The city of Meereen sprawled far below the balcony where Willas stood, a writhing beast held at bay by fear of further slaughter. The men nailed to posts in the central plaza still lingered in the outer traces of Willas' mind. Over a hundred men, half dead and rotting, had greeted them on their trek from the harbor to the Great Pyramid. Willas didn't think he'd ever forget it. He doubted the people of Meereen would.
Though, perhaps that is a good thing. Daenerys had made it well known why she'd done it. Still, their agonized pleas for mercy had wormed into his dreams every night for the three weeks they'd been in Meereen. He hadn't the stomach for such acts. Garlan or Loras might have; his Uncle Garth certainly hadn't thought of it past that day, but Willas was not his younger brothers or his uncle. He was not built for war as they were.
The late afternoon light cast long shadows over the city, and if this night was to be like the last, the Sons of the Harpy already slithered amongst them. From the terrace adjoining his chambers in the Great Pyramid Willas could see all the way down to the barren harbor. The water in Slaver's Bay gleamed in the light of the setting sun, and the few ships that made anchor appeared as though they floated on Arbor gold. Willas counted four, five if one were to count the ship they'd arrived on.
A warm breeze billowed his shirt and rustled the vast array of greenery around him. Plants Willas had never seen before dotted his terrace; some with violet flowers, some white, but all were beautiful. His Uncle Garth had no knowledge of them either, despite his travels. Willas plucked a violet one from a plant nearest to him and twirled the stem between his fingers
"Mother would find them fascinating," Margaery said. Willas jolted, as he'd not heard his sister enter. Such was her way, even at home in Highgarden.
"She would." Willas set the flower on the edge of the balcony wall, a gift to the wind which stole it away and swept it out over the city. It floated through the air, reminding Willas very much of a bird, and he traced its path until it disappeared from sight. Resting his weight on his cane, he turned to face Margaery.
Nearly a decade his junior and the youngest of his siblings, Margaery was perhaps his favorite. Though he'd never say as much to Garlan or Loras, both of whom he loved dearly. Even so, he'd surely have gone mad had it been either of his brothers with him on the voyage to Meereen. They could hardly remain in one place for a week, let alone two months aboard a ship.
"You return unscathed? Pity, that," Willas japed. He grinned when Margaery cast him an unamused glare and raised her brow.
She strolled forward, straight-backed and sedate in her pace as always, and stopped beside him. Her hair, Willas noted, had been twisted and pinned up off her neck similarly to how Daenerys wore hers. The work of the little scribe he presumed, as he recalled Daenerys mentioning to Margaery that Missandei often tended to her own. The dress she'd chosen for that day again echoed the ones he'd seen Daenerys wear, white in color and strangely cut, bearing more skin than she would have dared in Westeros.
"Did you expect otherwise? A wise man would have more faith in the abilities of our uncle and Ser Barristan, not to mention Daenerys' Unsullied and Bloodriders." Margaery flashed him a wry look and Willas chuckled.
"How did you find the city, then?" Though an invitation had been extended to him, Willas had remained in the pyramid.
Daenerys, Margaery, and their collection of guards had ridden on horseback through the city and the refugee camps outside the walls. Willas could no longer spend long stretches ahorse. Not with his leg how it was. A hindrance, that's all I'd be.
"I imagine in better times it's not so different from any other," Margaery said. She pointed to the city below and began naming the places she'd visited with Daenerys and the strange sights she'd seen. The strange spices and animals in the markets, the Temple of the Graces and its gleaming golden domes, the pink and white pyramid of Pahl and the yellow and green of Rhazdar, all glowing in the setting sun and hiding the small houses between them in shadows.
Meereen was a colorful city, and had the circumstances been different, Willas would have made a day of exploring it on his own. As it was, Willas didn't think the city safe for any friend of Daenerys Targaryen to venture alone without guards. Uncle Garth had insisted upon joining Margaery even with the planned guards and Ser Barristan's presence.
Hadn't that been a surprise to find Ser Barristan guarding Daenerys upon their arrival, though far from an unwelcome one. Ser Barristan and the Tyrells remained loyal years ago during the Rebellion, as he'd reminded Daenerys. Old loyalties did not easily die.
"Do you think she'll accept?" Willas asked. Margaery joined him in leaning against the wall and let her gaze wander over the city, from the olive trees lining the shores, the ruined walls from Daenerys' taking of Meereen, all the way to the great river Skahazadhan with its muddy waters that spilled into the bay.
