I'm sure you're all stunned to see an update so fast. Believe me, I'm stunned by how fast I managed to carve this out. But you thank the motivation behind keeping up with the Camp Nanowrimo schedule for this fast update! Seriously, Nanowrimo is a godsend for helping writers stay focused on writing and not getting easily distracted! Another fast update is here online and available for all you loyal readers to enjoy! :D
I'd also like to take a moment to give a fast shout out to Longclaw 1-6 for helping me decide whether or not to throw one little aspect into this chapter that I was uncertain about, and for allowing me to borrow the altered lyrics they drafted for a chapter in their story: 'My Father's Son.' It's a RhaegarxLyanna story, and it's truly awesome! If you haven't read it yet, go find it! It's really good! Thank you for letting me borrow a few verses of your song, Longclaw! I appreciate it! :D
I don't have much else to say this time since it's only been about a week since the last chapter, so I'll skip ahead to the total review count. I must say, I was very disappointed by the lack of reception for the last chapter: only ten reviews from you readers, making 137 reviews all together. We didn't get anywhere close to the desired review goal... Why, dear readers? Why didn't you review? You all must realize how much I love to get reviews by now, right? Come on, you can leave reviews! If you want me to stay motivated even after Camp Nano ends, you should leave reviews! They let me know all of you want to see how the story continues! So let's try again with a new review goal this time: Let's try making it to 155 reviews. Come on, everyone! Tell yourselves you can make it to 155! I know you can do it!
Now, onto the chapter! And remember to review when you're done! And in light of the current pandemic the world is facing with the coronavirus, I hope you're all staying healthy and washing your hands!
Happy Reading!
- Elphaba818
Chapter Nine: The Tale of Two Knights
"Have there been any attacks today?"
"No, your grace. No sign at all of the Sons of the Harpy."
"What about riots? From the citizens?"
"Still no riots, but Grey Worm reported earlier that some of the Unsullied discovered more graffiti this morning."
"Whoever did it deliberately painted over the inspiring message left on the walls to rally the people to fight when you took the city."
"What was painted over it?"
"Well… they left a message of their own."
"And that was…?"
"'Mhysa is a master.'"
"…I see."
She closed her eyes and slowly breathed through her nose. One moment of anger was all she could allow herself. As a queen, it was her duty to remain calm and collected even when receiving distressing news like this. But it was becoming harder and harder for her to keep her emotions in check. These days, any news about the status of her city was bad news.
Finally getting hold of herself, Dany opened her eyes, nodding neutrally to Missandei and Barristan. "Thank you for informing me. We'll have to discuss ideas on what's to be done this evening, when Grey Worm and Daario can attend a meeting."
"Should I send for Hizdahr as well, your grace?" Missandei asked.
Dany considered for a moment, then nodded with a sigh. "Yes, please do so, Missandei. He's the chosen representative amongst the former masters, and there's still a few more details I must discuss with him regarding the financial status of the rebuilding project."
Smiling kindly to her most trusted handmaiden and the Lord Commander of her Queensguard, Dany rose from the council table and moved to the balcony overlooking the rest of the city. With no trouble happening at the moment, it was hard to believe Meereen was in such a fragile state aside from the damage caused by the earthquake.
But that was the reality, no matter the illusion. Meereen was slowly heading towards the brink of civil war, and unless a solution could be found, many were going to die thanks to the Sons of the Harpies. The worst part was, most of those who would die would die thinking that their deaths would never had happened had she never came to this city and set them free.
"Is something wrong, your grace?" Barristan asked.
Her hands tightened their grasp around the banister railing. "Do you both think I should reopen the court to the citizens?"
Missandei blinked. "Your grace?"
"The Sons of the Harpy haven't killed anyone recently. They've only left more messages on building walls," she explained. "They've done nothing since Mossador's execution, but I see now that I… made a mistake with how I handled his death. The people are all against me now. That riot that happened right after his execution is proof enough that they are. Things were already bad enough before that failure, and now they're even worse. I fear the only way to win their trust again is if I show them that I still care about their well-being by seeing them in person."
"Your grace, I understand where you're coming from, but it's too risky," Missandei politely interjected. "There are potentially hundreds of men we don't know about who could be part of the Sons of the Harpy, and only one of you."
"I would have Ser Barristan with me, and Daario and Grey Worm if they're not patrolling the city. Not to mention my usual Unsullied guard."
"I know, your grace. But depending on what type of possible assassin they could send, they could easily slip past all of them. I admit I don't know much about such assassins, but when I served my former master, I heard tales about assassins that could literally blend in with their target's people."
"Such is the role of assassins, Missandei."
Missandei shook her head, her expression grave. "I beg your pardon, your grace, but you don't understand. These assassins… I think they went by the name of… Skinchangers? No-Faces? I'm not sure, but the point was, they could change their faces easily from their own to that of anyone who they killed. They could literally become that person."
Dany froze, a wisp of a memory from her ill-fated childhood flashing through her mind. "The Faceless Men."
"Oh, that's right! That's what they were called. You've heard of them?"
Dany nodded, slowly leaving the balcony and returning back indoors. "I've never personally met one, but yes. They reside in Braavos, I believe."
"Then surely you understand that if the Sons of the Harpy should consider hiring their services, you'll be in even greater danger even when inside the safety of the pyramid," Missandei explained. "I know how much you care about the freedmen and even the nobles, your grace. Anyone's who met you can see you never meant to upset the people during that execution. But there's only one of you and countless others plotting against you. It's better to minimize your exposure."
Dany frowned and turned away. Missandei had a point. The idea of being potentially hunted by the Faceless Men had among the biggest fears Viserys had when they lived on the streets. It was a miracle that King Robert had apparently never heard of the elite group. He sent countless others their way which they always managed to flee from, but never a skinchanger. They'd been lucky in that regard.
