A/N: Thank you everyone who left a review!

GERION

"Oy." A rough hand shook Gerion from his sleep. He rolled his head gingerly from the side he had been sleeping on, clenching his teeth as his neck clicked. Does death come early in the morning, today? He opened his eyes a crack. Relequo stared down at him, spiky hair silhouetted with a silvery shine from the moonlight streaming in through the window. "Aren't you a little old to be having nightmares Relequo?"

"Ha. Someone wants to meet you."

"Who would want to meet with me at this hour?"

"An old knight, the one that's been sick."

Gerion felt a stab of panic. "Where?"

"Near the fightin pits, now."

"Damn it all!" snarled Gerion, scrambling out of bed, ignoring the stiffness in his back and legs as he got up. "Why didn't he tell me sooner?"

Relequo scowled down at him. "Maybe the old man was too sick until now, maybe he was afraid of being watched. You think of that?"

"How the hell did he leave the Pyramid? He's been bedridden for weeks."

The sellsword gave an artless shrug. "He must have had help."

"Help," grunted Gerion as he struggled to pull his trousers up his long legs, "I suppose the old man is a lot more cunning than I gave him credit for."

Once fully adorned with his armour and more than one blade, Gerion followed the Tyroshi from the chamber and out into the dim hallway. He looked nervously towards the door that led into Rhaego's chambers. He'd be awake soon. Screaming again, which was bad enough, or silently muttering like a madman, which was worse. Mylessa had not left his side the entire time and was no doubt battling exhaustion. Likewise Queen Daenerys had been grief stricken and flocked to her son as often as she could, leaving her court to be more or less ruled by itself for the past week. All that treachery is bubbling over and for what? Rhaego hasn't been lucid, and cannot appreciate their efforts.

Gerion imaged if it was Joy who had been hurt and silenced himself.

It was late, and the twisting streets of Meereen were quiet. The fighting pits were long since abandoned and looked a relic of an older time. The moon light bathed the big empty dome in shadows that seemed to crawl and dance across the ground, and Gerion kept one hand resting on the pommel of Brightroar. His eyes scanned the area, looking for any sign of danger from around or above and finally settled on the figure standing before him.

The years had aged Barristan Selmy. He was no longer the image of heroism that he was during Gerion's time in Westeros, his hair had turned white as snow and thinned considerably, his skin was wrinkled and rough like old leather and two heavy bags sat under his blue eyes. Despite that, the knight still stood tall in his armour, his back unbent his gaze determined. "Ser Gerion," he greeted, his voice still holding the same weight it once did. "I must admit I was surprised to hear you in Meereen, and in the company of Prince Rhaego no less. I had thought you dead."

"Everyone thought I was dead," he replied happily. "Even I thought I was dead, but then I realised that the smoking pit of flame I was living in wasn't hell, just Valyria. Then
the bowels of a pirate ship. And then prison…..now that I think about it, it's been a rough couple of decades."

The old knight raised a brow. "And now you serve Rhaego?, forgive me for saying this but a Lannister is not the sort of companion I could trust."

"Rhaego gave me back my freedom, and my life." He set his green eyes on Selmy. "And Lannisters always pay their debts."

"So they do."

He stared at the shadowy dome in which they stood and shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. "Why did you bring me here Barristan? Things are quite….delicate at the moment back court."

Barristan gave a deep sigh and nodded. "Aye, the place is infested with traitors. First they poisoned my food and kept me in bed like some cripple so that my advice would not be heard by Her Grace, and then they maimed her son to keep her distracted…..but that is not all." He gave a low whistle. Three young boys emerged from the shadows, peering suspiciously around, herding a prisoner in front of them with using the butt of their spears; someone standing much taller, hunched over and wrapped in a cloak with the hood up, arms secured behind them. "Alright lads," said Barristan as the squires pulled the prisoner up. "I don't think we need that anymore." Small hands pulled back the cowl.

