Sage: What gave you that idea?

Duesal: Thanks, I quite like it myself. Like Jon's portrayal, I went for the canon/ADWD version rather than the benevolent "can do nothing wrong" of usual fanfic.

Philip: That's a terrible, terrible idea. The message it sends to his vassals is awful.

ATP: Why would Arianne do that? As in, what does she stand to gain from doing that?

Unusual for me to put an A/N before the chapter, but it needed to be said. This chapter shows a medieval sack. It's dirty, it's rough and violent. Nothing extremely explicit but if you do not have a strong stomach, I recommend reading only to the passage marked with a big red warning (which isn't really red, but still).


Archibald

Archibald washed his hands in the bowl placed at his disposal. He quickly ran most of it over his head, waking him up from his half-torpor.

Looking around in the small tent, he noticed Cletus wasn't there. His cousin had been sulking most of the time, and as it was he barely said two words to him a day, now.

Bah, Cletus would end up back in shape, as he usually does.

However, Archibald did himself feel a little annoyed. How long had they been in Volantis? A moon, at most, surely? But it had been one or two months since they left Dorne, and to do what?

Archibald understood the mission, but not why it was taking so much time. Surely Queen Daenerys could walk into the city with her dragons and they'd all be on their way.

But the big men making decisions apparently thought it was better to negotiate, and the Queen didn't want to harm the folk in the city.

Little did she know, siege warfare never really ends well for the folk inside the city, especially with the army of savages she has…

Well, Archibald is glad he's not the one making the decisions! No, he was never much of a thinker. But what he lacks in brains, he makes up for it in muscle.

Still, the affair was beginning to get tiresome. He'd been brought to the ends of the earth and he's barely had a fight in moons! Gods, what was the world coming to?

At least, if not for a fight, he could just enjoy Yronwood's calm and comfortable rooms. But here he was, in the middle of a war camp, sleeping on a mattress too small, eating food too bland, drinking water too warm and under a sun much too hot!

No, truly, it was about time they went back to Dorne because he was beginning to contemplate the idea of swimming back.

Archibald put on some clothes and grabbed his hammer. If not for a fight, at least let him face off against some opponents in a friendly spar! Well, Dornishmen, anyways.

Last time, he'd been asked to spar with those Dothraki, those who only live for their horses and to inflict all kinds of nasty things on the world. Well, they were disappointing!

Not only do they duel to the death but they can't hold a weapon properly! Poor Dothraki fool got a hammer to the ribs before he was even able to cut Archibald. Now, go figure, the Queen herself was not very happy of losing one of her men and he was respectfully asked to stay clear of the Queen's camp.

It wasn't even a fight! And the fool asked for it!

Whatever, Archibald mumbled to himself, he would go out, train a little, eat, train a few squires old enough to be his sons and then train again, eat, bathe, go to sleep, and repeat.

Fuck this city, fuck this place and fuck everything!

However, when he stepped out of the tent, he found that there was an unusual amount of activity. At least, more than the usual.

"Hey, Ser Ryon, what's all this about?" he cried out to the heir to Godsgrace.

"Apparently, the Queen's finally decided she's had enough waiting! They're preparing to assault the walls of Volantis!"

"Today?"

"I'm not sure! But we all want to see this!"

Archibald finally let himself smile. If the Queen was finally deciding to move, it was good for them! And to pass the time, might as well go watch what those dragons are capable of.

However, before he even could move, he was stopped by an all-too familiar figure.

"Arch!"

Quentyn was dressed differently than usual. Instead of his rich clothes he was wearing a simple robe overtop of armor. He wore an eyepatch and had a dark cape and hood which did a good job hiding his features. But after knowing each other for so many years it hadn't fooled Archibald.

"Hey, Quentyn!"

Archibald never used the title 'prince' in private. Not only Quentyn heavily disliked it but Archibald also had trouble with such a change.

"I'm guessing you heard the news?" Quentyn asked, his voice hoarse.

"Splendid ones, indeed!" Archibald almost laughed, "we can finally go home!"

"Not that splendid, I'm afraid," Quentyn's tone was dark, "come with me."

Archibald didn't argue. He was past the point, and what would be the matter? The prince's will was like iron, almost nothing would bend it. Besides, he had his fair share of Quentyn running off doing gods knew what behind everyone's back.

Quentyn led Archibald to a small corner along the river, strewn with palm trees. There, the waters of one of the thousand branches of the Rhoyne flowed with a serene calm, far from the chaos of the battle-ready camps.

