As he reached the surface of the water, Tyrion coughed and spluttered as he greedily took in as much oxygen as he could. He didn't know how he had survived but he was eternally grateful to whatever gods that had looked down on him kindly. today As he clambered onto the sandy beach without an air of grace, he took stock of all his limbs. Still there. Still short. Still tied. His clothes were already beginning to dry in the hot sun and, as he lay on his back, soaking it in, his attention was roused by the emergence of another from the water. He survived Tyrion thought, surprised at how glad he was of that fact. Jorah made his way onto the beach, stretching as his feet made contact with land, and then attempting to shake off as much water as possible from his clothes. It was a pointless task but it returned some feeling to his tired bones. All he wanted to do was rest but he knew he was closer to Daenerys now, despite the brief interlude with the stone men.
"I guess I should be thanking you," stated Tyrion, a small chuckle dancing on his lips, "you saved me from those beasts. Although I would have been fine if my arms and legs hadn't been incapacitated at the time". The small smile that he had initially received from Jorah quickly turned into a scowl and a roll of the eyes. Still as friendly as ever.
Tyrion's eyes widened in alarm as Jorah took out his sword that was still somehow on his person, and closed them as it was swung towards him. Yet the expected brief pain signalling the end of his life never came, and he looked down to see the rope had been cut in two. He shrugged the remnants off and wriggled his arms in an attempt to bring some life back to them. Jorah then shoved him over and repeated the action to the rope binding the dwarf's legs. As the shock wore off from his unexpected tumble, he quickly regained his composure, sending a glare to the older man, getting a smirk in response.
"Thank you," he bit out, bowing mockingly as he spoke, "now, where are we?"
"We're past Valyria, thank the gods. Judging from what I can see, I think we're on the edge of Slaver's Bay".
"And where is your precious queen that you are so wanting me to see?"
"Meereen. If we had a boat, it'd be a good week's sail if the wind was in our favour but…"
"We no longer have the boat. Excellent. You know, if you had chosen to use your words in Pentos instead of brute force, I could have told you that my aim was to meet the Targaryen queen too. Would have stopped all this fiasco."
Jorah looked surprised at that but didn't let it lie too heavily on his conscience. "We can't undo the past. All we can do is strive to make up for mistakes to ensure the present is much more pleasant."
"Is that what you keep telling yourself? That handing me to your queen will earn you forgiveness, respect? My travelling companion, before you took me, was Lord Varys, the Spider, and I know you two have a past."
At that, Jorah looked down to the ground, guilt welling up within him. Before he could respond to the claim, Tyrion continued. "I understand that you betrayed her and, if I was advising her the day she discovered your actions, I would have told her to have you executed. A Queen can't afford disloyalty, especially one that is just beginning to rise in the world. But what I also understand is that she is still living and breathing and, if you had truly betrayed her, that wouldn't be the case right now. I have faith in you, Jorah Mormont, but what happened to stop you from completing your task?"
"You'll realise why when you meet her," Jorah answered, "she has a charisma that is infectious, how do you think she has won over so many people. You can't help but fall in love with her…"
Tyrion's eyebrows raised at the admission, even more so than Jorah's as he realised what he had let slip. As they began to walk, the imp looked over at his companion. Pure devotion is a rare commodity nowadays he mused silently. "Well then, if that's the case, then I am excited to meet her. Though we still have the problem of getting to her and then seeing if she'll actually meet with us."
"Don't worry about that, I've just come up with a solution". Up ahead, a group of five men were busy preparing a small ship for the water. Jorah had overheard them as they approached talking about the news of the fighting pits being opened again in Meereen. They muttered in excited tones about the prospect of competing, with it now open to all people from around the Bay. That would be his opportunity to regain her faith.
"Hello!" he shouted at them, in what he suspected was their native language. They looked up at the two newcomers, a truly odd pair walking in the sun. "You talk of the pits." They nodded their heads, unsure as to what this man wanted. "Are you going there?" he asked, gesturing with his head towards their boat, and again he was greeted with nods. "Well then, can we sail with you? Our boat just capsized." This time, agreement wasn't as forthcoming, but he wasn't going to let that stop him as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. Before he could get closer, he felt a hand gently stopping him and looked down to see Tyrion.
"Why don't we try my way, this time?" he muttered, shaking a bag of gold coins as he walked towards the group.
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The stone temple was grand in size but not decoration. Its large stone walls were a dismal gray and the only thing adorning them was a series of torches, lit to spread some more light into the chamber. Stone steps led up to the main showpiece of the room, a dull, but imposing throne, that currently sat Daenerys Targaryen. She was clad in a fine white dress that accentuated her pale skin. Her long, blonde hair was braided to symbolise the military victories that she had already won. And she had already won so many in such a short space of time. She was no longer that innocent girl that had been traded like cattle to the Dothraki.
