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Chapter Twenty-Eight: Love and War

"The sooner we are married the sooner we can send a message to your enemies." Hizdahr was insistent. His cold, black eyes deepening into the great nothing of his soul as he spoke. It made Daenerys shiver in her Tokar.

"With all due respect, my lord, your marriage will not disperse the Yunkish fleet currently blockading Meereen's ports," Tyrion reasoned, he was barely visible over the counsel table inside the great pyramid. "And I cannot help but notice your use of possessive pronouns. Surely by 'your' enemies, you mean 'our' enemies? If you're to marry Queen Daenerys, her enemies are yours also. Share and share alike."

"Now is not the time to quibble over semantics, half-man- "

"Enough!" Daenerys cut in. "Betrothed or no, I will not have this counsel session descending into personal insults."

Everyone else around the table fell silent, all eyes turning to her. Only Hizdahr barely met her gaze, but she refused to relent. This session was called in an effort to resolve the siege and so far, it had yielding nothing. Meanwhile, the situation in the city grew worse. The weak and the vulnerable were dying in droves, mostly women and children. Dysentery was rampant in the slums and the refugees at the gates only swelled in number, only for them to be cut down by forces from hostile cities.

As for food, it was fast becoming a memory. The grain stores were almost empty and they had barely enough to cover the most basic of rations for the next week. Reports had come through of bakers padding out their meagre supplies with sawdust while trapped rats sold for a small fortune on the black market. Cats and dogs had already been turned into stews in a desperate effort to ward off the debilitating hunger that was afflicted young, old, rich and poor alike. That was her real enemy now, not even the Sons of the Harpy could afflict this much chaos on Meereen.

But while the others around the table may have squabbled, it pained Daenerys to know she had no solutions of her own to offer. The only sliver of hope she had had over the last few days was the return of Drogon. He had crash-landed on the side of the great pyramid two nights previously, waking her instantly. His face was pressed against her window, his breath fogging the glass.

"Now that Drogon has returned- "

"No," Hizdahr cut her off. "If you turn that dragon on the Yunkish forces, it will only inflame the situation."

"I think that's the point."

While Tyrion's witticism may have cut Hizdahr down to size, Daenerys still bristled against her future husband's interruptions. She looked at him a moment, wondering what life would be like once they were married. He was already argumentative, he already acted like he was doing her a great favour. After the exchange of vows, he would be unbearable.

Meanwhile, she tried to think. A process made difficult by the sound of raised voices coming from beyond the walls. Somewhere nearby, a horn sounded. She sent up a silent prayer that Drogon wasn't adding to her problems and resorting to eating human flesh again.

"If I cannot deploy my most effective weapon, then what can I do?" she asked, looking Hizdahr in the eye.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of his words was lost in a resounding crash from the street, followed by a second blast of a horn. Everyone in the room looked up again, Ser Barristan frowning as he began to suspect something bad. Missandei moved to Dany's side as she rose to her feet. Just at that second, Grey Worm appeared in the doorway, addressing her in his customary short, declarative sentences. He always got to the point.

"More ships. Attacking now. Unknown."

The force of the impact knocked Sansa off her feet, sending her sprawling across the deck. Jon rushed to help her up and hurry her below decks. As they went, he looked back over his shoulder as the ship the Seabitch had rammed splintered and sank below the surface of the choppy waters. It all happened so fast. There was a deafening splintering of wood as a gaping hole appeared in the Yunkish ship's rear and the water began to boil and seethe as it rushed to fill the hole, swallowing the galley and all its crew alike. Some tried to swim, but the current dragged them down effortlessly. One false step and he knew that could happen to them.

"Stay with Asha," he told Sansa below deck. "She knows what she's doing and won't let anything bad happen to you."

She looked pale and shaken as he led her into the cabin at the rear of the ship. "But where are you going?"

"I need to get back to our own galley, but you stay here," he reiterated. "I'll be fine, you just look after yourself."

Although she had changed a lot since their childhood, he assumed she still didn't know an awful lot about either naval warfare or Ironborn battle tactics. Neither did he, really. But he resolved to make the best of it.