No one was there, save for another, also too familiar, figure.

"Quentyn, what in the seven hells is happening?" Arch finally let out.

"Queen Daenerys will attack the city when the sun goes down the Orange Shore." Quentyn sighed.

"What's wrong with attacking in the later hours?"

"We need to get Nym's mother out of the city by then."

Archibald stayed mute for long moments, his mind slowly processing what he had heard.

"You want to get a member of the Old Blood of Volantis out of the city? Have you gone mad?" Archibald almost choked out. "We can't even get into the city. Then, we certainly won't be able to reach the Black Walls, let alone be let in, approach your beloved's mother, just let her come with us and get out by the time the sun's over the river!"

"We can, actually."

That wasn't Quentyn's voice.

"Getting into the city is easy, Queen Daenerys hasn't even bothered to fully encircle it, hoping that slaves can still escape. The northern path is still open. All we need to do is get in through there, they won't question three people getting in, especially not a daughter of the Old Blood. Then, getting to the Black Walls will be just as easy."

"We convince her to come with us and we leave. If people try to stop us…" Quentyn left the last word hanging.

"And you want me to agree to this?" Archibald's voice grew tense. "For what? A slaver?"

The snake sighed.

"It's no use, Quentyn," she shook her head, "I can't endanger you or your friend. I'll try, and I'll be back by the hour of the hen, with or without my mother, I swear on my life."

"And I told you that I'm not letting you go alone." Quentyn waved Arch away, "You can go, Arch."

"This is a great foolishness you want to get into." Archibald shook his head. "But Lord Anders asked me, long ago, to protect you. I swore an oath that goes beyond our mere friendship, Quentyn. I'm coming with you, not because I think what you are doing is sensible, but because I'm not going to let harm come to you."

Quentyn let escape a half smile.

"Then we mustn't waste a moment more."

Quentyn nodded and turned to him.

"Arch, we're going to pose as her guards. The guards at the northern end of the city won't ask any questions: they've been bribed by our contact in the city."

"You have friends inside the city?" Arch asked, shocked.

"Contact, not friend. Now let's move."

The snake took place on top of a pale white horse which had been waiting along a tree further on.

"The Volantenes believe that any person of good standing should not travel afoot, for fouling the ground trampled by slaves and poor folk is seen as impure," Quentyn discreetly told Arch. "Usually, the Volantenes would travel on palanquins or hathays, pulled by an ox, elephant or other imposing beast. But we have neither, so a richly decorated steed will have to do."

"Queer folk," Archibald scoffed.

"Well, we need to be as convincing as possible when we head to the Black Walls."

Arch grunted, but moved on.

As they circled the walls of the city, he couldn't help but sigh and nudge Quentyn.

"What?"

"Listen, Quentyn. I didn't say anything about your tastes in women, gods forbid I have no issue with these. But going to such lengths to risk your life for her, for a mother who could be a slaver…"

Quentyn's eyes looked at the ground. "You probably think I'm foolish, no?"

"Hard to think otherwise."

"I think I'm a fool, too." Quentyn chuckled nervously, "It turns out I share more with my uncle than I like to admit. Love leads us to do stupid things."

"If you know it's stupid, then why do this?"

"She'd do the same for me."

"But you wouldn't ask her to do this. You wouldn't even consider it."

"I'm not going to ask her to change who she is. Her impulsiveness is part of why I like her in the first place."

Archibald sighed. "Women. They'll truly be the death of you lot. If you truly wish for your rescue mission to work, let me handle it. Go back to the camp, I can take care of it alone."

Quentyn shook his head."I made a vow. I lost a father and a mother; I'm not losing her too."

"You're a fool. A fool in love, but a fool."

"I know. I hope Dorne can forgive me if I die here today."

"You know they won't."

Quentyn didn't answer, he just looked towards the ground, in shame. If you put a woman over a kingdom, what does that say? Archibald would be tempted to say that you care more about your loved ones than a crown but others would think otherwise.

But what's done is done. Quentyn won't budge, and he might as well continue.

"Was the late attack due to your negotiation with the Queen?" Archibald asked in turn.

"She doesn't even know I'm doing this." Quentyn shrugged. "All the more reason to get through this with utmost speed and discretion."

Arch rolled his eyes. Great, so not only are we doing a rescue mission, but the attackers don't know we're doing this.

At least, the snake was right on one point: it was stupidly easy to get into the city. The guards didn't even blink at them coming in.

However, a surprise awaited them in the city.

A knight, clad in Westerosi colors, was waiting for them.