She turned in surprise when Barristan suddenly cleared his throat. He'd been so quiet as Missandei spoke she'd nearly forgotten he was here. "Your grace, I understand Missandei's point and I agree that there would be danger involved if you reopened your courts. But I think you should still consider doing so."
"Ser Barristan?"
"Not permanently, my queen. Just for a few days. This past month since Mossador died has been terrible on your reputation. The people need to see that you still care about them. If you double your security in the audience chambers as well as in the reception hall and we check those who enter for potential weapons or poisons, I think we could ensure your safety."
Missandei still appeared a bit unsure, but Dany smiled. Barristan's suggestions seemed like good ones.
"Hate to break it to you, old man, but that's just wishful thinking. The court has to stay closed if we're to keep our beautiful queen safe."
They all turned. Daario was in the doorway, casually leaning up against the frame as his dark eyes bored directly at the silver-haired beauty across the room.
Dany's lips curled up into a subtle smile. That seductive look on Daario's face setting her aflame like always. "Daario, we didn't hear you come in."
"I know, my queen. I know just how to appear when needed. Especially when you need me."
It took all of Dany's willpower to keep a straight face at the innuendo. She was still the queen. Any relationship she and Daario had stayed in the bedroom, and it was not acceptable for the sellsword to say such things in the presence of others.
"What was that you said before?" She asked, her tone neutral. "Why do you suppose the court should remain closed for now? Ser Barristan's suggestion seems more than appropriate."
Her lover frowned, disappointed by her lack of reciprocation. Still, he straightened to attention. "Three words. That stupid boy."
Dany blinked. Like it or not, Daario had a point.
The day she executed Mossador, she's seen a certain dark-haired boy in the crowd, him and that black beast that was always with him. She'd been too far away to really get a good luck at either of them. She doubted she'd have even noticed them if she hadn't heard someone call her 'mother' in the Common Tongue. Everyone else had been calling her 'mhysa,' but someone called her the same in the Westerosi language. She wasn't entirely certain, but part of her suspected that it had been the boy who had yelled that. She didn't get the chance to dwell over that though since the riot happened all at once. One moment she'd been standing on the platform, the next she was being escorted by her guards to the closest building for shelter. But right when she was about to enter, that boy and his wolf suddenly appeared again, screaming for her to wait. She was surprised by how they were running to her, but he'd been lost in the crowd as those trying to stone her flung him out of their way. She tried urging her guards to go back and see if he was all right at least, but the her soldiers only priority was keeping her safe, and she'd been dragged into the building before she could utter a single word of protest. She'd felt guilty for what happened to that boy, but there hadn't been anything she could have done for him right then. Whatever it was he'd wanted with her, it hadn't mattered since he hadn't reached her.
She hadn't expected to hear from him again after that riot… but she'd been mistaken on that count.
In the past month since the execution, that boy had been responsible for so many headaches both herself and her guards had been experiencing. He'd been trying relentlessly to break inside the pyramid, and some of the ways he'd been doing so had baffled both herself and her council. Grappling hooks to climb directly to her balcony, hiding in barrels to be directly carried into the pyramid, trying to sneak in through the sewers… the list went on and on. He never made it very far, her guards would often catch him before he even found the stairs leading up to the pyramid's upper levels and would throw him and that odd animal he had back out, but he was never deterred. He might not try every night, but he always came back sooner or later, and each time he did, his attempts only became crazier and shocking in how he tried to get in.
What was odd though was what he did whenever he did manage to get in. He never stole anything. He never hurt anyone. He just kept trying to get further up the pyramid levels that the time before. If he wasn't a thief and wasn't trying to kill her soldiers, then what did he want?
"Has there been any sign of that boy today?" she finally asked. "He hasn't tried sneaking in again, has he?"
Daario shook his head, casually smirking. "Some of my men said they saw him wandering the market with that black beast of his, but other than that, no. He hasn't caused any trouble today."
She exhaled, relieved. "That's good. The last thing we need right now is dealing with whichever security breach he manages to find."
Daario chuckled. "Agreed, my queen. Don't know what the Sons of the Harpy could be thinking, sending him to do their dirty work. They're obviously not as smart as they think they are if they're sending that annoying brat."
Barristan frowned. "I highly doubt that's the case, your grace. He hasn't done anything remotely similar to what the Harpies generally do," he said. "He's trying to break in, yes, but that's all he's done. He hasn't hurt anyone or taken anything, and he doesn't allow that wolf of his to hurt anyone either… at least not unless a guard tries to hurt either of them first."
Dany nodded, fully agreeing with the aged knight. "I agree with you on that, Ser Barristan, but that doesn't change the fact that he's continuously trying to force his way into the pyramid. Even if he's not part of the Harpies, what do you suppose he wants?"
To her surprise, Daario snorted. "Oh, believe me, you don't have to worry about that," he insisted. "My men see him out and about all the time, and I even spoke to him once. He's just a typical street kid. Not to mention a liar."
"A liar? What makes you say that?"
He waved away the inquiry, his smirk never once leaving his lips. "Trust me, my queen, you'd be insulted if you knew. That brat's just spewing lies out of the sheer hope it will get him into the life of luxury. Give the word and I'll tell my men they're free to rough him up a bit to teach to him back off the next time they catch him sneaking around."
"Absolutely not, Daario. If this boy is really just looking for a better life, then that means that there are homeless orphans in this city that desperately need my immediate help. You will tell your men that they are not to harm a single hair on any of their heads, and to instead prioritize in making sure they are the ones who receive the most food and provisions each day when they pass out supplies. Is that clear?"