Second-guessing his own ignorance on the matter, Sansa tried to reason with him. "You saw what happened to that Yunkish ship, Jon. Stay with me and we'll be both be safe."

But he couldn't do that. Both of them knew it, really. However, before he left her there, he put his arms around her and held her tight. He'd said all the words of encouragement that he could, so hastened back on deck without wasting any more time. He paused to tell Theon where she was, but only because there was literally no one else available. Asha was still at the command, several of the men she'd brought with her were already invading another of the Yunkish ships and another had been hit with a missile of blazing pitch. The burning enemy ship was sending up thick plumes of smoke, sinking fast.

"Jon!" Asha called out to him as he passed. "Wait there."

"What is it?"

"We're sending in a fire ship to clear a path," she said breathlessly. "Ravenfeeder will do. After that, we're sending in the dromonds to cut a path through the enemy. Get back to your own ship and prepare to engage."

He was no more accustomed to naval warfare than Sansa was. However, over the last few months, he had learned to put his trust in the Ironborn and the sailors from White Harbour. He followed their command without question. And soon, the small dromonds were deployed, knifing through the waters of Slaver's Bay and passing beneath the great Yunkish galleys. The Yunkish didn't even notice them until it was all too late and then Ravenfeeder, already smouldering, erupted into flames in the midst of the Yunkish lines.

At the moment of implosion, Jon was scrambling up the side of his own ship the Queen of the North. He clung on for dear life as the ship listened and pitched on violent waters, sending up a huge wave that crashed over him, almost dragging him back down again. Undeterred, he continued his ascent and scrambled over the Queen's gunwale, only to find her almost overrun with Yunkish soldiers.

Without a second's thought, Dark Sister was in his hands and the blade flashed as he lunged it into the throat of the first soldier he passed. He kicked out at a second, sending him spinning over the gunwale and into the waters below. Another he despatched with a swift blow to the throat that left him completely decapitated. The severed head slid across the deck as the seas rolled, leaving long streaks of glittering red in its wake. As he swiftly dispatched a fourth and a fifth, the Queen was sailing up the river to Meereen, the dromonds having already smashed a path through Yunkai's lines.

However, his fight to regain control of the Queen wasn't over yet. Men from White Harbour and the ship's captain overpowered three invaders who'd tried to set the mast alight. Jon rushed to help them, cutting down one enemy soldier before he could thrust his sword through the captain's back. Before too long, they had the Queen of the North secured again and they were beginning to breach the siege lines at last.

Asha's dromonds were already clear, the bowmen on board picking off Yunkish sailors as they tried to flee their vessels. But all was chaos. Thick black smoke was choking the air, reducing visibility to ridiculously low levels. All the same, his blood was up.

"I'm coming with you," he said as he saw the captain lower a rowboat so they could board another dromond.

"Don't be stupid," the captain replied. "You've never fought at sea before."

"What am I doing now, then?" Jon challenged him, already in the boat. "Let me take one enemy ship, that's all. Then I'll come right back."

He gave his captain no choice as the boat was already being lowered to sea level, where their new dromond awaited. From there, they scrambled aboard and hunkered down behind the shields lining the smaller, faster ships gunwale and they set off at full strength well behind enemy lines. On the other side of the wide river, Ravenfeeder was still burning and had set a number of Yunkish galleys alight. Burning men were dropping from the masts, dead before they even hit the water. A lucky few had managed to swim ashore, but the only direction they could go in was toward Meereen itself. He hoped Daenerys Targaryen was ready for them.

The oarsmen on the dromond rowed at full strength, with Jon taking up an oar himself until they pinpointed a Yunkish galley that was trying to breach the city's river defences. Before the captain gave the command, they were already setting a course straight for it.

"Over there, toward the river gate!" the man bellowed over the sound of burning ships and screaming men.

