EPILOGUE

"This is not how I'd planned to celebrate the birth of my firstborn," Bennero complained.

Forris laughed aloud, and even Stevron Sand grinned.

They had six small huts of branches leaning against carefully constructed sapling frames and two long, downed trees ran either side of the entrance serving as a wind breaker and cover for their fire pit. The result was a long, very low Lhazareen home. The men, a dozen of them, could lie with their feet to the fire's warmth and their heads under the lowest and snuggest part of the shelter.

Sand's two hounds lay with their heads on their paws near the entrance. They had their own hides to lie on, and men collected bits of food to try and lure them as sleeping companions, but they mostly slept with the young wagoner from Dorne. Even now, at the edge of night, they raised their heads when he moved.

"He's the one that looks the most like a dog," Forris said with a rare smile. The other men laughed.

Bennero fetched his pot off the fire and served out mulled wine. "I'm a thousand leagues from home, and I'd like to do something for my son's birth," he said.

Stevron nodded. "I'd buy you a drink, but it seems that we're a long way from the nearest tavern."

"Wouldn't hurt us none to sing a little," Andreas Hotah said. Forris cuffed him and Andreas elbowed the other man. "What? I like to sing."

Stevron snorted. "I know The Bear and the Maiden Fair."

"We're too far from any of the cities." Forris said plaintively. "Perhaps it'd be better if we don't attract too much attention."

Andreas gave a snort of derision. "We're far from any danger, about ten leagues away from the Ghiscari lines. There's nothing out there but us and the wagon," he said. "And the wagon ain't moving far."

Bennero swirled his hot wine and poured a cup for Forris, who took it with a surprisingly civil inclination of his head, as if they were all lords. "Things have changed since Meereen fell. With the dragon queen dead and her army shattered, the slavers have no boundaries." He handed a cup to Stevron. "This Grazdan they have for a king is brutal, and mad with arrogance now that there are no more dragons to quell his expansion."

"Aye," said Forris after taking a sip from his steaming cup. "They had a year of no slaves coming in, and hardly enough survivors of Meereen to recount their losses. So now the Harpy King seeks to grab at anything and everything."

Andreas took his horn cup and nodded thanks to Bennero before giving Forris a dubious look. "Surely they wouldn't take merchants such as us? We all have a high stake the wealth of Norvos and such insults would not be taken lightly! Why, the Golden Company themselves might even be hired to get vengeance."

"Did you not hear?" Bennero asked after taking another mouthful of warm wine, giving him a feeling of warmth throughout his body. "The Golden Company recently broke its contract; the new blue-haired leader has decided that they should turn their gaze elsewhere."

They all brooded on that thought for a time.

Forris finished his cup and gave a belch. A breeze managed to slip through their break and sent a shiver through them all. "I wonder if the horses are all right in the cold."

Andreas gave a snort. "Why do you care? That damned beast damn near crippled you when she kicked."

"It's not her fault," he defended angrily. "She was just scared."

The bigger man just shook his head and went back to his wine, staring at the dancing flames. He shivered again, going about rubbing at his arms and his chest. "Cold as the virgin's cunt."

Stevron glanced at the man. He was an older sort, big and calloused by the dealings of the street, and the big merchant liked to swear hard and talk bawdy, which did not sit well with Stevron at all. "My friend, life on the road is hard enough without reminding these men of the women they do not have among them, and it is my pleasure, while you serve with me, not to hear the parts of a woman's body said in such a way. Here, have some more wine."

Andreas looked as though he wanted to start an argument, but found himself unable to insult a man who spoke with such mild manners and given him a warm drink on a cold night. In the end he subsided muttering about the oddity of Westerosi people.

The Dornishman sat back down with a pleasant smile only to have an arrow emerge from the back of his head. It happened so fast and so suddenly that none of them had much time to react until there was two more whizzing sounds flying past and they realised that they were under attack.

"Company!" Bennero said, and the others all had a blade in their hand. They piled into their armour and dropped low behind what cover they could find. Stevron's hounds were barking madly, and Bennero crawled over to untie them, watching as they bolted off into the darkness, growling and hungry to get vengeance for their master. A distant scream was music to his ears.