Her usual group of advisors was severely depleted. Both Ser Barristan and Grey Worm lay in critical conditions deep somewhere in the temple, with Missandei attending the latter quite closely. That left Daario Naharis by her side, who leant casually along one of the stone steps. Along the walls, members of the Unsullied that hadn't been involved in the ambush in the city were lined up, spears held upright by their side. Daenerys had made it an imposing place to visit.
"Bring him in," she ordered, prompting two of the guards to exit the room. At this, Daario stood in apprehension of what was to come. Both of them had heard broken tales of what had unfolded in the city, and they both wanted proper answers. Neither Selmy or Grey Worm had been in any fit state to recall the events and so they now turned to the one other survivor.
The returning marches of the soldiers echoed through the temple and reverberated around the walls of the main chamber room. The two soldiers walked into the room and stood guard at either side of the entrance door. Silence ensued apart from the occasional metallic thud on the stone floor as their guest made his way to them. He eventually came into view, his metal staff landing in rhythm with his steps. He walked towards the bottom of the steps, and gave a brief nod to Daenerys, who was sat impatiently on the throne. To her, he looked incredibly tatty. His cloak was nothing special, a murky brown colour that followed wafting in his wake. He had no pins on his person, no sign of any allegiances to other houses. He had long, messy brown hair and a beard to match. Yet she could still make out his clear, green eyes that were scanning his surroundings. The staff that he held seemed to be made of pure metal and at the top, it spindled off into curved fibres like a prism, holding a blue energy that swirled constantly.
Daario took a step forward and pronounced "You are in the presence of Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons. You may approach."
Daenerys noted that he didn't seem remotely bothered or impressed by her many titles and she didn't know whether this pleased or angered her. He responded with a simple hello; his accent was broad, definitely Westerosi in origin and she wondered why he was here in Meereen then. She tried to gloss over the fact that he failed to greet her with any respect, or acknowledgement of her position of power.
"What is your name, ser?" she questioned, speaking for the first time to him.
He chuckled lightly at that. "Please don't flatter me, your Grace. I am as far from a ser as you can possibly get." She smirked at that comment, his lack of censorship with his words entertaining her. "My name is Warlock Bruda, at your service, but you can just call me Bruda, if that pleases you." She swore he winked at her as he finished his sentence. How very entertaining indeed.
"It seems that I owe you a great deal of gratitude. The two men who are still alive are only alive because of you, or so I am told"
"It wasn't much really. I heard the commotion whilst I was walking along the street. It's common knowledge of what those bastards have been doing recently. It was the least I could do, and I wanted to show off a bit. Haven't been able to properly in a while."
"And why is that? Oh, and how did you defeat so many of the people that killed my men with relative ease?"
"Uh...I've been a bit of a recluse lately. For a few years actually. Can't be doing with people really, they're often incredibly dull and I have better things to be doing. And to answer your second question, I'm a warlock, as I said before." As he finished his sentence, he gestured to his staff, lifting it slightly. The torches around the room dimmed as he did so, prompting the Dragon Queen to look around in fascination but also worry. She had dealt with warlocks before. It hadn't registered before when he first said it but now she was remembering her past dalliances with magic.
Before she could carry on the conversation, two more soldiers walked in. They were followed by a plump, bald man, dressed in fine silk robes. As he tentatively walked towards the steps, and stood next to Bruda, he bowed deeply in front of the queen. He then straightened, his arms still held together in the sleeves of his robe. Standing next to the warlock, he couldn't have looked more different; two people from different classes of society it seemed, although they were probably more similar than they let on. Daenerys looked questioningly at Daario, who shrugged in response.
"Two visitors at once. Today must be a special occasion," she spoke, with a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Your Grace, if I may, I am Lord Varys, master of whispers of Kings Landing. Although I presume that title has recently been revoked with my hasty departure."
"And why did you leave? If you betrayed the Lannisters there, then surely I can't trust to speak with you either."
"It's more complicated than betrayal, your Grace. I've heard many stories about you from my little birds and, my, they have been chirping feverently. You have done things that many daren't believe and yet I see the truth of your fire just looking at you now. My job has always been to serve the realm and the Lannisters, or what remains of them at least, are a poison on its people. The realm needs you, Daenerys Targaryen." For the first time since he arrived, Varys looked over at the other man in attendance by his side. His querying glance was met with a toothy smile.
"What remains of them?" Daenerys asked, picking up on something Varys had said.
"Yes, your Grace. Tywin Lannister, the head of the House who held them together was shot dead. By his own son. He was actually my travel companion, I intended for him to meet you before he suddenly disappeared when we stopped in Pentos."
"You thought I would want to meet a man who killed his own father?"