Stiffening at the firmness in her tone, Daario quickly nodded. "Yes, my queen."
Dany nodded once, curtly. She didn't enjoy admonishing Daario like that, but sometimes it was necessary. The captain of the Second Sons was far too quick to believe violence was always necessary and that his status as his lover made him immune to obeying her orders.
It was then that Missandei stepped forward. "Your grace, I'll admit I have not seen this boy myself, but I believe Ser Barristan and Daario are both partially correct in some regard."
All three turned to look at her, blinking repeatedly.
"It's obvious the boy does not wish to cause harm or steal from you, like Ser Barristan stated," she went on. "But I spoke with Grey Worm earlier. He says he and the Unsullied often catch glimpses of him and his wolf from afar while patrolling the city. From what they've seen, the boy and wolf appear to be starving. They often play an instrument of some sort to try earning money, but they never make much, especially since they only appear to know the Common Tongue. So Daario is most likely correct in assuming he's an orphan."
Dany's heart ached in sympathy. "Perhaps I should have him brought to me the next time he tries breaking in," she mused. "If he and his pet are truly starving, the least I can do is provide him with a good meal and inquire among the people for a suitable family to take him in…"
"Do that, and you'll show the Sons of the Harpy you don't care if people try breaking into your pyramid. Instead of punishing little brats who obviously don't respect your rule, you pamper them," Daario scoffed. "Either way, dealing with that boy will have to wait. Hizdahr's here to see you, my queen."
"Oh, that's good news," Missandei claimed, smiling politely. "I won't have to summon him now."
"Has he brought the reports regarding the cities income for the upcoming project?"
"Yeah, he has them. But he insists on giving them to you himself. Says he wishes to discuss the possibility of reopening the fighting pits with you again."
Dany sighed, her lips pressing together in a tight line. Reopening the fighting pits was a constant debate between herself and Hizdahr. How many times did she have to tell him and councils in Yunkai and Astapor that the practice of human cockfighting would not be tolerated in her new world? "Very well, I'll go speak with him presently," she said tiredly.
Even Ser Barristan looked disgruntled by the upcoming conversation. "This way, your grace. I'll escort you there."
"No need to worry. I'm more than suited to protect our queen," Daario grinned, "especially from wise little nobodies like Hizdahr zo Loraq."
She really needed to give Daario a stern lecture later. His behavior was becoming unacceptable… but she'd let it slide, just this once. After all, he was more than capable of keeping her safe from Hizdahr. More importantly, she knew that Barristan hated thinking about politics. The Lord Commander of her Queensguard had always been so loyal and kind. He deserved a small break from constantly guarding her.
"Go on, Ser Barristan," she smiled. "Enjoy yourself, and if you that boy with the wolf, sing a song with him."
Barristan chuckled as he bowed. "As you wish, your grace, though I must say, it's been a long time since I last wandered a market with a minstrel. Remind me later to tell you about an old past time of your late brother Rhaegar."
Dany smiled. "I'm sure it must be quite interesting. I'll be sure to do so, and I look forward to hearing about it."
Smiling kindly to the aged knight, Dany took her leave with Missandei and Daario.
Prince Rhaegar had been called many things by people in his life. The Last Dragon, the Dragon Prince, the Silver Prince, the Prince that was Promised, but for Ser Barristan Selmy, only one title came to mind — his good friend.
Barristan sadly smiled as he wandered between the market stalls. The late prince had been such a good man, one that should have stepped out from the shadows of Aerys to forge new legacies for both House Targaryen and all of Westeros when he finally sat on the Iron Throne. Sadly, that had never happened, and now his younger sister was the very last of the once great royal house — and all because Rhaegar had apparently fell into the same madness as his father by kidnapping and raping Lyanna Stark.
Nodding to a vendor, he continued along to the next stall, shaking his head lightly. It just made no sense. Rhaegar may have been forced into his marriage with Elia Martell purely to keep things stable with Dorne, but he had been fair to her and treated her well. Not to mention he'd loved little Rhaenys and Aegon with all his heart. His marriage hadn't been a bad one, just more formal than many would have hoped for. Even if it hadn't been a great marriage, it wouldn't have mattered. Rhaegar was honorable, a good man. It wasn't like him to dishonor his wife and children by abducting an innocent girl like the late Lyanna Stark. The stories that were told… they just weren't him.
He sighed. It didn't do him any good to dwell on those moments of his late friends' life. It was far better to think about the good moments in Rhaegar's life, like when he'd don peasant clothes and sneak out of the Red Keep to play his harp for the common people. He smiled, dwelling back to the last time he and Rhaegar had done this. That had been a good day. Rhaegar sang so well, half the city crowded around to pay him coins. The prince made off with quite a small fortune that day, and all thanks to the generosity of the smallfolk and Gold Cloaks who'd enjoyed his songs. But he didn't keep a single coin of any of it. No, instead he and Rhaegar had found a pair of runaway siblings from the King's Landing orphanage who'd been starving for days, and gave all of it to them. Those children had looked up at the mysterious minstrel who'd given them all that gold in wonder, so thankfully speechless that they could only hug him to express their gratitude. Rhaegar had been so touched by how happy they'd been. That had been such a good day.
Even now, just thinking about that last time they'd wandered King's Landing brought a smile to Barristan's face. If he closed his eyes and thought back had enough, he could swear he could still remember how Rhaegar sounded when he played his harp. What was that last song he sang before he ended that day, though? He wracked his brains, thinking hard. He knew it, he knew he knew it. It was on the tip of his tongue…
Search for the glory I knew all along,
I face the flames, thy touch on my hand,
Alone facing our final dawn,
Alone I stand a complete man…
'Dance of Dragons.' That was it! Barristan smiled wistfully. The prince always loved this song, one about a pair of lovers who perished during the Doom of Valyria. Normally it was sung by both a man and woman, but the prince had such a wonderful voice no one noticed. He remembered those days so well, he could almost hear Rhaegar's voice echoing around him now.
