tyrell from the plague. If Snow gains sufficient allies, then Joffrey's days are numbered."
"Do you think he can hatch a dragon?" the youngest Sand Snake asked excitedly. "I would marry him if he had a dragon."
Arianne laughed prettily. "You have seven name days, Loreza. I don't think we should be planning betrothals quite yet. If Snow marries, it would be for an army. He might need it soon."
Daenerys Targaryen had dragons. That was how she had subjugated Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen. Jon Snow, or Prince Daemon, had the strongest claim - and likely the North and the Riverlands. If the two wed, then all of the Seven Kingdoms would have to submit. That included Dorne. Despite their claims of political independence, Myrcella had no doubt an unified Targaryen family, after claiming the Iron Throne, could bring House Martell to their knees. She hoped that Tommen and her uncles would be spared.
The Cinnamon Wind docked, and several Summer Islanders lashed ropes from the sides to the pilings of the quay. A sailor with a colorful feather cloak leapt off the deck, and secured the gangplank. Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria descended first. The prince's older daughters - Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, and Sarella - joined them and Arianne cooed over her cousins, who embraced the four younger Sand Snakes. Loreza and Dorea hugged Nym who had fully recovered from the sickness. There was much laughter and joy among the girls.
A young boy in flowing robes and headscarf came down last. He was handsome in an ethereal way, with pale blond hair and purple eyes that matched a pale purple cloak. Trystane tugged at her hand. "Myrcella, let us greet Edric Dayne. He can tell us more about Maidenpool."
The ruby on her chest began to throb and warm, as if waking from a long and deep sleep. Myrcella betrayed none of her fears as she extended her hand in welcome.
Meereen slumbered, the twisted alleys and wide brick streets deserted and empty. Few people - freeborn or freedmen and freedwomen - frequented the temples, baths, and plazas. Those who went out to buy loaves of hard bread and jugs of pale thin wine did so quietly, and then retreated to hovels, houses and palaces. The fighting pits were closed, the brothels and marketplaces forsaken. Only children, under the watchful eyes of the Unsullied, played in the fountains, braving the sweltering heat, and laughing among the pools and terraces.
Meereen was dying, Daenerys thought as she looked over the edge of the garden at the lesser pyramids below. The Ghiscari built these monstrosities to awe the subjects of the old empire, and claimed that the tops of the stepped pyramids served as shrines to house their gods. Each city had their own patron deity, and in Meereen, the Harpy, clutching a thunderbolt in her talons, ruled. But then the dragons came, and laid waste to Old Ghis.
Meereen had once been rich and fat and peaceful. Now the city was poor and hungry. Many, even some ex-slaves, blamed her. There was some truth to that. I gave them freedom, Daenerys thought, but not prosperity. They could not blame the plague on her though. Not when she had brought the cure to Slaver's Bay.
"Khaleesi. The Sea Shrike has docked at the mouth of the river." Missandei said. "Can this one dress you for court?"
Daenerys shook her head. "Irri and Jhiqui have braided my hair. With the plague, there will be no need for the audience chamber to receive petitioners. I will see Ser Barristan in these apartments. I want to speak privately about his time in Maidenpool."
"The nobles and graces are eager to hear too. You must ban the cupbearers from your presence if you do not wish others to know."
"The cupbearers are children." Most had fewer than eight name days.
"Yes, Khaleesi. But their fathers were the Great Masters of Meereen. And there are enough servants to pass along information to their families."
"The news of the Sea Shrike's return will spread. I only want to hear about my nephew before others. After Viserys died, I thought I was the only Targaryen left."
"Is Jon Snow truly your brother's son?" Missandei asked.
"I saw him in the glass candle - a single tower engulfed in green flames, a spring-fed pool, a walled city on the Bay of Crabs. A dragon emerged from the fires. I did not know the full tale, or that he was Rhaegar's son, but he is most certainly a Targaryen." Her nephew had cured the plague. That was a formidable thing, even compared with the reign of kings.
"But that is good news, Khaleesi. It is good to discover family, even ones that are far away. Now you know of this Jon Snow, and he knows of you. Family is important."
Daenerys pursed her lips. "My house is not like others. I only knew my brother, and he was cruel and stupid. He protected me as a child but he would have raped me, if my maidenhead was not needed for marriage to Khal Drogo. His anger was terrible when roused – Viserys claimed I was waking the dragon. Dragons are willful creatures. I know nothing of my nephew, Daemon. What if he is mad, like so many Targaryens?"
"I only know one Targaryen, and she is Queen of Meereen and Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. This Jon Snow may be more like you than your brother." Missandei said.
