Aemond and Daenerys would usually have breakfast under the palo santo tree that grew in the terrace garden, while watching the dragons chase each other around the pinnacle of the Great Pyramid, where the enormous bronze harpy once stood. Meereen had many smaller pyramids, but none were even half the height of that one. From there, they could see the entire city: the narrow, winding alleys, the wide cobblestone streets, the temples and granaries, the huts and palaces, the brothels and bathhouses, the gardens and fountains, and the large red circles that were the fighting pits. Beyond the city walls lay the tin-colored sea, the meandering Skahazadhan, the parched hills, the burned forests, and the scorched fields.
The court would convene in just a few minutes, so the couple prepared to receive them in the audience hall one floor below their chamber. Daenerys retreated before breakfast to allow her maids to bathe, dress, and style her, while Aemond handled his preparations himself.
When they arrived in the hall, Ser Barristan Selmy, Jorah Mormont, Daario Naharis, Grey Worm, Herrath Ball, and Rylon Sand were already waiting. All rose when the kings arrived and took their seats only after the couple did. Blackfyre noticed the absence of his hand, so he asked Herrath about it.
"He said an urgent matter delayed him," the blond replied with a reassuring smile.
"Very well," he nodded. "What's new? Grey Worm?"
"The Masters' bodies were boiled, and their bones were delivered to their families as the Mother of Dragons commanded," the eunuch said with his solemn expression. "Everyone has praised her great generosity."
"I'm glad," Dany commented, taking over the conversation since she understood how much these meetings bored her husband, no matter how much he tried to hide it. "How many have requested an audience this morning?"
However, before Daario could answer, Edavro entered the hall with an expression that fluctuated between concern and anger. The Tyroshi remained silent to let the boy speak, as he seemed to have an urgent matter.
"Majesties," he made a deep bow to the monarchs and then directed his gaze to the man, whose furrowed brow revealed that it was something serious. "Ser Jon sends me, Your Majesty. He needs you to see this."
Without waiting for more, Aemond excused himself to Daenerys and left the room, followed by Edavro, Herrath, and Rylon. Although the platinum-haired man wanted to know the problem they were facing beforehand, his squire insisted that he had to wait until they reached the company's camp, as it was Ser Jon's orders.
After traversing the endless, stepped corridors of the pyramid, four horses awaited them at the doors, and with a brisk trot, they arrived at the sector of the city where the Golden Company was stationed. Meereen was so large that three of their camps could fit within its fields, and that was why some soldiers preferred to keep their tents and posts, also taking advantage of the resources the city provided.
"Edavro isn't saying a word; will you tell me what's happening?" Aemond asked Ser Jon when they found him standing outside the warehouse.
"Thirty men have deserted and stolen our food," the knight informed with his characteristic seriousness, though he also seemed a bit concerned. "They left this," he handed over a folded parchment.
"Traitor," Aemond read when he unfolded the piece of paper.
His jaw tightened, as did every muscle in his body. With one hand, he crumpled the parchment and threw it at his feet. Not only had they deserted his leadership, but they had stolen from him and, as if that weren't enough, had dared to call him a traitor. His own men.
"Who are they?" he asked, noticing how the other members of the company were gradually approaching to see what was going on.
"Some bastards and squires; Glenn of Plumb was one of them," Jon answered, checking the interior of the warehouse, which Haldon was examining to count what had been lost.
"Your Majesty, don't let an idiot like Glenn of Plumb bother you," Herrath intervened with a smile. "He would have left sooner or later. He never truly belonged."
"It's not about Glenn, Herrath," Aemond turned to his commander and looked him seriously in the eyes, though not with the same hateful glare he had given the piece of paper on the ground. His tone of voice did start to rise. "It's about thirty men deciding to leave and robbing me in front of the deadliest ten thousand men in all of Essos!" The blond lowered his gaze out of respect. "Will someone tell me how that was possible?" He looked around at all the men who were present, but none dared to speak.
"This happened last night, Your Majesty. We still have time to catch them," Rylon suggested. "Three groups of scouts should be enough to reach them before they leave Slaver's Bay."
"Make it four," he corrected, looking at him and Herrath. "I want you two to choose the scouts." The two warriors nodded and, after bowing, went to the quarters to organize the hunt.
"Your Majesty…"
"Thirty men betrayed me, Jon," he interrupted the elder in a whisper, not taking his eyes off the soldiers who had begun to move away with Herrath and Rylon. Some had returned to their tasks, while others gathered in their tents.
"They are just thirty losses. You don't need them."