"He would be a useful tool for you in your quest for the throne. You need people with a knowledge of Westeros if you are to not just take it, but also rule over it. Dragons are a ferocious weapon, anyone will accept that, but they are not adept at the art of politics. Myself and Tyrion are and that's why…"
He was interrupted by the arrival of Missandei, coming through the door behind Daenerys and Daario. She had tears in her eyes, which immediately concerned the woman on the throne. As she asked what was wrong, Missandei fought to keep her emotions in check.
"I tried, my Queen. But his wounds were too great and too numerous to heal properly in time. Grey Worm is dead." With that, she quickly turned on her heels and exited the way she had come just before. The chamber was left in a stunned silence. Daario looked over at his lover, fear of what this news would do to her. Her eyes were wet and she turned her head away from the two visitors so that they would not see her in a state of weakness. As she regained her composure, it was Bruda who spoke up.
"I am truly sorry for your loss, your Grace. I feel like it is in part my fault, if I had arrived sooner then maybe he would have stood more of a chance."
"And yet you didn't," she growled, her mood turning dark with the bad news. He bowed his head at that but attempted to carry on.
"You'll understand that I did all I could. If one of them survives, it will be a triumph."
"No, you will understand, that I do not have fond memories of the warlocks I have met. And yet you stroll in here and ask for what? A place in my counsel?"
"I came here only to help you. You can only judge me on my actions, not on what others have done in the past."
"They took my dragons," she whispered spitefully, "how do I know that you don't seek the same thing? You just appeared here, playing the part of the hero, and you expect me to swoon over you."
"So you do judge me because of what I am.," He let out a hollow laugh at that. "It's good to see that prejudice still survives in the supposed city of the free."
That was the final straw for Daenerys. "I cannot keep you here when I don't know your motives. But I cannot let you leave either." That last bit made Bruda look around in alarm but he allowed the wo soldiers to grab hold of him by the shoulders when they were ordered to do so. "Take his staff," she added, which they promptly did, before they led him away to one of the cells beneath the temple. As he was escorted out, she stood from her chair and turned to leave, beckoning Daario and Varys to follow her, aiming to create a plan to rectify their problems.
xxxxxxxxxx
Daenerys stormed into her room, closely followed by Daario and Varys. Hizdahr Zo Loraq stood in the corner, alarmed by the abrupt entrance of the small group of people. Daenerys paid him no attention. All the progress she had made here in Meereen was falling apart around her. Members of the city, most probably the slave owners who had lost out the most since her arrival, were in uprising against her. They had already claimed the life of a number of good men, including the leader of the Unsullied. Someone she had seen something precious in. He had embodied the work she strived to accomplish and now he was gone. Like a puff of smoke in the wind. Barristan was still fighting; the fact that he was could only be a positive. Then her mind drifted to the man she had just imprisoned. Bruda seemed nice enough, he had obviously saved Selmy from certain death. But why did he want to work for her? She would have to see his magic in person to begin to trust him. He was far from her main concern though at the moment.
"How can this be happening? How are the Harpies able to cause such havoc in my city?"
"The fact remains that this is not your city. The lords will not accept it," Hizdahr replied, handing her a glass of wine that he had poured himself. Varys eyed it suspiciously.
"No lords will stop me. I have freed the people, they should be happy!" she shouted, frustration getting the better of her. She sat down and swirled the drink in her hand.
"They are happy. Of course they are. But it's a shock to the system. Their way of life has been completely changed," Daario added. Sometimes he felt that she was blinded by her endeavour to right all wrongs, not fully understanding the implications.
"I changed their lives for the better. How can they not see that?"
"Maybe if you offered something in return? To symbolise that you still acknowledge their past," Hizdahr put forward. Daenerys knew straight away what he was proposing but the fighting pits went against everything she believed in.
"I can't open the pits. They are barbaric. A waste of life." she argued, once again. She was tired of going around in circles with him, although he was beginning to wear her down. With a sigh, she looked over at Varys, who had been silent since entering the room. She gathered she hadn't made the best first impression by imprisoning a man who had helped her. "And what do you suggest I do, Lord Varys?"
He seemed taken aback by being involved so soon after coming into her company. "The merits of opening the pits outweigh the negatives, I'm sorry to say. But you now need to be focusing your energy on getting to Westeros, that has to be your main goal now. By opening the pits, you can then prepare to leave Meereen on a good note, with the people singing your praise. Reputation is everything in this world. Other cities will not allow a ruler in if they are deemed to have ruined what they have already conquered." He paused for a moment, noticing her gently nod along to what he was saying. "Then I'd say we sail to Braavos. You can't take Westeros without the support of the Iron Bank. You'll need to show them the merits to your claim to the throne, which will undoubtedly involve your dragons."
"I cannot control my dragons. Two are in chains and the other is gliding across the world where I can't see him."