In the pale moonlight, the perfumed Seneschal's face seemed looked gaunt and wasted, full of sharp edges, with a set of black grazes across his hollow cheek. One of his eyes had been swollen shut and several of his teeth were missing.

"My squires caught him trying to put something in my decanter," Barristan informed them before smiling at one of his lads. "Red Lamb here began sneaking me clean food and water, and when the traitor came to into my room trying to smother me I was able to overpower him with what strength I had left. I believe there are more, and this one can tell us who they are."

Gerion looked down at the simpering creature before him, the slightest of smiles stretching across his face. "You came to the right place."

Reznak Mo Reznak looked considerably less courtly sitting down. Particularly in a scarred, stained chair in one of the close and sweaty cells beneath the Great Pyramid.

"Now isn't that better, with the smell of sweat and dirt on you one could almost pretend you were a man." Reznak sneered and looked away, as though talking to Gerion were a task far beneath him. I'll soon cure him of that illusion.

"We know we have another traitor within our court, within the Queen's council itself. You will tell me who." No response. "I am merciful," exclaimed Gerion, waving his hand airily, "but my mercy has limits. Speak."

"I pity you, Westerosi! When they Queen dies-"

Save your pity. You'll need it for yourself. Relequo's fist scarcely made any sound as it sank into the Seneschal's stomach. His eyes bulged out, his mouth hung open, he coughed a dry cough, somewhere close to vomiting, tried to breathe and coughed again.

"Strange, isn't it," mused Gerion as he watched him struggle for air. "Westerosi, Essosi, Braavosi, Ghiscari, Dothraki, they all respond the same to a fist in the guts. One minute you think you're the most powerful man in the world. The next you can't even breathe by yourself. Some kinds of power are nothing but tricks of the mind. Valyria taught me that, as I spent five years choking on fire and ash in its scolding shores. There was no pity there, I can tell you. I was suffering like you're about to suffer, the difference is…I was helpless, but you can stop this unpleasantness at any time. You need only tell me who the traitor is, tell me who the harpy is, and you will be spared."

Reznak got his breath back now. Though a good deal of his arrogance is gone. "I know nothing of any other traitor!"

"Really? Your master the Harpy sends you into Daenerys court without all the facts? Unlikely, but if it's true then I have no use for you at all."

Reznak swallowed. "I know nothing of anyone else but me."

"We'll see."

Relequo's fist clubbed him in the face. It would have thrown him sideways if his other fist hadn't caught his head before it fell, smashed his nose and knocked him clean over the back of the chair. The Tyroshi dragged him up and dumped him gasping back into his chair.

Gerion sighed. "You must think this harpy is all powerful, you must think him so righteous to try and bring down the foreign Queen. But what you don't see is that we are not a mob of arrogant, honourable dolts, too scared to bloody our hands. You think because you maim innocents that you know what it is to play dirty? I promise you that after I'm done there will be a pile of corpses big enough to shadow the Great Pyramid itself. And you will sit atop it, in pieces." Tywin's words, coming from his mouth.

The Seneschal stared at him, breathing hard, dark blood running from his nose, down his chin, dripping from the side of his head. Speechless from shock or planning his next move? It hardly matters. "I grow bored. Start on his hands, Relequo." The Tyroshi seized hold of his wrist.

"Wait!" wailed the Seneschal, "by the Gods, wait! It's the Green Grace. Galazza Galare, she is the Harpy. She is the one!"

Gerion sucked slowly at his teeth. They tasted sour. An awful sense of disappointment, even kindly grandmothers can be fear mongering extremists. What a bizarre city I have found myself in. A shame, but I know better than to hope for human decency.

"And the sellsword, Naharis!"

Gerion frowned. "Daario Naharis? You're sure?"

"He has been paid! He has been paid to help seized the city after they have taken the Queen captive!" Well, I suppose I'll have to have a little chat with our sellsword.