All I have is one last chance,
I won't turn my back on you,
Take my hand, they'll drag me down,
If you burn then I will too,
And I will meet the flames with you…
He stopped mid-step, puzzled. Wait… was he actually imagining hearing Rhaegar sing? Had old age finally caught up with him making him hallucinate?
Our love burns anew,
There is nothing left,
I can't face the doom without you,
There's nothing left to lose,
Our fight finally ends,
I can't face the doom without you…
He frowned. No doubt about it. He definitely heard singing. And oddly enough, it sounded similar to how Rhaegar sounded back when he was alive, even if the accompanying instrument was not a harp. What in the world…?
Suddenly, a wolf started howling, perfectly in rhythm with the beat of the tune.
Barristan spun around on his heel, heading at once towards the direction of the music. That wolf's howl had shed light on who was most likely singing and playing music nearby. Even so, he needed to investigate this further. If it was who he suspected it was, it was high time someone other than Daario, the Second Sons, or the junior-ranking Unsullied saw this boy.
His ears led him to a small gathering of people near the marketplace fountain. Granted, the fountain had been left in shambles following the earthquake and wasn't high on the list of priorities the queen knew still needed to be rebuilt, but it's half-shattered ruins still provided a good place to sit. Barristan politely maneuvered his way past the ten or so people huddled around to get a look at the street performer playing for everyone.
As the last woman carefully stepped aside, Barristan froze, his heart stopping.
Sitting on top a large block of rubble was a young boy, no older than ten, at least. With raven black curls and violet eyes, he was dirty from head-to-toe in what appeared to have once been clothing, but were now thoroughly ruined with holes, dust, and dirt. Even so, they were the wrong type of clothing to wear in Essos. Far too warm for the sheer heat of the direct sunlight. The boys' face was as red as an apple, betraying his heat exhaustion, but the pronounced cheekbones revealed that he was skinny. Too skinny from lack of food. Even so, he kept a forced smile on his face as he strummed the strings of a lute, singing happily so patrons would drop some coins onto the fur cloak spread out on the ground in front of him. Sitting right next to the cloak was a rather large, black wolf. A little larger than a normal wolf, but still a wolf, and it was howling along to the boys song as he played, adding an extra bit of wonder to the street performance. Whenever it stopped howling to catch it's breath, the wolf would immediately turn it's attention back to the crowd, it's sharp red eyes locking at once onto anyone who tried to sneak a coin out of boy's earnings.
He was a good singer, this boy, and he played his lute very well. So well in fact that it was shocking that more people in the market weren't stopping to tip him. This song was supposed to be a duet, yet he sang it so well despite being alone. But there were three aspects about this child that immediately came to Barristan's mind as he watched him. One, he was Westerosi. Unlike everyone else in Meereen who spoke High Valyrian, this boy was singing in the Common Tongue, and with the Westerosi accent. Two, he was from the North. He had a Westerosi accent to his words, but Barristan recognized the underlying burr in his tone, his filthy rags, and by that wolf at his side that he was a Northerner. Northerners hardly ever traveled so far away from their homeland, and even the rare few that dared to cross the sea never left home at such a young age. That a Northern boy was all alone and starving on the streets of Meereen was very unusual. And third, he was only a child, but he bore a striking resemblance to his old friend.
The hair color was wrong, but it was still curly, and he was even singing and playing an instrument on the streets for money, just like Rhaegar did. It was uncanny, how similar they looked…
Swallowing hard, Barristan shook his head a bit as the current song came to a close, distinctly ruffled. He was getting too old. He missed the prince dearly and would forever hate himself for not being able to save him on the Trident, but he obviously needed to come to better terms with Rhaegar's death. If he was seeing Rhaegar's ghost in a mere child playing music on the streets, then he surely—
"Thank you, thank you!" said the boy suddenly, hopping down from the fountain's wreckage to bow to the crowd. He said it the Common Tongue, verifying to the knight that he most likely didn't know High Valyrian. "I'm glad you all liked it! Please, don't hesitate to show your appreciation!"
The boy smiled so hard as he hopefully gestured to his cloak, his smile looked painful. Still, hardly anyone pulled out their money pouches to compensate him. Only a handful of freedmen who were too poor themselves to spare more than a coin or two, and one former master tossing him four Gold Dragons and nothing more. Everyone else just clapped appreciatively and started to turn away. Barristan's heart ached for the child. Poor boy. He was good, very good, but he'd never attract a good audience in Essos. Not when he didn't speak High Valyrian. The people here would probably pay him more if he sang in their language.
Still, it looked like the boy and that wolf of his hadn't had a good meal in weeks. If no one else was going to give this boy and his pet the money to ensure their survival, then he would. He would not turn his back on a starving child like this. He reached for his money pouch to start counting out coins as the rest of the crowd slowly dispersed.
The boy sighed as everyone else left, not noticing that the knight was still there. Patting his wolf on the head, the boy blew a few loose curls out of his eyes before bending down to swipe up his earnings.
The handful of coins Barristan had gathered slipped out from between his fingers, falling back into his money pouch. Violet eyes. That boy had violet eyes. Rhaegar's eyes…
His breath hitched, thousands of possibilities flooding his mind all at once. Maybe — just maybe — this boy's resemblance with the his old friend wasn't a coincidence at all. If anything… this resemblance might be cause there was a connection between him and Rhaegar. Could that be why this boy had been trying so hard to get into the Great Pyramid? Maybe it wasn't because he was trying to be a pest or look for a particular item to steal. What if he was only trying to get in to see the queen?