Ironborn bowmen were already in place, picking off Yunkish bowmen who attempted to return the compliment with volleys of their own arrows. Jon heard them splashing into the water, sinking without trace as their weighted heads left them with no chance of recovery. Before the Yunkish knew what was truly upon them, grappling hooks smashed into the sides of their ships and the Ironborn were halfway on board, scrambling up the sides of the great galley as if they were born half-spider. Fearless, even when their comrades were hit and falling back into the seas below them, they kept going and stopped for nothing. It was an honour for them, to die in battle on the sea and sink back into the arms of their Drowned God.

Jon did his best to imitate them as he too began ascending up the side of the galley. More than once, an arrow almost hit him and before he scrambled over the gunwale of the galley, one actually got him. Embedded in his left shoulder, he yanked out the barbed arrowhead before the pain had a chance to register. On board the enemy ship, they attacked the crew with sword, axe and whatever else they came prepared with. As he took out the ship's captain with a slash of his sword to the man's throat, he couldn't help but wince as an Ironborn fighter smashed in a man's skull with a spiked morning star.

By the time they had control of the ship, the decks were slick with spilt Yunkish blood and Jon's shoulder was aching horribly. Breathless and still exultant from the heat of battle, he paused by the mast pole and looked up through the thinning smoke. Meereen lay before him like a promised land. A jumble of streets and houses, a great Harpy statue sitting atop a vast pyramid that loomed over the city below. Lesser pyramids spiked in the distance, puncturing the hot blue skies overhead. Over the last few months, he had seen many strange and foreign places. But nothing like this and he savoured the sight before being pulled from his momentary haze.

"Do you want to feed the fishes?"

"Huh?" Jon turned to face the battle-scarred Ironborn who'd addressed him.

"That's what you'll be doing if you don't get off this ship."

He was right, the ship was sinking already after the Ironborn and smashed a hole in its hull. Snapped out of his reverie, he scrambled after the others, preparing to drop back into the dromond and return to the Queen of the North.

"Those Yunkish cunts are trying to take out Seabitch," someone said as they hit the water and swam for the dromond. "Should give Asha something to play with for an hour or so."

Once back on the dromond, Jon tried to get the Seabitch in view. Sansa was on there, he had left her there thinking she would be safe. "My sister," he spluttered. "I need to get my sister."

"Ah, she's fine," the Ironborn assured him.

It didn't work.

Alarm bells rang through the whole city, bringing the populace out onto the streets in terror. Many tried to flee for the city gates, forgetting they were blockaded on land as much as at sea. Dany knew if any tried to make it out of the land gates, they would be cut down by enemy forces before they even made into the dying pastures beyond. She tried to restore calm as she made her way through the streets mounted on the silver that Drogo had gifted her on their wedding day. Lost in panic, none listened to her.

As she made her way to the water's edge, she tried to see for herself what was happening. But, even through a far eye, all she could see was smoke and flames on the water. She saw a Yunkish ship list and roll, before being swallowed by the waves and hope soared in her heart. The siege lines were being smashed, supplies could finally come through … but only if the newcomers were friendly.

"Who are they?" she asked Grey Worm.

His answer was unhelpful. "Unknown. Strangers."

She spurred her mount to higher ground, no longer trying to quell the panic breaking out in the city. From uphill, she lifted the far eye again and tried to get the newcomers back into view. But the first thing she noticed was the Yunkish soldiers now fleeing in terror, right into the arms of her Unsullied who cut them down without a second's thought. She did not try to intervene, there could be no mercy for the men who had come within a hair's breadth of starving her and her entire city.

Through the far eye, she could make out Ser Barristan leading the attack on fleeing Yunkish soldiers, stopping them from gaining access and preventing any looting or pillage. A huge boom echoed from across the water, drawing her attention back to the ships in the wide bay. A ship had been set alight and was now plunging through what remained of the Yunkish siege lines. Through the far eye, she could see its huge silk sails. Black, but decorated with a large painted Kraken of gold. We do not sow… she read the words and laughed aloud, giddy with relief.

"House Greyjoy," she called to Grey Worm. "It's House Greyjoy, from Westeros. From my homeland."