The Skahazadhan was nothing like the clear waters of the Mander that ran next to Highgarden that he and his siblings swam and played in, once upon a time. Not even all the gold in Casterly Rock could convince Willas to swim in the Skahazadhan.
His sister heaved a sigh. "I believe she will. She spent the better part of the day asking about Westeros and the houses that might join her. Your sons and grandsons might yet sit the throne," she said, her words musical and teasing as she spoke of sons and grandsons.
Willas craned his neck upwards toward the top of the Great Pyramid, yet he could only catch sight of an errant corner of the banner that he knew flew proudly. They'd seen it as soon as they made port. The crimson, three-headed dragon of House Targaryen — Daenerys' banner, and perhaps someday, if all went accordingly, the banner of his sons and daughters.
After Renly's fall, his father and grandmother had intended to ally with Joffrey. His father wanted a grandson on the throne and Joffrey needed their men. The Lannisters bled allies swifter than a stuck pig; a fool could predict that he would fall without the Reach. A crown for Margaery in exchange for men to win the war. A fair trade, by any Littlefinger emerged at Bitterbridge with a better offer.
Astapor, Yunkai, and then Meereen, Daenerys Targaryen gathered strength and victories to her name and would doubtless turn her eye toward Westeros before long. What use was a crown for Margaery when three dragons loomed ahead? Willas was unwed, and Daenerys needed allies if she intended to sit the Iron Throne.
"Does this all not bother you?" Willas asked. He studied Margaery, the downward twist of her mouth and the pinch of her brow. She stood from where she leaned on the wall to face him.
"Perhaps it should. Grandmother would tell me it should. That's what she's prepared me for, is it not? A crown." Margaery shook her head and looked up towards the Targaryen banner as Willas had, shielding her eyes from the sun's reflection with her hand. "It matters not which of us is the consort, so long as Tyrell blood sits the Iron Throne."
"And yet you haven't answered my question," Willas said. He'd never enjoyed his grandmother's lessons of politics and intrigues as Margaery and Loras had, but he understood them well enough. Margaery could spin an answer as easily as their grandmother could. A politician to the core, his sister. Made to be Queen, he could hear Loras say, even leagues and leagues away as he was.
Margaery gifted him a smile, the crooked one he cherished so. "Joffrey is not Renly. I do not envy Desmera." He winced at the reminder of their cousin's role in this song and dance.
Queen to Joffrey, in case Daenerys refused his family's offer and they found themselves backing him after all. A tether to the throne for House Tyrell. His father was a patient man; a great-grandson on the Iron Throne would serve him the same as a grandson. And, if Daenerys didn't refuse, men of the Reach would await her in King's Landing. He only hoped Desmera would be safely away from Lord Tywin's grasp when the time came.
"Nor do I envy you, Willas, if that is what you fear," Margaery continued. Her voice was as calm as the warm breeze, as assured as the Hightower that belonged to their grandfather, and Willas knew she spoke honestly.
After all, had it not been Loras who put forth the match between Renly and Margaery? Had it not been his father's plan to join them to Joffrey? Willas considered Margaery and her serene smile. How long had it been since he'd seen Margaery free from the burden of his family's desires? He would gladly shoulder that weight if it allowed his sister to put her own ambitions first, for once.
A knock on his chamber door put an end to their conversation. Willas and Margaery passed through the curtained archway that separated the terrace from the rest of his rooms and exchanged questioning glances.
Willas called for whoever was without to enter. One of the Unsullied opened the door and Daenerys stepped into the room. Margaery curtseyed and Willas bowed.
"Your grace," Margaery greeted. Daenerys was quiet a moment as she swept a glance around his borrowed chambers, barren though they were, save for the few books he'd brought along.
The setting sun illuminated her where she stood. Four golden bells had once again been wound into her silvery hair, which, aside from where it'd been braided, fell just below her shoulders. Margaery said aught to her and Daenerys' laugh was as clear as the tinkle of the bells.
"How do you fare, Willas? I hope you weren't terribly bored with our absence," Daenerys smiled.
"Not at all," Willas shook his head. "The library was fascinating, as you promised. I plan to return one night before we depart." In truth, Willas found the small library boring.
Half the books he'd read in Highgarden, King's Landing, or Oldtown, and the other half were in languages he'd no way of comprehending. But Daenerys had been eager to show the library to him after Margaery mentioned his fondness for books, and he'd learned after one unfortunate incident years ago with Loras that there was little harm in pretending with matters such as this.