He swallowed thickly. This was too big of a coincidence to merely be a simple coincidence. He needed answers. Straightening his shoulders, Barristan took a deep breath and slowly approached the boy and his wolf.
Torrhen groaned as he counted out the coins. Seven. Only seven coins. He'd only made seven — fucking — coins!
His fingers tore through his hair as he flopped back down on the debris. Shadow glanced over at him, pawing his leg for attention. Too angry and sad to deal with his direwolf, Torrhen waved him away.
"Go away, Shadow," he mumbled. "Leave me alone…"
Shadow wouldn't be dissuaded, though. Growling a bit at the rude dismissal, he forcefully nudged his legs repeatedly with his skull, demanding explanation. Torrhen sighed, reaching over to pet his friend while staring miserably up at the blue sky.
Maybe they were wasting their time at this point, trying to reach his future mother. Maybe they should start thinking about trying to figure out a way to get back to the North to find Lyaella and Sōnar, or at the very least trying to find a way to start messing with the great future the Starks made for themselves. Lady Arya was currently in Essos, if he remembered correctly. She was running around Braavos right now, selfishly choosing to be with the Faceless Men instead of looking for his father, the only family member she still could have gone looking for instead of traipsing across the sea for a man she barely knew. He didn't wish his assassin aunt dead, but at the very least, he could figure out some way to toy with her if he tried going to Braavos. Stop her from turning into the murderous monster she is in the future. It was a better option at this point than continuously starving on the streets of his future mother's city.
"We're not gonna make it, bud. We only got seven coins this time around. Unless a miracle happens for us to somehow make fifty today, we're gonna have to pick trash again so we can buy that—"
A light thump suddenly resounded, pulling Torrhen out of his thoughts. Blinking several times at the unexpected interruption, he glanced back down at his cloak. He was puzzled to discovered a small drawstring pouch stuffed to the brim resting amongst his cloak folds. Moreover, a pair of leather boots was standing on the opposite side of his cloak from him. Curious, he slowly glanced up. The books were attacked to a pair of legs, which led to a leather-clad body with a strong sword at a person's hip. And that person was an old man, with snow white hair and a short beard.
The stranger smiled. "You sing very well, boy. I hope that bit I gave is enough payment for your voice."
Torrhen stared at him for a moment, then slowly glanced back down at the pouch. No… No way. There was no way this old man just gave him—
He swiped up the pouch and shook out a bit of its contents onto his other hand. His eyes boggled as dozens of coins fell out. His jaw dropped at the heart fortune, but then he vehemently dumped the few coins back into the pouch, lunged to his feet, and shoved it back into the strangers hands.
"S-Ser! I… I appreciate your generosity, b-but… but this is too much! I can't accept this!" he rambled, flustered.
The only man only chuckled. "Don't worry, child. I have plenty of money. Go ahead, take it." He dropped the little purse back onto the cloak.
Torrhen's head whipped back and forth as he grabbed the pouch. He wanted to take that money more than anything — a nice profit like that could keep him and Shadow well fed for days while still allowing him to buy a few more ropes so he could reattempt climbing up to his mother's balcony again, but this was too much! He wasn't a spoiled, selfish brat. He couldn't accept this much from this man.
"I… I can't, ser! This is too much! Please, take it back! It's your money!"
He tried to push it back to the old man again, but the swordsman refused, deliberately stepping back out of range. "No, please, I insist," he said. "I have more than enough money to spare, and I can see that you and that wolf of yours must be starving. You need it more than I do, and besides, any boy with a talent for music and singing like yours deserves to be well paid."
"Ser, it's too much! I can't!"
The old man frowned, then suddenly glanced back over his shoulder at a nearby food vendor before looking back to him with a smile. "How about this then? I pay for a good meal for yourself and your friend? The cost of those is bound to be quite a hefty sum."
Torrhen tensed. He wasn't a charity case. Sure, he begged for scraps from the Second Sons and dug through trash for anything edible at night when he didn't have enough money, but there had to be a limit on how far he could lost his pride when it came to accepting help from strangers. Was it really okay, letting this man pay for him and Shadow to be well fed for one meal?
Shadow seemed to think it was. He leapt to his feet, tail whipping back and forth repeatedly as he trotted up to the stranger, nuzzling up against his legs. The old man laughed, fingers disappearing into his thick black pelt. "Seems like your friend approves of this plan, so I'll take that as a yes from you, too. Wait right here."
Smiling kindly, he turned and approached the stall. Torrhen just stared after him, his head reeling. What was happening? All this time he'd been begging people for help and the no one had bothered to help him except Ser Jorah. He'd just started thinking that no one was going to help him at all, but here was someone providing him and Shadow with a decent meal. Had he not actually woken up this morning? Was he still dreaming from last night?
The old man returned a few minutes later, carrying two helpings of roasted duck. Shadow immediately started salivating, his eyes fixated on the steaming food. "Here you both are," he said, setting down one on the ground before passing the other to the stunned boy. Shadow promptly attacked his, scarfing it down like the wild animal he really was. "Freshly made, still hot."
Torrhen's mouth watered. The old man was right, he could feel the warmth of the roasted fowl beneath his fingers. And the scent wafting from it… it'd been so long since he'd eaten anything other than bread or occasional fruit when he and Shadow made a little extra money. To resist was impossible. Nodding gratefully to the stranger, he took the meat and took a large bite. He nearly moaned in delight when he tasted it. Perfect. It was perfect.
"'ank 'ou," he said, gobbling it down as he spoke. "'t's 'ood!"
"No trouble at all. Any decent knight would've done the same."