"And would that be such a good thing?" Daenerys turned to the terrace. The lesser pyramids of Meereen, built in the colors of their noble houses, dotted the horizon. "I am not a good ruler. My people suffer. They are hungry and poor. The Masters of this wretched city plot to overthrow me. The Sons of the Harpy murder freedmen openly. There is no trade in Slaver's Bay. The other cities in Essos are allied with the slavers. The Green Grace wishes me to marry Hizdahr zo Loraq to stop the killings. My council suspect Hizdahr of leading the Sons of the Harpy. What dragon ever married a harpy?"
"Khaleesi, you should not marry this Hizdahr. All rich men in Meereen made their money from the backs of slaves."
"Then I would be a bad queen. There will be more killings of my people."
"Better for people to die than to suffer as slaves. This one knows that very well." Missandei rubbed her neck, where the faint traces of an iron ring remained. "You are the Breaker of Chains. You freed us from the Masters. We may be hungry. We may fall in battle, but at least we will die as freedmen. We believe in you, my Queen."
Her young handmaiden was honest and faithful. Daenerys wondered if belief was enough for the wars to come. She had crushed the Masters but they had come back, scuttling out of the shadows like vermin. Her rule extended only as far as the reach of her dragons. I barely control Meereen, and I have no way to stop the killings in Yunkai and Astapor, she thought. Conquest from the back of a dragon was easy. It was the dismounting and governing that was hard.
The Targaryen queen took Missandei's small hand into her own. "You are right. We must look to a better world, when all slaves are freed from shackles. I will not hide away in my apartments. I shall receive Ser Barristan in the great hall. There, I will hear the news of my nephew." Daenerys had to appear strong for her people. A dragon does not hide.
The Great Pyramid of Meereen returned to life, the Unsullied guards keeping a wary eye on the supplicants making their way up the steps to the audience chamber. Her bloodriders also attended, their araks, whips and bells a sharp contrast to the spiked bronze caps, short spears, shields, and drab quilted tunics of the eunuch soldiers. The nobility of Meereen, who could trace their ancestry back ten generations, showed up in force. The weak eyes of a frowning Hizdahr darted through the crowd.
She was dressed for war. Gone were the colorful and ridiculous robes that the Ghiscari favored. The freeborn of Slaver's Bay wore the tokar - a strange garment useless to any working man. The tokar was a long, loose sheet that needed to be wrapped around the hips, under the arms, and over a shoulder to display the fringes of gold and jewels. Both hands and multiple servants were needed for such a robe. Hizdahr had a dozen tokars - purple, emerald, burgundy, and lilac adorned with golden stripes, beads, amethysts, and pearls. Daenerys wore scale embossed leather in red and black. A broach of a snarling dragon head rested above her right breast and a crown of a three headed dragon - coils of silver, and wings of gold - sat on her brow.
"Rise, Ser, and tell me of your travels." She commanded the old knight.
"Your grace, I have returned from Maidenpool. We have brought several barrels of the cure and also carry scrolls with the instructions on how to brew the elixir. It is a gift from your nephew, Prince Daemon Targaryen."
"Is he for certain my nephew?"
"He walked through fire. He has much of your brother Rhaegar, the Silver Prince. He does not have silver hair or purple eyes but he has the same nature. Prince Daemon is devoted to his friends and family. He considers it his duty to help you."
But what did help mean? Daenerys knew that the laws of Westeros favored sons. No woman had ever sat on the Iron Throne. If past Great Councils were precedent, Daemon's claim easily outranked hers. She had dragons, but she did not wish to fight her family and repeat the Dance. "My nephew's words are kind, but…"
"He offers more than words." Ser Barristan took out a sheaf of papers from a small battered metal coffer in his leather pouch. "The prince asked questions about your rule and gave me something else to bring."
Missandei collected the papers and took them over to the ebony bench. Daenerys scanned the sheets of thin, closely written parchment, full of drawings, diagrams and calculations. She did not quite understand the words. "Ser Barristan, what is this writing?"
"The secrets of forging and tempering metals, of erecting wind and watermills, of shaping and firing glass, and planting and cultivating. Prince Daemon could not impart all his knowledge, but he wrote down what he could. The North grows rich from this knowledge. They build mines, farms, bridges and roads. He wishes the same for your lands."
Daenerys swallowed back her surprise. This might be an incredible gift. The masters had built an empire on the backs and blood of slaves. Here was another way to create wealth with honest labor. She could keep her people employed. Daemon had given her something of real value. She handed the papers over to an eager Missandei.
"My nephew is kind. I shall return his generosity." Daenerys stopped for a moment. There was little in Meereen that a Targaryen prince would want. Gold, gems and jewels perhaps, but those riches were acquired by the slave trade. Her nephew seemed to not care about money. "We must find something to send North."