Besides, he hadn't lied about wishing to return. The library provided a convenient excuse to remove himself from Daario Naharis' path, and Willas cared little and less for that man. Daario found no small amount of pleasure in needling Willas and each time, Willas found it harder to restrain himself from taking his cane and smacking the blue-haired Tyroshi atop the head.
"Well, I'm afraid tonight will not be that night. I'd planned to visit my children this evening and I'd hoped for you to join me," Daenerys offered. Her gaze bounced between him and Margaery, and though her hands remained clasped politely at her front, her fingers fiddled restlessly.
"I'd be honored," Willas answered. He dipped his head and caught the eye of his sister. Her children. Margaery shared a swift, pointed glance with him before excusing herself for the night. She bid a good evening to Daenerys' guards, who lingered out of view in the shadowed hall, before disappearing herself.
In the weeks they'd spent in Meereen they'd seen no glimpse of her fabled dragons, though they'd certainly heard plenty tell of them over their shared dinners with Daenerys. Two were kept below the pyramid in what had once been a prison, and the third… "stretching his wings," Daenerys claimed. And that was all she'd said on the matter.
Garth, ever skilled in coaxing men to loosen their tongues over shared drinks, had succeeded in getting some of Daenerys' sellswords to say much and more of the elusive third dragon. "He's missing," Garth reported one night. There'd been sightings of him as far south as the island of Yaros, and the Stormcrows had seen him north of the Khyzai Pass as they traveled to Lhazar.
It must bode well for their cause, Willas thought, that she wished to show the two below the pyramid to him. He followed Daenerys out of the room and down the hall, one of her Unsullied leading the way with a lit torch in hand and two more following behind.
The marbled stairs down to the vast audience hall were familiar to Willas, though it was strange to see the audience hall vacant. It felt rather ordinary without the lit torches and courtiers and petitioners to fill it. Even the marble bench that served as Daenerys' throne appeared plain without her sitting atop it.
Twenty-and-one sets of stairs remained between them and the pits below. Going down was no hardship, but the prospect of climbing them later nearly had Willas feigning an illness and returning to his chambers. He refrained and instead distracted himself by engaging in idle chatter with Daenerys.
She spoke of the children she'd visited in the camps that afternoon, the troubling reports from Astapor and Yunkai, and, as ever, she was more than happy to answer his endless questions about the Dothraki and their horses. Over the dinners they'd shared, Willas discovered for every question he had about the Dothraki, she had three about Westeros and King's Landing.
When one set of stairs remained to them, they stopped. The final set would take them to the pit of the Great Pyramid. It stretched downwards into the dark; long and cavernous and appearing as though there was no end. A good place to keep her dragons, as certainly any man seeking to cause them harm would balk at what was, in truth, a path leading towards death for any unwelcome.
Two Unsullied guarded the sole entrance with long spears in one hand and shields in the other, unflinching save to dip their heads to their Queen in greeting. Daenerys exchanged brief words in Valyrian with the Unsullied holding the torch and he began his descent alone, lighting the unlit torches along the wall as he passed. Daenerys gathered her blue and white skirts in one hand and faced him. "Shall we?"
They advanced downwards. As though the steps weren't foreboding enough in appearance, Willas found them to be steep and slick. He clung tight to his cane upon feeling the slippery nature of the stone underfoot and sent a brief prayer to whichever of the Seven might be listening.
None listened, it appeared. He'd not made it ten steps before his cane slipped from beneath him and it was only the swiftness of the Unsullied behind him that saved him from further embarrassment. Daenerys stopped and clutched his other, and he waved away her concern as she helped steady him. Blessedly, she said nothing else of the matter, though she kept her firm grip on his arm the rest of the way down.
Down and down the stairs descended, taking them further into the depths of the Great Pyramid. The air turned soggy and cool, hazy from the burning torches, and shadows lined the walls like tapestries. The stairs ended in a small chamber and Willas was glad to be done with stairs, if only for a short while.
A large, round, stone door remained between them and the dragons. Willas wondered how much of a difference it would make should the dragons decide they no longer wished to be contained. Likely little difference. Harrenhal was a testament to the effects of dragonfire on stone.
The Unsullied who'd descended before them handed Daenerys the lit torch before aiding the other in rolling the door aside. Stone scraped against stone as it rolled, and no sooner had they pushed it away did Daenerys start forward with the torch held aloft. The Unsullied did not follow, instead resolving to remain on either side of the entrance. Against every instinct that told him to run, Willas followed in Daenerys' steps.