"Lord Henry Sunglass, I presume?" Quentyn asked, seeing the knight, without a horse.

"You presume well, Prince Quentyn." The knight came forward, short brown hair in the wind. "I trust you have fulfilled your part?"

"With what you did and is coming, I think you only need to head to the Queen, tell her what you did and she'll be glad to grant you Sweetport Sound back. Ser Triston is waiting for you, in Dorne."

"I'm glad to hear it, Ser Triston is a loyal man."

"Take care of yourself, Lord Sunglass."

The man nodded, with a half-smile, and walked off. Meanwhile, Arch continued along the city.

On a normal day, they would have been packed with people, but today…there was no one. The streets were empty, and the houses seemed like they had been deserted for days. As for the few men they encountered, all were armed to the teeth, and did not hesitate to be a hindrance.

The streets themselves felt like they were crushing you between their walls and the sun. The heat battered Archibald and he felt like he had been struck with fever. The walk was beginning to take a toll on him, and he already emptied half of his water.

Still, they reached the Black Walls, in the inner city.

Well-named, these ones. Black as night, dark as ink, towering over what looked like a succession of palaces.

There were guards there, and they were much less understanding than the ones at the edge of the city.

Nevertheless, from the top of her horse, the snake did not hesitate to take a proud air:

"My name is Nymeria Maegyr, daughter of Daelena Maegyr, of the Old Blood of Volantis, and I demand to be let through!"

The guards hesitated for one moment, talked to each other in Volantene, and left.

"What did they say?" he asked Quentyn.

"They're fetching a superior."

Soon enough, indeed, an older man came, and the snake said the same thing.

The Volantene then pointed at Arch and Quentyn. He didn't need a translation for what the man asked.

There was a short argument, and right as Archibald thought that it was over, and they would be refused access to beyond the Black walls, the large gate creaked open.

The three of them went through, although accompanied by two guards.

They navigated the infinite labyrinths of the old city, coming across pristine white palaces, until they reached a smaller, but no less beautiful, mansion. A woman was standing at the door.

She was in her forties, with long, silver-gold hair. With a wave, she dismissed the escort.

The snake got off her horse and threw herself in her arms. Again, words in Volantene were exchanged, but Archibald once again needed no translation.

"Come," the woman beckoned.

Archibald and Quentyn looked at each other. Time was of the essence; they couldn't say here forever.

"I'm surprised your guards were let through," the woman said with a thick Volantene accent, "few are the ones who can cross the Black Walls."

"They were not going to let a daughter of the Old Blood without her personal protectors," the snake said, "besides, they are not my guards. Mother, this is Prince Quentyn Martell and Ser Archibald Yronwood. Prince Quentyn is…my daughter's father."

The woman stared wide-eyed for a moment, examining them both, but spending most of her gaze on Quentyn.

"Send the big one away, we must discuss."

What? No! Archibald wasn't going to let that happen.

A glance from Quentyn was enough to prove that it was foolish to argue, and the door leading to the inner courtyard slammed on Archibald's face.

Annoyed, he instead moved through the rooms of the small mansion, observing the rich paintings and sculptures throughout the home. The library itself was well-stocked with a massive amount of books. Taking one off of the shelf, he flickered the pages, reading through what looked like the history of Valyria.

Why anyone would be interested in the history of slavers was beyond him.

He skimmed through more pages and placed it back on the shelf.

During this time, he felt uneasy.

It was as if there were eyes watching him from every corner, every crack in those pristine, white, walls.

Archibald shrugged it off. Probably only an illusion, considering the manse was huge but empty.

He continued to move around, looking at the vases and ornate boxes of jewellery. The snake's mother truly was not lacking of anything, but the relative isolation of the manse surprised him. There were almost no guards, but most of all, where was the rest of the family?

A door slamming shut took him out of his reverie. Out of it came Quentyn, with the two women.

"That was quick." Archibald pointed out to Quentyn, who had ditched the hood and the eyepatch.

"Nymeria's mother is an eietae," Quentyn explained, as if the word meant something, "considering she had a bastard, she became 'soiled', 'impure', if you wish. She is still of the Old Blood, but she cannot stay with the rest of the family, and she loses her right to vote in the important Volantene elections. Needless to say, it was not hard to convince her to leave."

Archibald nodded, but remembered something.

"And the children?"

The snake's head snapped to him, with a slight smile.

"You remember, big man? You're smarter than I thought." She laughed. "Haelaena, Talisa and Myaelis are all in Norvos, they will be fine. And aren't you happy to get out of here?"