Tears welled in her lilac eyes, blurring her view through the far eye as the fireship wreaked havoc on the open waters. Several Yunkish galleys surrounding it caught fire, sending panicking soldiers plunging into the sea. Most drowned; those who made it to land would be cut down by the Unsullied. Then, the fireship itself was consumed by flame before sinking out of sight. Only thick black smoke remained, obscuring her view of the others.

Her dragons stirred. Rhaegal and Viserion had set up lairs in two of the smaller pyramids. Drogon was only just back from his aimless flights over Slaver's Bay. Now all three of them circled high above her, screeching to each other in anxious agitation. Drogon lowered, hovering over her protectively.

Dany watched him for a moment, hesitating for only a brief second before she called out his name.

"Drogon!"

She called over the bells, the roar of fires and the distant ships sinking into the violent waters. And he heard her, all the same. He swooped down, landing at her side and greeting her with a loud roar that left her ears ringing. She had already dismounted the silver and now approached her dragon, running her hands down his warm neck. He twisted his throat around, trying to keep her in view of his smouldering red eyes. It seemed they had reached a silent understanding.

"It's time," she said, addressing him in their mother tongue. Before she could start doubting herself, she scrambled up his wing and onto his back and gave the command. "Sōvēs"

For a full minute, she felt like she was being rolled down a bumpy hill in a barrel. She tightened her grip on Drogon's back spines, holding her breath as he gathered speed by crashing along the headland they were on. Then he leapt over the edge of the hill and the ground vanished. Her heartbeat raced as they swooped out over the seas and only the wind rushing into her face prevented her from crying out in triumph.

Higher and higher up, she swerved Drogon around he obeyed her command. This moment was everything she dreamed it would be, with Viserion and Rhaegal forming up behind them. Together, they flew over the city in the same direction her terrified populace tried to flee. They passed over the slums where the Pale Mare still ran rampant and over the walls, where land forces from Slaver's Bay had terrorised her innocent people. She saw them all spread out below her, small but multitudinous like swarms of gleaming ants.

Hizdahr's dire warnings of that morning's council session echoed in her head, but the devils could take that man for all she cared. She directed Drogon lower, getting the hostile forces in the firing range and gave the command without hesitation.

"Dracarys!"

A river of flame streamed from her mount, engulfing the enemy and sending them scattering into the plains beyond the city walls. She could not hear their cries and screams over the sound of the wind rushing in her ears, but she didn't have to either. They scattered and the survivors tried to form up and take Drogon down with a volley of arrows. Only a few of them glanced off his belly, tickling his thick scales and little else.

This time Rhaegal joined in, breathing a great stream of fire on the fleeing enemy while Viserion gave chase. Most of the army didn't get a chance to flee and were scorched into dust where they stood. Meanwhile, the flames had taken hold and a hundred small fires now broke out around the plains. But they did not worry her. The dragons had broken the land siege and that was all that mattered.

Despite what everyone else said, she knew she should have done this sooner. Tyrion was right. There was no point having dragons unless she was prepared to actually use them. Otherwise, they were little more than exotic pets.

They came crashing back to earth about a mile from the city gates, Drogon too tired to fly her any further. So, she left him foraging for food among the hastily abandoned battle camp while Viserion and Rhaegal remained airborne and chasing down the fleeing enemy forces. Still walking on air, she made her way back to the city gates. Only to remember, as soon as she reached them, that they were still locked.

Sansa let out a shrill scream as the door to her cabin smashed inwards, revealing a foreign soldier from only the gods knew where. At the sight of him, she fell silent and didn't even dare to breathe as they eyed each other. In his right hand, the curved blade of an arakh shone sinisterly. A large dagger was sheathed at his hip. Yet, she knew enough about soldiers to know he wasn't going to kill her right away. He was going to have his fun, first.

She tried to back away as far as she could until her back was pressed flat against the wall of the cabin. She could try to reason with the man, or buy him off, but they shared no common language and she had no ready cash. Even so, he'd take the cash and rape her anyway. Terror filled her all over again as he took a measured step forwards, stripping her naked with his gleaming black eyes.

"What do you want?"