"Rhaegal? Viserion?" Daenerys called. Her voice resounded down the pit, answering itself thrice over as it echoed. There was silence, then the rattle of chains and what Willas could only truly describe as slithering, though even that remained an ill-fitting description.
The pit was more a cavern than Willas anticipated, and even less like he envisioned the Dragon Pit in King's Landing must have been at its height. It was sticky, humid, and darker than night aside from the torch's circle of light. For a long while there was nothing aside from the sounds of their breath. Then, there was movement in the dark.
From the back of the pit came a puff of air, a clicking trill, and a jet of flame so brilliant it forced Willas to shield his eyes. The dragon's sibling joined, and the blast of heat from the twin jets of flame felt as though the sun itself had been chained below, rather than two dragons.
The dragons encroached, and it took every ounce of his will to keep from quailing before them. Daenerys eagerly descended upon them with sweet words and a gentle hand upon their scales, and if Willas could find his voice, he'd have surely begged her to step away.
Even from the distance he stood their breath puffed hot against his face. Damp and heavy, the sweet smell of rotting meat washed over him and he couldn't help but wrinkle his nose.
"Come closer," Daenerys beckoned. "They won't harm you so long as I am here."
Though she'd been true to her every word since they arrived, Willa struggled to believe her now. Still, he inched closer, the molten-bronze eye of the green beast to his right following him all the while.
"This is Rhaegal," Daenerys said of the green dragon. She grasped his hand and gently guided him forward. Willas dared not breathe.
"They're magnificent," Willas said breathlessly. He thought of Archmaester Marwyn, all the way back in Oldtown. Like as not, he'd keel over from the shock of it all were he in Willas' place. He looked at Daenerys in amazement. For how was it possible for one girl to return even one of these beasts to the living world, let alone three?
"Wait until you see them take to the skies. It's a sight like no other." Daenerys pet Rhaegal as if he were little more than a lazy cat. She took his arm and directed him to the other dragon, the white and gold. "This is Viserion. I named them for my brothers. The third, Drogon, I named for my late husband."
She pressed his hand to Viserion's scales. They neared too hot to touch and felt as smooth as glass, though they were far from fragile. Just above his head, Viserion's crest of horns glimmered gold. Willas looked over his shoulder at Rhaegal and then back to Viserion. He'd yet to see the third, but Willas was near certain Viserion was the most beautiful of the three.
"I've given thought to your offer," Daenerys said. She handed him the torch as he took a step back, and she used her free hand to reach up to pet one of Viserion's horns. "You must understand why I falter now that you've had time to know Meereen."
"You care for your people. It's admirable." Willas stepped further back and away from the dragons, keeping his eyes on them all the while.
As well-behaved as they were in the presence of their mother, Willas knew better than to turn his back on beasts unfamiliar to him. Try as he might, even stopped a few feet from them, he could not peel his eyes from the dragons, and he found himself unable to reconcile the beasts that sat before him with all he knew of the world.
"I'd hoped to wait until Meereen was settled. I've no wish to abandon it." Viserion crooned low and stretched to the ground, knocking Daenerys with his wing as he did so.
Willas held his torch aloft to better see the dragons. "By the time Meereen has settled, so will have Westeros, and winter will be long underway. Convincing the lords to leave the warmth of their keeps to take up arms will be a war of its own," he said.
Chains rattled as Rhaegal swung his head around to stare at Willas. Marvelous beasts. They were nothing like the books of the Citadel had described. Or perhaps they were precisely as described, and the words of maesters did them little justice. Already, his mind searched through ways to describe the creatures to his mother, yet he found none fitting.
Daenerys sighed and knelt beside Viserion's head. Her skirts dipped into the puddles on the floor, but she was more concerned with the dragon. Seemingly ignoring his words, she said, "It pains me to keep them trapped here. They hardly eat, but I've no choice. So long as I remain in Meereen, so must my children remain locked away."
There was not much Willas could offer in the way of an opinion, as certainly none knew more about dragons than the woman before him. Instead, he nodded in concession. There wasn't a soul in Meereen who hadn't heard of the fate that'd befallen the shepherd's daughter.
From where she knelt beside Viserion, Daenerys looked up to him. "Your sister told me more of the wars in Westeros today. It appears I'd have little in the way of allies. My nephew, if he really is so, has half the kingdoms at his back," she said.
"That is true," Willas nodded. "Aegon has Dorne and the Riverlands, and, with his marriage to Arya Stark, the North. But you will have the Reach and the Vale, and many of the Stormlords are yet to declare for either side. And you have dragons, which will bridge any gap that remains."