"Be that as it may, you'll have plenty of time to rectify the situation on our journey there. Before we head there though, you may think it wise to get back into contact with the Dothraki." At that, she visibly prickled, straightening in her chair. He held up a hand to stop her argument. "You need as many men as you can get and the Dothraki count as double. They are savages and Westerosi knights don't normally fight savages. Any advantage you can get, you need to take."
She saw the merit in what he said. Looking over at Daario, she asked him what he thought.
"I agree with him." Varys bowed his head at that. "Meereen is not your place, you have to move on."
"And what if my work here gets undone?" she queried.
"Then once you have the throne, you can come back and implement your will with more force. Or you could leave someone here in your stead to look over the city." She mentally chose the second option for now and had already picked who would be staying.
Standing up, she gestured towards the Meereenese lord. "Send the notice out: the fighting pits will be reopened. To everyone. Anyone can sign up and seek this honour, as you call it. Whilst you do that, I think it's time I started planning my next steps. The throne will soon be mine." With that, she asked them all to leave her in private and they all bowed before leaving, Varys making sure to take the glass of wine on his way out.
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Jon and Davos walked together, high on their recent success. As they made their way into the courtyard, they noticed Stannis in discussion with Melisandre. Davos still didn't trust the Red Priestess, mainly after seeing her birth a shadow all that time ago. Jon had only got curious glances from her so far; she unnerved him whenever she was near him. Stannis turned to acknowledge their arrival.
"So?" he bluntly asked.
"He agreed my lord," Davos replied "not without fighting back against us of course. But Jon here got the job done." Jon looked at the older man then, feeling the swell of pride within him as he was praised.
"Is that so? I'm impressed Snow. You'll be useful when I'm king, which is why I've got a proposal for you. I received a raven from a Lyanna Mormont." Jon nodded his head at that, he had heard a few stories of the young bear, who scared grown men with her feisty words. "She says that Bear Island knows only one King in the North, and that's a Stark." He growled that last piece of information. Jon was worried he'd have him killed right there. "So I'm willing to legitimise your name and make you Lord of Winterfell…if you help me take it back from the Boltons."
Jon was surprised at this turn of events; Davos's small smile told him that he had already been informed of this choice. But he knew that would require the wildlings' cooperation if they had any chance of taking back his home, and he worried that using them so soon would sour already tense relations. "I've taken the Black, my lord, I can't leave the Night's Watch," he murmured.
It was Melisandre who responded. "Ramsay Bolton has your sister, Sansa." That got Jon's attention. He hadn't seen her since they were all at Winterfell. So much had changed since that day, everything was all so innocent when he looked back. Jon feared of the condition she was in, especially after her short time with Joffrey Lannister.
"I'll speak with Mance and some of the Free Folk. I'll try to convince them to help, I might be able to get some members of the Watch as well if I'm lucky. But I need to focus on getting the Wildlings past the Wall first. Once that's done, I'm yours. I'm not bothered about ma name, but if it comes with victory, then I'll take it. If you'd please, I was on ma way to see someone." After Stannis nodded his agreement, Jon and Davos continued to make their way through the yard.
"Why did you tell Stannis I convinced Mance? It was you who got him to agree," Jon questioned the Scot.
"Stannis has already accepted me into his close circle of advisers. I don't need or require anymore recognition for the time being. But any positive work done by you, shows him that you can be trusted. And that makes my life much easier."
They eventually reached the room that housed Jon's best friend, Samwell Tarly. His knock on the wooden door was greeted with a frantic "come in!" and, as the two men stepped inside, they were both alarmed at the state of the room. Books and clothes were strewn haphazardly over the room. Within the mess, Sam was bent over near a trunk, in which he was putting some books. Gilly was stood in the corner, cradling little Sam.
"What's going on?" asked Jon, perplexed at his friends erratic behaviour.
"I'm…leaving," Sam hesitantly replied, "Maester Targaryen passed away just now, I've told Edd to sort the burning out. He told me though, what to do, who to find. I'm going to the Citadel, with Gilly." he smiled at her as he said that. Jon was hurt at the news. "I'm no use to you here, Jon. We both know that. What I can do is study everything that people have written about the White Walkers, maybe I can find something that will help defeat them."
Jon wanted to argue with him but he knew he couldn't against the sound logic. He smiled sadly at his friend and walked up to him, giving him a hug after Sam stood up. The two stayed like that for a few moments, before breaking apart rather sheepishly. Sam closed the lid of his trunk after putting the last book in and prepared to leave. Davos gave him a pat on the back, pretty much the first time they had interacted, and he opened the door, letting the cold come into the room.
Outside, a horse and cart had been readied. Jon helped them put their belongings in the back of the cart, standing back as Davos gave Gilly a hand with climbing aboard. Sam turned once more, wishing them both good luck, which was reciprocated, and soon, the cart left through the gates of Castle Black, heading south.