The Laughing Lion flashed a mad grin at Relequo. "To think, you're the last honourable sellsword left. What's the world coming to?"

Relequo chuckled. "A fuckin' scary place is what."

"Galare, the Green Grace," muttered Gerion. "The Green Grace is the Harpy. Our twisted little mystery comes to a close." He looked over at Reznak. "Have you ever heard the Rains of Castamere by chance?"

MYLESSA

Mylessa's hands were shaking again, but that was no surprise. The danger, the fear, not knowing if Rhaego was going to live through each day till the next, the exhaustion of constantly nursing his hurts, trying to sooth his pain, trying to work up the strength to look into the flames for guidance, being unable to trust only a few, what she had gone through had been enough to make anyone's hands shake.

She curled her hand into a fist, or something close. "Light," she whispered. Her mother's soft, sad face, her kind brown eyes, giving her last piece of bread to her. The way she closed her eyes and never opened them again. She squeezed her fist tighter, bared her teeth.

"R'hllor." The name that she thanked over and over the day when the Red Priests had bought her instead of the brothel owners. She gave another squeeze.

"Azor Ahai." And her hand was steady.

Running footsteps slapped hard along the hallway outside and away. She heard someone shout in the distance, couldn't make out the words, but couldn't miss the edge of fear in the voice. She crossed to the window and pulled it open. Her room, or her cell, was high up on the north face of the pyramid, and she saw the tiny dots moving around in the courtyard. Even from the distance she could tell people running towards combat.

A door creaked open and Mylessa spun about. A man in boiled leather stood in the doorway, his face covered by several layers of cloth but a bronze harpy adorning his chest. He had a dagger at one hip and short sword in his opposite hand. Mylessa had nothing of the kind, and she found herself acutely aware of the fact. She stood, hands by her sides, trying to look as if every muscle wasn't ready to fight. And die, more than likely.

Mylessa's eyes met the man's. Blue eyes, unblinking. They stared at her, bright and hard as chipped sapphires. "You should have never come here, witch."

"I go wherever the Lord of Light wills me." She replied, struggling to keep her voice even.

The man took a step forwards, into the darkness of her chambers. "What I do, I do in service to the mother, to the Harpy, this isn't about you, understand? This is about returning the natural order of things. Come with me without a fuss and I may be persuaded to take you on as a slave.

Slave. The word burned into her heart with the God's fury. "Never."

Mylessa saw a hand close around the grip of the man's dagger. A single purple eye glared furiously from the darkness behind him. The man started to turn, surprised. "Wha-" the point of the dagger slid out the front of his neck. Rhaego's face loomed up beside his, white and wasted, bandages bound tight over one whole side of it, a pale stain through the cloth where his eye used to be. He drew the man tight against him in a bear hug.

"This isn't about you," Rhaego's voice had withered to a throaty whisper. Blood began to run from the point of the knife and down the man's neck in a black line. "This is about killing the Harpy's children." The man opened his mouth, and his tongue flopped out, and blood started to trickle from the tip of it and down his chin. "Ripping them from her loving arms," His face turned purple, eyes rolling up. "One by one, culling her brood," His legs kicked, his boot heels clattering against the boards as Rhaego lifted him high up in the air. "and drowning her in their blood." The blade ripped sideways and opened his throat up wide, black blood showering out across the bedclothes, spraying up the wall in an arc of red spots.

Rhaego let him drop and he crumpled, sprawling face down as if his bones had been turned to mud, another gout of blood spurting sideways. Rhaego took a long breath in through his nose, then blew it out, and he looked up at Mylessa, and he smiled. A friendly little grin, as they'd shared some private joke that the other man just hadn't got.

"I feel better for that. They're attacking the Pyramid now?"

"I…" Mylessa couldn't speak. Her skin was flushed and burning.

"Then I'd say we've a lot of fun ahead of us."