Archibald frowned. He wasn't going to let innocents die, either. Everyone knew how the Volantene old blood planned to go if Daenerys took the city.

They left in a hurry, under the intrigued gaze of a few guards, heading towards the Black Walls. The ride was uneventful, until they came upon the same patrol they'd been sent to earlier.

A few words were spoken, but it seemed the men refused to let them through.

The tone was rising, the spirits were flaring, until…

A few hands pointed to the sky. Three dragons were circling the city.

One of them dove to the outskirts, still visible from afar, down near the docks. A burst of flame later, and the walls crumbled.

This was their chance.

The panicked guards fled, leaving the gate open for them to pass through. The group took advantage of this, running down the streets where chaos seemed to have set in.

Suddenly, another dragon came in, flying much lower, and decidedly much larger than the others. It flew over them, ignoring their ant-like presence, straight to the Black Walls.

The horse that was carrying both women reared up, scared, throwing both riders into a pile of silks on the road. Arch caught the older one, while Quentyn managed to cushion the snake's fall.

He helped the woman to her feet, her silver hair untouched, but a frown on her face. She'd have to touch the Volantene ground.

A roar was heard, and all turned their heads towards the dragon, which was hovering around the Black Walls.

Dragonfire came out, but the flames did nothing to the impressive fortress…but they very much did damage to the gates, which cracked under the heat.

Soon, a large cheer came from everywhere around them.

Dozens of people exited the previously deserted houses, like a tide ready to submerge them. Almost all had tattoos on their face, whether of horses, cows, ships, swords or skulls. Some of them wore rags, most had clothing, but almost all of them carried something. Knives, sticks, cutlery, even sharp sticks.

And they were all proceeding to the Black Walls.

This is what happens when you have one freedman for five slaves.

Thankfully, on foot, the group did not really attract more attention. The slaves had risen, but they were much more interested in the people who were living behind the Walls than their pitiful appearance.

However, shouts became clear in the distance.

"We have to move," Quentyn gasped as he took out his sword, the valyrian steel shining under the sun.

"Let's get out of here," the snake nodded.

Archibald looked at the lady with them: with that dress, they'd never be able to run. Grunting, he lifted her and carried her in his arms.

The small alleys followed one another, until they heard screeching in the distance.

Shit.

Dozens of horsemen came along the alley. In turn, slaves came out to greet them with their fists raised: the fools.

No sooner did the tattooed men come out did they get slaughtered by a flurry of arakhs. Of course, it wasn't long till the Dothraki reached Arch's group. Luckily, the street filled with obstacles proved too much of a maze for them to come galloping at full speed.

Archibald immediately dropped the lady as gently as he could, taking out his hammer.

"You'll likely want to stay out of my way and close your eyes, my lady, this won't be pretty." Archibald warned.

Luckily, the first screamer wasn't for him. Quentyn sliced him almost cleanly in half atop his horse, the forward part of the body dropping to the ground, while the horse kept on running.

The sand snake, for her part, skilfully speared the next horse, which came tumbling to the ground, throwing its rider onto the pavement, where valyrian steel made sure he met his end.

More kept coming, though.

Under the swarm coming, Archibald drew his hammer, swinging it wildly.

The first horse got knocked out, sending its rider on the pavement, head first. The second one tried to jump on him, to try and slit his throat. Unfortunately for Arch's attacker, the hammer's pointy end went to stick itself in his side before he could reach him. Another blow made sure he would never have even a chance to get up.

However, he forgot the first. Not dead, the Dothraki ran, not at Archibald, but at the lady behind him, arakh in hand, forehead bleeding, hopping as if his leg was injured, screaming obscenities.

Archibald rose his hammer, but the screamer held his throat, blood gushing out. The lady had produced a dagger out of nowhere and hit cleanly.

"This way!" the lady took his hand, and ran at full speed, towards the left, in an almost deserted alley. Horses would never pass there.

Archibald spared a look behind him, but no worries to be had, Quentyn and the snake were following.

The alley led to a small garden, where they could stop to take their breath.

Quentyn was unharmed, but the snake had taken a cut on her cheek, and was dripping blood.

"We need to get out of the city, fast," the Volantene lady spoke. "The Eastern gate is close."

"Let's make a run for it before we are overrun." Quentyn nodded. "Arch, carry her."

Archibald nodded, carefully picked her up, then smiled.

"Waiting for your instructions, my lady."

The Volantene noblewoman nodded and pointed at small passageways. Their run was only obstructed by a few terrified women and children, coming to seek safety in the small corners of each street.