Andreas picked up his boar spear, and ran off into the night air. Bennero and Forris wound up their crossbows and took targets among the closing group of figures. "Who are they?" Forris asked with a curse.

Bennero saw a flash of bronze as the men drew closer in the moon light. He shuddered. "Slavers." There were many things that he could suffer, but becoming another man's property wasn't one of them. He felt down into his cloak and pulled out a blade, he had no intention of letting them take him alive.

One of the bigger growling Ghiscari came forth, spitting out insults in a horrid mockery of High Valyrian, a sword in his hand. Andreas' spear shaft caught him alongside the head before the merchant was feathered with arrows.

Another man came running and Bennero shot him on instinct. His bolt vanished into the man's plates and blood spurted out. With an angry grunt he went down behind cover and went about placing in a second bolt, and winding up the string. Just as he lifted his head above to take a shot did something heavy smash into his head, knocking him into the dirt, vision blurred as darkness consumed him.

When Bennero awoke he was in utter dark. He opened his eyes wide, squinted and stared, and saw nothing but fizzing, tingling blackness. He wouldn't have been able to see his hand before his face, but he couldn't move his hand there anyway, or anywhere else.

They'd chained him to the ceiling by his wrists, to the floor by his ankles. If he stretched up on tiptoe, he could ease the throbbing ache through his arms, through his ribs, through his sides, a merciful fraction. Soon his calves would burn though, worse and worse until he had to ease back down, teeth gritted, and swing by his skinned wrists. It was agonising, humiliating, terrifying, but worst of all, he knew that it was as good as things were going to get for him.

There was a clatter of a lock turning and Bennero jerked his head up, skin suddenly prickling. A door creaked open and light stabbed his eyes. A figure came forth, boots scraping, a torch flickering in his hand. Another came behind him.

"Let's get some light in here, shall we?" The voice was accented with the heavy growl of Yunkai. He had an ugly face, broad and pox-marked. The one behind him had his red hair curled into the fashion of two large wings. Both were looked like butchers about to go to work with their meat. The one with the wings went about the room, lighting torches. Light crept out across rough stone walls, slick with moisture and splattered with green moss. There were a couple of tables about, heavy cast-iron implements on them.

Bennero felt better in the dark.

The Pox-marked man bent over a brazier and got it lit, blowing patiently on the coals, orange glow flaring across the craters of his cheeks with each breath. Bennero watched him slide a few lengths of iron into the furnace, and felt his throat close up tight. The man looked at Bennero, and his eyes were bored. No hate in them, not much of anything. "It was very lucky for us that these ruins were left about. It's very cold out there."

The man with winged hair offered him a jug. Bennero would have liked to spit in his face, but he was thirsty and knew that he was not in a position to be prideful. He opened his mouth and the slaver poured a few mouthfuls down his parched throat.

He watched Bennero get his breath back. "You see, we are not so unkind, but I have to be honest, that is likely the last kindness you shall get for a long time if you struggle."

"Please, I was a merchant, I-"

"You are not a merchant anymore." The pox-marked man said. "You are property of Grazdan the Glorious, and as you have proven yourself to be an unruly slave it is our duty to brand you for what you are." He looked at his assistant. "You want to hold him?"

"Would you mind doing it?" the man with the winged hair winced as he worked his shoulder. "Damned thing's been aching all day."

Bennero felt himself grow cold, his eyes darting about the room. "No, by the Gods no! Please, I'm a free man! I'm a free man!"

The pox-marked man slid one arm around Bennero's head, elbow under his jaw, his other hand firmly behind, grabbing his dark hair, tilting his face back. The wing-haired accomplish slowly dragged a hot iron from the brazier. It squealed out the sound of metal on metal, sent up a drifting shower of orange sparks and spick twist of fear through Bennero's churning guts.

Closer and closer the glowing metal came; ready to press against his cheek. Bennero squeezed his eye shut and struggled as hard as he could to pull away, but his captor was too strong. He was saying a thousand prayers inside his head over and over again when suddenly he felt a large gust of hot air brushing through the room.