The old man took a seat on a large piece of the fountain wreckage next to him. He was silent for a time as Torrhen and Shadow enjoyed their meals, studying them carefully. Torrhen knew that his interest in them was odd, but he was too hungry to care. The odds of him and Shadow getting a good meal like this again anytime soon were slim to none. He wasn't going to worry about anything until he finally finished this delicious duck.
Thankfully, the knight was kind enough to wait for him to finish eating before speaking again. "You're a Northerner, yes? From Westeros?" he asked.
Torrhen blinked. He supposed that the stranger figuring out he was from Westeros wasn't all that surprising, considering others had figured out the same when they recognized his western accent and lack of knowledge on the High Valyrian language. But only Ser Jorah had realized he was a Northerner. "Aye, that's right," he said slowly. "Who are you? Are you a Westerosi, too?"
"Indeed, I am. I come from the Stormlands," he said. "Though I must say, finding a young boy like you all by yourself so far from home is quite a rarity."
The boy frowned, pointedly looking away. "I'm not alone. I've got a Shadow with me. And Lyaella and Sōnar, wherever they are."
"Lyaella? Sōnar?"
"My twin sister and honorary sister. They're out there, somewhere. I know I'll find them."
He nodded, considering briefly. "Ah, family. Nothing more important in this world than family. So, you have sisters?"
His eyes narrowed, suspicious. "Why do you care? Why are you taking such interest in me?" Torrhen asked. "Who are you, anyway?"
The old man blinked, then promptly chuckled, amused. "True, we never actually introduced ourselves, did we?" He got to his feet and politely bowed. "I am Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Queensguard to the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen Daenerys."
Torrhen froze, eyes going impossibly wide. Barristan Selmy? The legendary knight? This… This was his mother's loyal knight, the one who had traveled across the Narrow Sea to search for her and pledge himself to her cause? Was his luck really starting to turn around? Had one of his mother's most faithful supporters actually found him?
But wait… Barristan Selmy had supposedly died during a riot here in Meereen. He might have always preferred reading up on his father's adventures in the Night's Watch compared to reading about his mother's conquests, but the tales about Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan had always interested him in his mothers' chronicles. Ser Barristan died during a riot, he knew that for a fact. The question was… did the knight in the original timeline die during the riot when the queen executed that freedman? That part he couldn't quite remember. Was this really the real Ser Barristan, or just someone trying to scam him? Worse… could it be a trick of the Sons of the Harpy? Had that terrorist group finally taken at interest in him?
Swallowing thickly, he carefully stood up, squeezing his lute tightly in one hand and collecting his cloak off the ground with the other. "How… How do I know that's true?" he asked, signaling Shadow to stay close. "I mean — well, I mean no disrespect, ser, but… well—"
The knight frowned, saddened but understanding. "You want proof, is that it?"
Torrhen nodded. "I appreciate the food you gave us, but with the Sons of the Harpy around, you can see why I'm on edge."
He nodded. "That makes sense, especially from you."
"What?"
"Your eyes, son. They're violet, a very unusual color," he commented with a smile. "The queen has the same eyes. All those descended from a certain House in Westeros were known to have those eyes. You might have dark hair instead of silver, but those eyes… the late Prince Rhaegar had those eyes too, as did all other Targaryen that came before him."
Torrhen stared at him, trying to resist the urge to blink. Again, only Ser Jorah had realized he wasn't lying about being descended from House Targaryen when he took a good look at his eyes. Still, anyone who had studied history could have known that. "I… I'm not a Targaryen," he claimed. "But I have been trying to meet the queen."
"Yes, I know. You're the young boy who's been trying relentlessly to break into the Great Pyramid this past month, aren't you?"
"Aye, that's right."
He chortled. "You've been causing the queen a great number of headaches with your schemes. She has to tightened her security multiple times with each of your attempts."
Torrhen knew the man meant it as a joke, but he couldn't help but scowl, annoyed. "I wouldn't be doing it at all if she hadn't closed the court to the common people!" he snapped. "And even if she hadn't, it wouldn't matter! That captain won't let me in to see her!"
The old man tilted his head, brows furrowing. "Captain?" he repeated.
"Aye! You can go tell that fucker that if he'd just let me talk to the queen, I'd stop being a pain! I just need to see her! Not him! Not the queens' soldiers! Her! I need to see Queen Daenerys herself! I've come here all the way from—" he cut himself off, swallowing thickly.
"From where? Westeros?"
Torrhen stiffly nodded, kicking away a small pebble near his feet. That was the best way to phrase it, anyway. Much better than stating he was from the future, like he almost said originally. When he finally found the right words, he looked up again firmly "I've come a long way to meet Daenerys Targaryen, and I'm not gonna stop trying to get into that pyramid until I see her. You say you're the Lord Commander of her queensguard? Then prove it — please take me to meet her. I… I have to meet her!"
Barristan stared at him for a long moment, considering his request. "Why?" he finally asked. "Why is it so important for you to meet the queen? If you're not a real Targaryen, then who are you?"
Torrhen smiled. "I'm Torrhen. Torrhen S—"
A crash suddenly echoed from further down the street, cutting off his words. Torrhen and the alleged-Ser Barristan whipped around, alarmed. Screams were echoing through the air towards the central area of the market, and they were steadily growing louder.
"What's that?" Torrhen asked. "What happened?"
The old man tensed, his hand slowly moving to the pommel of his sword. "Not sure," he murmured, glancing around. Torrhen was on edge as the knight focused on the distant screams. What was going on? Did an accident happen?
Suddenly, freedmen and nobles were running in terror from further down the road to their side of the market, knocking others and goods for sale aside in their panic. A moment later, it became apparent as to why. A handful of men in gold masks came charging in right behind them, sharp blades in hand as they killed anyone who they could get their hands on, poor and rich alike.