"Your grace, that may not be necessary. Prince Daemon is coming to Meereen." the knight said. The shock on her face could not be hidden. Neither could the angry hissing in the chamber.
Author's Notes
Red Rahloo is what Hugo Wull calls R'hllor. Hugo Wull, the leader of a mountain clan, is also nicknamed Big Bucket. Naturally he thinks the Red God is full of shit. It is a shame we don't spend more time with the Mountain Men.
GRRM designed the epic to revolve around two wars - a human one for the Iron Throne and a supernatural one against the White Walkers. The notion, I think, is a coalition of the willing (redeem some bad guys) to fight for the Dawn. That explains the dragonglass/obsidian weapons so everyone can join the fight. But the problem is that despite this build-up, the ending defaults to mano a mano with the Night King, and the TV twist of Arya with a knife makes the Great Council in KL, all the troops, the idiotic tactics, seem trivial.
Braavos is based clearly on Venice, and the Sealord's Palace on the Doge's Palace. The Uncloaking of Uthero is similar to the Masquerade. Braavos appears to be the richest place in the GOT universe, per capita. The Lannisters are rich but I hardly think the lions share the gold with their mine workers. Venice became wealthy due to maritime trade but it also developed industry during the Middle Ages – glassware, shipbuilding, salt production.
There will be more magic in Essos than Westeros. In the Seven Kingdoms, the maesters and the Faith oppose anything magical. Melisandre is the exception as a foreign invader. But Essos has more religions and secrets - Valyria, Rhoynar, the masks of the Faceless Men, and maegi.
In the books, there is a great army from Volantis that is getting ready to attack Meereen. I think this blends in with Victarion sailing there with the Iron Fleet and GRRM is building up to some great battle. I am not a fan of the Ironborn except Book Asha, but the premise that everyone associated with the slave trade wants to kill Daenerys makes total sense. She is hugely disruptive, given that Slaver's Bay was the heart of the trade.
Aegon Blackfyre was omitted from the TV show. That allowed Varys to be spun as a good guy, and it stopped a three way contest - Aegon, Daenerys and Cersei. Here, Aegon would have died from the plague but for the cure. So, he owes Jon his life. In the books, Aegon is tricked by Tyrion to go West. I don't understand why he would change his plans. The most sensible thing is to seek out the dragon queen. She has two extra dragons! If Aegon truly thinks he is a Targaryen, the obvious step is to bond with a dragon.
The base assumption is that everyone in Essos accepts slavery. The only exceptions are Daenerys and Braavos. But Braavos is limited as a naval power, and many merchants and keyholders benefit. Yes, they don't capture and sell slaves. But they trade with the Slave Cities, and they buy products made by slaves.
I believe Shireen should have been a more important character. Her burning is clearly one of the three plot twists GRRM alludes to as remaining in the books. Gendry takes some of Edric's actions in the show. Edric's blood (leeched!) is used when Melisandre curses the three kings. All three (Rob, Balon, and Joffrey) die but Davos is skeptical it is due to the curse. This also means that Stannis is playing around with magic, so his protests that he had nothing to do with Renly's death are BS. The Red Witch also wants to burn Edric as a sacrifice and I am surprised the book plotline where Davos smuggles Edric away doesn't have more consequences.
Like Shireen, I think Myrcella was wasted in the show and the books. Dorne is a great idea - it is Spain, Sicily, and North African areas with multiple cultural influences while Europe was in the Dark Ages. Of the minor show characters, Oberyn was fantastic. He had some badass lines. There is precedent for magic in Dorne, in the water magic of the Rhoyne.
Daenerys gets stuck in Meereen for several books. That is a flaw of pacing. She conquers the city early, and has to twiddle her thumbs while the other plot lines catch up. She has an intractable problem - she tries appeasement - the absurd marriage to Hizdahr, the chaining of the dragons - but that is a total farce. I refuse to believe any Targaryen would behave like that. The major problem is the distance. Going from Winterfell to Meereen will take time.
The tokar is an extreme version of a toga. In the early days, the toga was a simple garment, practical even for work. As Rome got richer, the toga became more complex and costly, so it was reserved for formal use - candidates running for election and Senators. Different togas became symbols, such as the solid purple toga picta worn usually by generals celebrating a triumph. This was co-opted by the emperors. The tokar of course takes this even further, being completely useless, extremely gaudy, and a sign of great wealth. Daenerys should have never worn a tokar.
Jon's gift to Daenerys is taken from one of my favorite series - The Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander. In the last book, the High King, Taran chooses not to go to the Summer Island (Paradise in Welsh mythology). One of his companions finds a secret trove of knowledge stolen by Arawn. This helps the main hero build a better future. I am a big fan of Missandei as well. Her death in Season 8 was awful.