"Thirty betrayals," he insisted. "Do you have any idea what that means?" He didn't let him respond, as he did so himself. "There will be more. If thirty men did not respect me enough to insult me and leave, more will follow."
He had disappointed them in the first place. He had told them that together they would deal with everyone who stood in their way back home, including the Targaryens. Yet, the first thing he did was marry the last of them. He could understand them. He could see why they had done it. But, despite everything, he returned to the pyramid to have lunch with his wife.
During lunch, Edavro arrived to inform him that the scouts had departed in search of the deserters, with Herrath and Rylon leading the two largest groups. The squire, who was now fifteen, then left, allowing the kings to continue their meal.
Daenerys made a vain attempt to soothe Aemond with her words, but he was sure that inside, she was gloating, knowing that her Unsullied would never do such a thing, nor would the Second Sons, but even if the mercenaries left his side, she wouldn't be as distressed as he was.
"There will always be deserters," the Khaleesi said, placing her wine glass on the table. "Even more so when it comes to mercenaries. You don't have to let it bother you so much."
"You don't understand," he set aside his food and looked at her.
"Explain it to me."
Aemond remained silent for a few seconds. He feared sharing the reality with her. In fact, he feared sharing it with anyone. It was his truth, his weakness, and he was about to tell the one person he shouldn't.
"I have no family. I have never had the warm embrace of a father, nor has he told me stories before bed, or recounted the deeds of our ancestors," he began, playing with a grape between his fingers. "He left when I was six, and since then, I've been alone. Everyone I was familiar with left—my nurses, my tutors, the house guards. I was a child who couldn't even pretend to be normal because I carried the hair and eyes of heroes and villains," he took a deep breath and smiled nostalgically, making Daenerys's heart ache at seeing the sadness he exuded. "Until the Golden Company took me in. It gave me everything I had lost, even what I had never had. But more than anything, it gave me the family I so desired. From that moment on, they have been everything to me, everything I've fought for. Maybe I don't know all the members, or get along with some, but they are my brothers, my family."
"And what's wrong with that?" she wanted to know.
"I promised them something… something I did not fulfill," he looked at her eventually, erasing the smile that had formed. "For people here in Essos, a promise is the most important thing. I told them that together we would fight against everyone who had taken our home from us, including the Targaryens," then Daenerys understood where this was going.
"You married me."
"I married you, I'm forcing them to fight your war. I'm no longer imposing my will on them," with a firm step, he stood up and walked to the terrace that opened from the private dining room. He looked at the horizon, wishing that his scouts had captured the deserters. "They see me… incapable."
Somewhere in Slaver's Bay Herrath led the group on a brown horse that the Dothraki had gifted him for drinking five jars of fermented milk without stopping. His golden locks shone in the sun and flew in the wind.
A cloud of sand and dirt rose behind them thanks to the speed the company's men maintained without stopping. They had been following the commander for four hours straight without achieving anything. The horses were beginning to tire, as were the men. Harry Strickland was the first to suggest stopping, but Herrath ignored him. However, it was Rylon, leading the second group, who took the initiative to find a suitable place to rest, as he realized that it was not practical to pursue them indefinitely.
"I don't know how far they have gone, but I've already lost track of them," Herrath shouted over the sound of galloping.
"Should we wait here?" Rylon asked, getting closer to Herrath with his horse.
"Yes," Herrath agreed. "They can't have gone far. Let's rest and make a plan."
It was a decision that none of them particularly liked, but it was the most logical option, and even though they were far from the enemy, their instincts were still sharp.
The horses were tethered to trees and shaded from the sun by canopies made of thick cloth. The men gathered to drink water and eat bread while the commanders consulted their maps.
"We need to find a better route," Rylon said, pointing to the map. "The desert will make it impossible to catch them before they cross into the far lands. We should go around the hills."
Herrath nodded. "Agreed. But we have to be careful not to miss their trail."
"Do you think they're planning something more?" Rylon asked, leaning over the map.
"I don't think they have the means to. It's just a theft and betrayal," Herrath replied, though a frown creased his brow. "But we can't underestimate them. We need to be prepared for anything."
By late afternoon, the two groups regrouped, and they rode out again, more determined and prepared to make up for lost time. Their journey would take them across desolate stretches and the occasional oasis, where they stopped to refresh themselves. Their hopes were high, and the anticipation of capturing the deserters kept their spirits up.
The pursuit would continue through the night and into the next day, as they faced the relentless sun and the harsh terrain. Each step was a reminder of what was at stake, and each mile covered was a step closer to recovering what had been lost and reaffirming their loyalty to their leader and cause.