He let out a scream on instinct, but after a moment opened his eyes when he realised that his cheek did not burn and that his captors had released him from their grasp. The two men froze in terror, and suddenly even Bennero's own hurried thoughts were silenced by a sound. There was the sound of wings, and then an inhuman roar so thunderous that the world seemed to shatter.

With harried curses the two men rushed from the cell, leaving Bennero in his chains. He struggled to wriggle about his confines as the screams grew louder and louder, so piercing and horrible that Bennero could only guess as to how they died. Ghiscari shouted orders and the unleashing of crossbows filled his airs for a long time before all drew silent, and all Bennero could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat.

The chamber door slammed open a moment later and the pox-marked man hurried in, his arm burnt black right up to the shoulder, blood and ash soiling his clothes. His eyes danced about before settling on the chamber door. He brushed himself up against the wall, looking down to pick up one of the hot irons he had used before, holding it out in front of him like a sword.

Footsteps came after him, slow and ominous as they echoed down the empty halls, growing closer and closer.

The first thing Bennero saw was a single eye. Burning angrily like a purple flame, fixed with mad intensity on the slaver. Soon a face followed the eye, scarred and bestial yet still somehow possessing the inhuman beauty of the Dragonlords of Valyria. His mane of Silver-gold was flecked with blood, as was the steel of his dark armour. What was most frightening to Bennero was how big the man was, easily standing well over seven feet, like an ancient predator from before the time of man.

"S-stay back!" screamed the Slaver, waving his glowing weapon about. "Don't come any closer!"

The bloodied giant two three solid steps until he was within striking distance of the man. When the slaver made to strike him, the man caught the hot iron in a mailed fist, smiling as his glove began to glow red from the heat. With a sharp tug he pulled it from the man's grasp, and caught him about the throat with his free hand, lifting him high in the air.

When he spoke, his voice sounded broken, throaty. Like a dying man's whisper. "Does your Grazdan really think he can kill a dragon?" his massive hand squeezed tighter and tighter, and the slaver's face grew red, then purple, and then finally blue as his eye bulged and his feet kicked desperately from under him. With one last wheezing gurgle the man grew still, and the giant threw his body to the side.

"Please!" Bennero begged. "You have to get me out of here!"

The giant cast his one eye upon Bennero, the purple orb unreadable as it scanned him for a moment. The chains rattled free and his limp hands fell down into his lap. He tried to gasp out a kind word before he started sobbing so hard he couldn't speak, tears running free down his face. He lay crumbled on the ground for a time, his mind a storm of emotion, terror and pain, but most of all relief, a beautiful, heart raking pang of relief.

A big hand helped him up and led him from the room. They walked down the empty hallway, partially collapsed from the ages, covered with moss. Bennero took a shuddering breath and looked up at his saviour. "Thank you," tears came free. "By the gods…thank you."

"Don't thank me," his whispery voice hissed.

Bennero gave a blubbering laugh. "You saved me from a life of slavery, I can…I can return to my wife, to my son."

"No, you cannot."

He looked up in confusion, still walking with the man as they made their way out into the open courtyard. "What…do you mean?"

"You shouldn't thank me," he said again in his ghoulish voice. "I didn't set you free."

Before Bennero could even give voice to his question, he saw something move in the stony ruins about them. Something big. Wordlessly he stared at the ground and brick walls that surrounded him, all of it scorched black and crumbling to ash. The air grew warmer with every step he took.

Two great red eyes rose up before him.

"I didn't set you free," the whispery voice said at his back. "I brought you out because Drogon hungers and I would be a poor kinsman to allow him to go hungry after he has done so much good work for me."

Bloody fire burned behind a row of sharp daggers of teeth, smoke rose from his nostrils. The eyes of crimson narrowed down at him and then suddenly Bennero was consumed in brilliant light, as hot and as red as the Dornish lands Stevron had told him about.

Then he began to scream.

And so we come to an end, or at least the end of the beginning. I do have plans for a sequel to this, which I hope to get onto in the near future. For everyone who followed this story, left their reviews, I thank you very much for the support!