The sun was a half shimmering golden disc beyond the city, throwing orange light into the hallway down which Gerion strolled, Relequo at his shoulder. Through the windows he could see the buildings of the city casting long shadows up towards the rock. He could almost tell, at each window that he came to, that the shadows were longer and less distinct; the sun was dimmer and colder. Soon it will be gone, soon it will be night.

He paused for a moment before entering the doors to the throne room. "Give me the bag, then."

Relequo handed him the sack. "You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

The Shavepate was standing stiff below the dais, frowning with ill-concealed hatred at the others in the room. Sitting on her little bench-throne sat Daenerys, looking an utter dishevelled wreck, with hair out of place and red rimmed eyes that glistened with unshed tears. She aches for her son, a lovely sentiment, but one that has made her vulnerable. Sitting beside the Queen, with a reassuring smile was the Green Grace, looking like some benevolent grandmother.

There was another in the room; Daario Naharis was lounging against one of the great pillars, arms crossed over his colourful armoured chestplate. Gerion noticed he was wearing blades.

"So," said Gerion as he strolled forwards. "What are we all waiting for?"

"We are waiting for the noble Reznak," said Galare calmly. "We should not begin without him."

"Very well," said Gerion. He stepped forwards and upended the bag before the old woman. "Now we can begin." Reznak's head dropped onto the dais with a hollow clonking sound. It had no expression to speak of, just an awful slackness, eyes open and staring off in different directions, tongue slack.

A big dramatic, but I couldn't find any unruly bannerman to destroy on my way here. Daenerys purple eyes widened, first in shock and then in anger, and she quickly rose from her throne. "What in the name of the Gods have you done!"

"Only what you have asked me to do, Your Grace," he replied soberly. "This man was a traitor who had been in league with the Harpy."

"Lies!" screeched Galare. "He is a liar and madman! Someone get him out of here!"

Yet before anyone could react another voice cut through the air. "It's all true Your Grace," Ser Barristan's oaken tones echoed as he marched into the Throne room with Red Lamb at his back. "Reznak has been trying to poison me to weaken your court."

"And that's not all," said Gerion, almost excited. "He was taking orders from dear old Galazza Galare, the Harpy herself. Who also, if I'm not mistaken, ordered the attack on Prince Rhaego's life."

The old woman's eyes hardened, her veneer of frailty cast aside. "Very clever, I should have had them kill you, but in the end it matters not. The city is mine."

Daenerys was trembling with rage. "You…shall….Burn for this."

Galare laughed. "By now, the Stormcrows and the Sons will have seized this very Pyramid and locked it off from your Unsullied and your dragons." There was a faint rattling beyond the doors. "Once you are dead and all your court with you, then we shall once more have the old ways returned."

The silver queen turned to her paramour, a look of utmost hurt and betrayal on her youthful face.

Gerion looked up to Daario. "May I speak, your Harpyness?" The Blue haired Tyroshi gave a small smile, a stiff bow. "I hate to disappoint you, but the Pyramid is in the hands of Grey Worm, and several of his most committed unsullied serjeants. I believe he said that the sun would set in the east before he and his men would stop. Can you move the stars?" it was plain on Galare's face that she could not. "Those are his men. Er, Eunuchs, you can hear outside. As for the Stormcrows…."

"Rounding up the Sons of the Harpy across the city," he flashed his golden tooth and grinned over at the old woman. "Do you really think I would betray the most beautiful woman in the world for one such as you?" he snorted to make his contempt clear. "I told Ser Gerion everything you planned."

There was a stunned pause. The Green Grace's face had drained of colour. The silence was broken a moment later when the doors crashed open and Jakerhro burst into the room, a dozen Dothraki behind her, weapons at the ready.

"Khaleesi," he bowed. "Is everything alright?"

Queen Daenerys stared at the Green Grace with a look that was hate incarnate. "have your men take the heads of any man wearing the harpy you find, and stick them up high where it can be seen by all. Let the Meereenese understand the strength of our resolve. And….take this one to the Dragonpits."