Within seconds, the old man had his sword drawn. "Take that wolf and hide. Now," he ordered, shoving him towards an abandoned market stall without looking at him. "Don't come out until I return."
Torrhen jolted, alarmed. "What?! No! I—"
"This is not a discussion! Hide! I'll be back as soon as I help end this attack!" He took off down the street without another word.
Torrhen stared after him for a moment, stunned, then promptly tugged back on his cloak, gripped his lute, and yanked out his training sword. "Come on, Shadow!"
His direwolf made no sounds to give an affirmative, but Shadow shot off quick as lightning as soon as Torrhen himself started running. Truth be told, Torrhen knew he was acting stupid, but he couldn't bring himself to care. If the Sons of the Harpy were attacking his mother's soldiers, than he wanted to help stop them, and if that old man really was the legendary Barristan Selmy, then he couldn't afford to let him out of his sight. Without Ser Jorah around, Ser Barristan was probably the next most loyal, most honorable man currently part of the queen's council in this current era of history. If that stranger was telling him the truth, than he was the best chance he had at finally meeting Daenerys Targaryen.
All across the streets, freedmen and nobles were running in terror into any open building, not caring if they mixed together with the other class before promptly barricading the doors behind them. It was their best chance at survival, what with how many men in fancy clothes and solid gold harpy masks were slaughtering anyone they managed to grab hold of on the streets. Slave or former master didn't matter. They stabbed, gutted, and slit the throats of everyone they came across. There was so much blood flowing down the dirt pathways, one would think the city was floating on a sea of red. This wasn't even an attack. It was a slaughter.
Torrhen's heart pounded like crazy as he raced after the old knight down the bloodstained roads. With every dead body he passed, he felt sicker and sicker to his stomach, and he paled so much he was as white as his namesake. How many people lived in Meereen, exactly? How many were dying right now? How many people had to die all together before the Sons of the Harpy were satisfied with butchering these innocent people? It wasn't even the freedman alone who were dying. They were killing the nobles, too. He couldn't wrap his head around why they'd want to kill the former masters. His mother wasn't popular with the Meereenese nobles. It made no sense to kill them, not when they too were suffering without the income of the slave trade. It was horrible, but it did prove one thing: the Sons of the Harpy didn't care if someone was a freedman or a former master. If someone stood in their path, they were considered an enemy and received no mercy. For all he knew, perhaps they wanted to take control of the whole city eventually and enslave anyone — rich or poor — who survived the civil war between themselves and the queen.
Thankfully, Torrhen didn't have to abandon his lute to fully use his sword in self-defense while running after the stranger. Most of the attackers had already fled the scenes of all the bloody slaughters, and the one or two that lingered behind after the messes to search in the shadows for anyone hiding were easily cut down by the old knight. Torrhen was astounded by how well the old man fought. He was old, but he wielded his blade like it was just another extension of his arm, not phased at all by the one or two men that attempted to stop him. If anything, the multiple random attacks didn't tire the knight at all. As soon as they died, he quickly checked the over scene to see if there were indeed any survivors amongst the victims or someone hiding to stay safe, then would promptly take off running again. Torrhen could only assume the old man was following his ears to where a great deal of yelling and clashing steel could be heard some ways off — some of Unsullied or Second Sons must have intercepted one such Harpy group and were fighting them. He only hoped he and the old man found them in time. Provided of course that none of the queen's men were that cocky shit Daario Naharis or that fucker Grey Worm, he wanted to help them.
The stranger soon dashed down a narrow alleyway, one which Torrhen hadn't yet explored while wandering the city. Hiding somewhat around the bend to the entryway, he peeked inside. The ground was covered in so many bodies, Unsullied and the Sons of the Harpy, and stained with so much blood it looked more black than red. There were at least nine of the Harpies still alive. Eight were circling around a lone Unsullied on the ground who had lost his helmet in the scuffle — the only one still standing after the attack — but all eight gold masks snapped around when they heard their ninth comrade who'd been checking to see if any of the fallen soldiers were still breathing gasp and gurgle as a sword pierced his chest. The knight didn't even look at the fallen Harpy as he yanked out his blade. He kept his eyes locked on the eight remaining attackers now focused on him.
The Unsullied on the ground was suffering from major blood loss and was overtired, so he was struggling just to rise, but the Sons of the Harpy ignored him. He was dead already in their eyes. As soon as they cut down this old man, they'd come back to him. Nodding to one another, they charged.
But the knight was not someone to be trifled with. Torrhen's jaw fell open as he easily parried every attack made, killing three men without even breaking a sweat. He fought so well, not even phased by the fact that he was outnumbered. He was the most skilled swordsman he'd ever met — not including Ser Lady Brienne and Lady Arya since they were women, no disrespect intended. He'd been wrong to think he'd been trying to deceive him. He was really was Barristan Selmy. No doubt about it.
As a few other men fell, the remaining four started attacking him from all angles, managing to stab him twice. The old man gasped in pain, falling to his knees. He'd been wearing only tanned leather without armor due to the blistering heat of the Essos sun, and he could feel the full weight behind the attacks. It took everything the knight had just to keep fending off their blows.
Enraged, Torrhen leapt out from around the bend, dropping his lute on top of a pile of bodies to better grip his sword. "Oy! Fuckers!"
The sudden shout made everyone there jolt and whirl around. Ser Barristan's eyes widened in alarm.
"You picked the wrong day to try killing the queen's soldiers! Come on, Shadow!"
Letting out a fiery yell, the boy charged forward, his wolf a snarling blur of black fur as he leapt into the fray behind him.
One Harpy screamed as Shadow pounced on top of him, tearing out his throat with his sharp fangs. A second attacker promptly tried attacking the direwolf, but a third one left Ser Barristan to the final Harpy as he focused on Torrhen. Easily fending off the boys' obvious sword slash, he chuckled darkly behind his gold mask.