She tried talking anyway, playing for time until she could find a way around him. Now that he had moved away from the door, there was a little more space to move. But, the only effect her words seemed to have was to break the spell that held them apart. He lunged at her, grabbing a fistful of her dress as she darted out of his reach. She grabbed the first thing that came to hand, an old oil lamp, and smashed it over his head.

"Help!" she screamed as loud as she could. But there was still a pitched battle going on up on the deck as Asha and her crew fought to regain control of Seabitch.

Her resistance, her cries for help, only inflamed her attacker even more. But she managed to dodge past him and shoving him as hard as she could in the chest, sending him reeling backwards. With her heart in her mouth, she ran for it, only for him to grab her ankles and trip her up. She hit the ground with a loud thump and pain shot through her hands and wrists, where she had tried to break her fall.

Now it was worse, as two more attackers had been waiting outside. Bringing the number to three, they gathered around her like hyenas surrounding their prey. She froze in terror, but one of the men grabbed her ankles and dragged her back in the cabin while another unbuckled his belt ready to get to work on her. She hadn't been this helpless since King's Landing, the riot when Sandor had come to her rescue. But Sandor was thousands and thousands of miles away now.

And she wasn't helpless anymore. She grabbed a plank of wood that had once been the cabin door and smashed it around one man's head, while another one's throat suddenly exploded, sending a shower of blood spraying all over the cabin as a blade cut through the gristle and sinew of his throat. He fell to the ground, dead. In his place, Theon stood tall as he wrenched his blade free and kicked out at another of her attackers, the one she felled with the wood. He drove his sword through the man's heart before punching the third in the face. Senseless and dazed, the final attacker staggered backwards until Brienne finished him off with a sword through the gut.

Faint with relief, she fell into Theon's arms, breathing so hard she could barely wring the words of thanks from her throat. She could feel him trembling, he was trembling almost as much as she was. But he had saved her life and her virtue.

"Theon," she said, looking up at him. She could only say his name as if daring him to contradict her.

"R-reek," he stammered. "R-reek- "

"Is dead," she finished the sentence for him.

Daenerys almost got stuck trying to squeeze herself through the city gates in an effort to get back in. Then Rhaegal tried to melt the bars with his own dragon flame before Viserion smashed them in with the force of a blow from his tail. The gateposts had been reduced to rubble, but there was no need to worry about that anymore. Not now the enemy forces had been sent scattering. All the same, she set some workmen among the refugees to rebuilding them with the promise of greater rations.

She mounted a horse she found running loose through the streets and set off back toward the port. Smoke from the battle she had left behind was now rolling across the city in a thick, black cloud. She could hear the bells still tolling but the people seemed to have settled. Nevertheless, she galloped through the streets with all haste, not stopping until she reached the great pyramid.

She slowed to a trot, before dismounting at the rear of the pyramid that looked out over the wide mouth of the river. All around her, the bodies of the slain Yunkish soldiers lay scattered about like detritus from a storm. Their ships were sunk, with barely one or two having successfully escaped the Ironborn onslaught. Yunkai was demolished and the siege was over. Her happiness was only compounded by the sight of Ser Barristan cantering up the embankment in her direction.

Assured of his safety, she dismounted her horse and led him up to the headlands to get a good view of what was happening at sea. By the time she made it there, the smoke was starting to thin, revealing great hulking galleys all adorned with the krakens of House Greyjoy. Smaller, swifter dromonds were scuttling up the river and into the city. And Quaithe's prophecy replayed in her head: 'First comes the pale made and after her the lion. Then comes the Kraken, the little bird and sapphire maid. With them, the white wolf…'

The breath caught in her throat as the ship materialised from within a thick pall of smoke, powered along by twenty oarsmen until it was in broad daylight. The sigil was a blur, at first, that soon formed into the head of a snarling white wolf on a pitch-dark sail of black silk. From the top of the white wolf sail, Daenerys' eyes travelled down the length of the mast to where a lone man stood on the prow of the ship, his features too distant for her to discern but she could see he was dressed all in black. He was transfixed by something above her, probably the dragons who now circled the peak of the pyramid.