Soon enough, they were out in the open again, but this time, they were not met with Dothraki. Nor sellswords, in fact. Actually, Arch thought he could see the sigil of a house on the man's armor…

"Allyrion!" he shouted, finally.

The man's head immediately cocked towards them, and his mouth fell in surprise.

"Prince Quentyn, we've been looking for you everywhere!" The heir to Godsgrace ran towards them, Ser Deziel Dalt right behind him.

"Don't worry about that now, I need a horse to bring this lady back to camp."

The knight immediately acquiesced. Quickly, orders came out and a horse was brought.

"Nym, take your mother to camp, make sure she's fine."

"And you?" she asked.

"I need to figure out what is happening here."

"Be safe."

"I will."

The Volantene woman and the snake both took place on the horse, which kicked its way out of the city, out of a gaping hole in the ramparts.

Turning back to Ser Ryon after making sure the horse did indeed exit the city, Quentyn then asked:

"What are you lot doing here?"

"The Golden Company participated, so we thought we'd take advantage of this to make sure the capture of the city goes as smoothly as possible…for the slaves, we mean." Ser Ryon answered.

Quentyn and Archibald shared a look of hopelessness.

"I fear it's a little late for that…"

"What do you mean, my prince?"

"Do you think the Dothraki will differentiate between slaves and masters?"

The answer came down like an executioner's blade.

"We must do our best, then. Our new Queen wills it." Ser Deziel pointed out behind them.

BIG RED WARNING BIG RED WARNING

BIG RED WARNING BIG RED WARNING

BIG RED WARNING BIG RED WARNING

"You won't like what you'll see, then." Quentyn sighed, as he joined the Dornish party through the desolate streets of Volantis.

Indeed, the city was down to ruins. Everywhere they looked, houses were burning, or turned to piles of stones or bricks. Wherever there were once markets, there were now dozens of looters, Dothraki or sellsword, running around, taking what they can.

At the turn of a street, the group came across a group of Dothraki.

"What are they doing?" asked Ser Deziel. "They seem to be throwing something in the air."

"It's a child," Quentyn said with a choked voice. "A live one."

Indeed, a figure seemed to come down from the skies only for the Dothraki to lunge at it, blades drawn. Two blades hit. One of them went through the child's face, the other through his belly.

And the horsemen laughed, congratulating the two who had bloodied their blades. Then, their leader took out another terrified child, perhaps not even three namedays old, and threw him into the air.

"This…is monstruous!" Ser Henry Sunglass, who had added himself to the group, let out.

"It's what the Dothraki do," Archibald let out. "They're monsters."

Ser Deziel had had enough. He unsheathed his sword and ran towards the Dothraki, screaming bloody murder. The Dothraki were surprised by this, and, with no armor, they never stood a chance. They were cut down to the last.

When Archibald approached, there were eight corpses of children. A ninth was still alive, but, with three stab wounds, one of the men preferred to slit his throat to put him out of his misery.

And the rest wasn't better. In another street, the wooden buildings had all burned down. All that remained were charred corpses.

In the next, screams coming from a house left no doubt as to what was happening in it.

Finally, as they reached the last square, they could see members of the Golden Company running out of several stone houses, pockets and hands literally full of precious booty, from sculptures to bracelets.

At the turn of a street, they found a couple of Golden Company men dragging women along. The leader had two, both of them tattooed with a horse on their face.

"Where do you think you're going with these women?" Ser Ryon asked.

"None of your business, Dornish scum!" the leader replied, earning a hearty laugh from the others.

Quentyn stepped forward, rage in his eyes, looking at the man. He had arms engraved on his armor: house Peake.

"These women were slaves. They have done no wrong and are under the Queen's protection. They have suffered long enough, let them go."

"Go fuck a goat, Dornish pig, we're having these ones. The King will protect us."

A cheer went off in the ranks behind. Peake was harboring a wide smile. It was the last thing he did.

Valyrian steel pierced his stomach as Quentyn, angry like Archibald had never seen him before, threw him on the ground.

"Laswell!" shouted another man, brandishing his sword, "you'll die for this!"

Quentyn easily dodged, disarmed, and then pinned the man to the wall by driving his sword through his gut.

"I'll take pleasure in knowing Starpike will be Dornish for eternity. Be sure I will never let a Peake step into its lands again," his words were spat like venom from a viper's mouth.

He removed the sword, then pointed out to the rest, who had immediately raised her hands.