Distantly, Willas remembered the rumor his Uncle Garth heard from a whore in Volantis; rumors of three more dragons born from flames somewhere in the Riverlands. He'd dismissed it then, and he dismissed it now.
Most like the sailor or merchant that the woman had heard it from had heard a tale of a tale, and along the way, the first rumors of dragon banners sighted in the Riverlands from moons ago had become conflated with the rumors of the dragons before him now. Such was the way of stories.
Daenerys said nothing of these rumors, and so Willas presumed Margery had said naught of it to Daenerys. She would have if it was truly of any import. The two women had spent enough time together, after all. And if Margaery hadn't thought it worth mentioning, Willas would follow suit.
The mention of the Vale brought a troubled look across Daenerys' face and she faltered. "You claim this Lord Baelish will bring the Vale to my cause. How can you be sure? Ser Barristan says only a fool would trust him."
Willas might have expected that. Ser Barristan knew Littlefinger perhaps better than Willas. And, truth be told, Willas had scant trust in the man either. However, he trusted the man's ambition. "Ser Barristan isn't wrong. Petyr Baelish is slippery at best and loyal to himself alone."
"And yet you counsel me to trust this man," Daenerys said archly. She rose from beside Viserion and wiped her hands on her skirts, which were already ruined by the muddied floor of the pit.
"I do, Your Grace. He gains more by backing your claim than he does Aegon's or Joffrey's. Even Ser Barristan will tell you that Baelish wants for nothing more than power. Influence. He's angered Joffrey by fleeing, and he'll find no place amongst the Starks after the business with Ned Stark." Which left the man corned, desperate, though Willas did not say as much. Willas found desperate men, like animals, predictable.
"I am not certain I wish for the support of a man like that," Daenerys frowned. She glided forward and stood before him, hands clasped behind her back, and stared at him resolutely. The flames from his torch played across her face with flashes of orange and yellow. Her short stature made her no less imposing; Willas would have thought her so even without two dragons at her back. Imposing, and beautiful.
"I fear you will find many men and women like Petyr Baelish in King's Landing, Daenerys," Willas whispered. "It is better to keep such men where you can see them."
"Your sister said much of the same," Daenerys mused. Abruptly, Daenerys turned from him. She considered her dragons for a long moment, as her children did her. "I've a condition of my own to add to this agreement."
"Just one?" Willas raised a brow.
Daenerys nodded once, firm and unyielding. "I know my failures in Astapor. I will not leave Meereen to the same fate. Daario has brokered a deal with Astapor, though it is tenuous, and his Stormcrows will remain behind and hold Meereen. Some of my Unsullied have expressed a desire to remain and aid in this. Together, they'll be able to hold Meereen until I take the Iron Throne, but not forever."
"You ask for men to return and help hold Meereen," Willas concluded. Daenerys' purple eyes sparked.
"Just so," she nodded. "And, liberate Yunkai and Astapor if needs be."
It was no small ask. Men would be lost in the wars to come, not counting the men who had already perished. To win peace and then send men to the far reaches of Essos? An ask such as that would be hard for any to swallow. And yet… Willas had not come all this way to fail. It would be folly to refuse on account of an obstacle which might resolve itself.
Smoke billowed from the nostrils of Viserion and Rhaegal behind her, casting the smell of brimstone about them. Willas extended his hand to Daenerys. "Meereen will not be abandoned, nor will Yunkai or Astapor."
A bright grin split her face as she clasped his forearm, and Willas grasped hers. "Then we have an agreement, Willas Tyrell. We'll wed before we set sail."
It occurred to Willas that her plan for Meereen was too well thought out, too far into motion to have been thought of in the past week. No, she must have begun the week of our arrival. He swallowed his astonishment with nary a grimace. Daenerys and her advisors had played at dithering amongst themselves admirably. Willas hadn't suspected a thing.
The journey back was just as arduous as the one down, though this time he did no more than stumble, as Daenerys had taken his arm from the start under the guise of her own poor balance. Daenerys, he'd found, was just as gracious as Margaery. He knew her claims of poor balance to be a falsehood.
His knee ached by the end but, eventually, the climb ended, and they found themselves on Daenerys' terrace rather than his.
Night had fallen, but the Targaryen banner was plainly visible above them. They stared West out over the bay, the Bay of Dragons, as Daenerys firmly corrected him. There was no blinding sun to block the view of where the water met the horizon, and in the moon's light, the water stretched as far west as west could go. Somewhere in the distance, the sun cast its fire over Westeros. In a mere few moons, Daenerys would do the same.