Meanwhile, she picked out the name of the ship: the Queen of the North. She read the words painted on the sail: Winter is Coming.

"House Stark."

She and Ser Barristan spoke in unison, while Tyrion materialised at their side. The gods alone knew where he'd been during the battle, but he was safe and whole but for the missing nose.

"Oh, look. My former wife's come to rescue me. I never knew she cared."

Daenerys stifled a laugh. "Love and war always did go hand in hand."

"Little birds are easily underestimated," Ser Barristan retorted.

"Little bird," Dany repeated, turning sharply to Ser Barristan. "Who is the sapphire maid?"

Both men looked back at her blankly. Meanwhile, something had caught Ser Barristan's eye.

"Seven hells, Tyrion. It is Sansa. Look, onboard Seabitch. I can make out her hair."

"No," Tyrion retorted. "Not a chance. Oh, wait… Actually, that could be her. That shade of ginger is very eye-catching, isn't it?"

Daenerys could no longer contain herself. "What are we still doing up here when they're disembarking down there. Come on! I want to meet them, to find out why they've come."

Without waiting for them, she nudged the horse with her heels and began the ascent to port.

Never more pleased to be back on dry land, Jon joined Sansa as soon as his feet hit the ground. She was shaken, still pale from fright, but steady on her feet as they wrapped their arms around each other. Immediately, she told him of how Theon had saved her life with Brienne's help. The Maid of Tarth backed the story up with a solemn, silent nod of the head. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he might come around to some of Theon's more admirable qualities after all.

Asha joined them, still smeared with Yunkish blood but looking thoroughly unfazed by it all. Theon was still tremulous and timid but now stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of them. The captain of the Manderly fleet was last and they left their men to rest onboard their vessels.

"Er, what now?" asked Asha.

Jon stifled a laugh. "I have no idea. I don't suppose we can just roll on into that Pyramid and say: how'd you do?"

"I don't think we need to worry about that," said Sansa, nodding into the distance. "There's people coming."

They looked important, too. All three dismounted their horses as they approached, only to be joined by a fourth. Two men and two women, one with long silver-gold hair. That had to be Queen Daenerys, he thought to himself. But it was one of the men who caught his eye, recognition hitting home with a resounding clunk in his head.

"Oh, Sansa!" he said, smiling.

"Oh, no," she replied. "I don't know what to say to him."

Before she could ruminate too long on the matter, the fourth person stepped forward. She was only a girl, not much older than Arya at Jon's estimation. And, although clearly foreign, she addressed them in perfect Common Tongue.

"Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea and rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, welcomes you to Meereen. The great pyramid is yours, my lords and ladies."

Jon turned from the child to the Queen herself, leading a chestnut charger by the bridle as she approached them. She fixed him with lilac eyes, pale purple in the setting sun. He remembered a time, long ago, when Sansa had taught him how to speak with ladies. But all that sage advice was coming to nought, at that moment.

"Your Grace," he said as the host knelt before the Queen. "I am Jon of House Stark, with my sister Lady Sansa. My companions are Theon and Asha of House Greyjoy. We came seeking an audience with your grace."

A hand as pale as milkglass appeared before him, which he kissed and rose to his feet again. He found himself looking into her eyes and she returning that look with every bit of his intensity.

"After the service you and your companions have done us this day, you can have anything," she replied. "All of you, rise. You will have lodgings in my halls for as long as you like."

That was a good start, he thought to himself. Then it got better as he remembered Sansa's lessons, from all those years ago.

"And that's a very pretty name," he blurted out.

Daenerys had been about to greet the others but stopped and looked back at him, a frown marring her brow. "Er, thanks. 'Jon''s a very pretty name, too."

Everyone else looked at him like he'd gone mad, even Sansa. You told me to do that, he thought to himself as she tried to stop herself from laughing as she and Daenerys kissed each other's cheeks. Instead, he went to find Tyrion. An old friend from a long time ago, one he never thought to see again.

Thanks again for reading, reviews would be lovely if you have a minute.

No time for Robb or Marge this week, but they'll be back next time. Apologies for that.