"Ser Deziel, hang the rest and make sure to state the reason. Ser Garibald, raise one of our banners on the square alongside a Targaryen one, right here. Set up patrols around and bring every single slave you find right here. Make sure you shout 'Regia homiae', it means 'Queen's man' in lower Volantene. That should be enough to make them follow you. Get some of the girls to help if they're in a condition to."

"Yes, my prince."

Both men quickly shouted orders and were on their way.

"I need this side of the city locked down. Everyone who enters the area from the Black Walls to the Eastern Gate, between both the Elephant Gardens and the Street of Skulls is under our responsibility. You have my complete trust considering what options you wish to consider against any who trespass. This means everything: Dothraki, Golden Company, Windblown…I don't care! Even Dornishmen if it happens! Your word is law, by my orders. Set a field hospital, get nurses from the camp if necessary. Ser Ryon, you and Arch come with me, we will drive out all this scum from the Street of Glory: a passage needs to be cleared between here and the Eastern Gate."

The men stood at attention. They were no longer playing at war. This was about saving the entire population of a city.

Soon, orders went out. Patrols were set up and it was time to get on the move. The Martell and Targaryen banners soon flew over the headless statue throning in the middle of the fountain square, likely seen from far around.

"Let's hope this works…" Quentyn sighed.

Archibald nodded. For the good of hundreds of souls, it had to.

Everywhere, though, the streets reeked of death and desolation. People only came out due to the cries of the other slaves, whom the Dornish had rescued. Some of them were half-burnt, others were missing limbs.

Their cries sometimes attracted sellswords or Dothraki, who were always quickly put to flight or to the sword.

At some point they entered a house, where men of the Windblown had set camp in, their banner floating. The Dornish, curious, entered.

Archibald thought he had seen it all, but this…it revolted him. The sellsword has put young girls out for their…needs. The oldest could not have been twelve. The youngest…no, better not to try thinking about that.

It was a massacre. Archibald killed no less than three, the last with his bare hands, choking the life out of that monster himself.

But the Windblown and other sellswords were numerous. Too numerous, even. Some of them had time to lunge for weapons, even half-naked.

Archibald wasn't hurt. Neither was Quentyn.

But Ser Ryon, hit by a sword in the stomach, lay dying on one of the tables.

"What will I say to Ynys…" Quentyn managed to choke over the man's body.

But they had to continue. Everywhere, the madness continued. The bodies piled up: slaves, masters, others…it didn't matter. The city smelt of death and blood.

What was once the Queen of Cities was now but a mass grave.

It never ended. The pain, the suffering…it was everywhere.

At a street corner, Dothraki playing with young boys again, seeing who would throw him the furthest. Those same Dothraki, in one of the gardens, were playing archers with live targets. A few streets later, men indulging in drink, forcing young boys and girls to strip for them. At a detour of a fountain, people getting burned alive for having dared to resist the pillaging of their home.

And the dead kept piling up. But Archibald couldn't throw up. No, that he would do tonight. He would reek so much in the Rhoyne that he'd be skinnier than a stick by the end.

But for now, he was the only thing separating the Volantenes from death, or worse.

The refugees kept coming into the Dornish area. Banners were flying everywhere, while more and more men were pouring in to keep the peace. The Dornish bodies also piled up. So many, dying for a cause they'd never even heard of, far from their homes.

Then, a great dragon landed in the main square, where the dragon banner floated alongside that of the sun and spear.

The atmosphere was heavy, silence dawned upon the area.

Quentyn stepped forward as a figure stepped off of the dragon, which quickly took flight again.

The people's stares were empty. There were no celebrations or cheers. Only silence.

The Dragon Queen looked around and shook her head.

"The masters tried to take the slaves with them, it seemed."

Quentyn looked at her in the eyes, his eyes raging with a fire Archibald had never seen in a man before.

"The masters have oppressed the slaves for hundreds of years, and caused untold sufferings on them. But tonight, as the lights flicker to signal the death of the Queen of Cities, the blood of innocents are not on their hands, they are on yours."

Quentyn then presented Queen Daenerys with a small child, a girl, barely older than eleven, wrapped in sheets, giving him to her. The child was dead, her face mutilated and with multiple stab wounds in the stomach. On his back, in clear bloody letters, were inscribed words in Dothraki. Archibald had them translated. They read: 'Khal Moqo was here'.

The Queen released the body, letting the girl fall to the ground, blood staining the sand.

She fell into Quentyn's arms, sobbing, barely managing to make out a sentence. Between tears, she finally gasped.

"What have I done?"