"You picked the wrong fight to interfere in, street rat," the man said as Torrhen ducked to avoid a fast thrust from his blade. "You should have hidden away with that beast of yours and not come out until your mother came to find you."
Red hot rage shot through Torrhen faster than he could blink. "Don't you daretalk to me about my mother!" he spat, feinting a weak strike to the right long enough to divert the man's attention from kicking him hard in the shin. "Someone like you doesn't deserve to speak about her!"
The Harpy groaned, more surprised than actually hurt, but Torrhen grinned. Not bad, not bad at all. He just needed to get at least one good attack on this guy and he'd be—
"Little shit! I was planning to spare you, but now you've done it!"
Torrhen's grin vanished as the man's attacks got twice as fast and powerful. He'd been holding back on him, it seemed. The boy tried to keep up with the speed of his opponents attacks, but in less than a second, he was shoved to the ground, his head smacking up against the boot of a fallen Unsullied.
"Should have minded your own business, boy," the Son of the Harpy spat, advancing on him. "Maybe then you wouldn't be about to die, now."
Torrhen gulped, shakily rising. Now that he knew he wasn't nearly as skilled at swordplay as he thought he was, he didn't know what to do. He just tightened his grip on the pommel of his training sword. "I'm not dying," he said finally. "Not today."
He threw all his strength into every attack. He knew the Harpy was lazily fending off his blows, but it didn't matter. He just needed to bide him time. Ser Barristan was definitely winded from his injuries, but he was easily blocking the attacks from the one Harpy still focused on him. Shadow had a large gash on his side where the last Harpy had sliced him, but he was pressing on despite his wound. The attacker focusing on the wolf now was trying to edge away from the direwolf rather than attacking it, realizing it stood no chance against the creature. Torrhen just had to stall long enough for either his wolf or Ser Barristan to come help him. So long as he could hold out for another minute or so, he'd be fine.
Glancing around, he saw the body of another Harpy lying on top of the slain form of an Unsullied warrior a few feet behind his attacker. It took all of Torrhen's willpower not to smile. If he could just get his opponent to back up and trip over those two, he'd catch him off guard well enough to bat his sword away. It was an idea, anyway. The only one he had.
He swung his blade harder, faster. The Harpy chuckled at him as he easily stepped back out of range, amused. "Give up, boy," he sneered, the tip of his blade managing to scratch Torrhen's arm. The boy yelped as pain shot through him, his long-sleeved blue shirt soon staining red. "You think you're brave? You're no hero. You're just a worthless little street rat. Born as nothing, and will die as nothing."
Torrhen gritted his teeth. This arrogant fucker really enjoyed pushing his buttons. "I'm not worthless, and the only person dying today will be you!"
He thrust his blade forward. The Harpy backed away from the meager attack, but it didn't matter. He'd finally backed up enough to stumble back in alarm over the two bodies. Torrhen grinned as he saw his opponent try to regain his balance. Finally, a real opening! He charged forward, aiming to slash down hard at the Harpy's leg. Always go for the legs if possible when fighting. If your opponent couldn't stand, you stood a better chance at victory.
He raised his blade—
"N-No! Leave… Leave us alone!"
It ignored her, advancing onward with narrowed, icy blue eyes.
"You can't! Y-You can't have her!" Lyaella screamed, her tears freezing at once on her cheeks. She tightened her grip on her sword, the blade visibly shaking from how hard she was trembling. "I… I w-won't let you!"
It still pressed closer, reaching out with its bony white fingers to shove her aside.
—only to nearly drop it in alarm.
Torrhen gasped, stumbling back a few paces as his eyes became as wide as saucers. What the fuck?! Lyaella! Was his sister in danger?! Where was she?! Who was trying to take who?! What was going—?!
He was literally knocked back to earth a second time by a foot suddenly kicking him in the chest. Hard. He yelped, his training sword flying out of his hand as his head struck a loose piece of rubble on the ground.
Pain exploded through his whole skull. He screamed, everything around him suddenly become a loud roar. Fucking seven hells and seven heavens, his head! It didn't just hurt, it throbbed with his pounding heartbeat. Wait why did he feel something hot and wet running down his temple? And why was there now two men in gold masks advancing on him in perfect unison?
"Stupid brat!" they yelled simultaneously, marching forward.
Torrhen was swiftly becoming lightheaded and dazed, so aside from groaning in agony as they both fisted through his black curls to yank him onto his knees, he barely reacted. His stomach was churning unpleasantly. Was he going to be sick? He sure hoped not. He needed to find his sword. He had to stop these last few Harpies.
He tried to glance around in search of his training sword, but the simple action only made him even more disoriented and nauseous. He squeezed his eyes shut as the whole alley started to spin around.
That's when the felt the cold edge of steel brush up against his throat.
"Any last words, you little shit?!"
Torrhen tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt so heavy, he couldn't find the energy. So this was it. He'd never see his sister or their dragon again, nor would he ever meet either of his parents. What a great help he'd been in this timeline for changing the future for the better, dying without ever doing anything important. He could only hope his wolf would be okay. If these fucking shits dared to kill Shadow, he'd come back as a ghost and haunt them 'til the end of their days. And by the mercy of any gods that were watching all this and not doing anything to stop it, they'd better protect Lyaella and Sōnar. If anything bad happened to his little sister or their dragon, he'd never forgive himself.
Sucking in a deep breath, he forced his lips to move. "Mother… of Dragons… Breaker of Chains…" he whispered.
There was an annoyed growl, and the blade pressed down a tad firmer—
There was a whistle of wind, followed sharply by a scream of pain. The steel at his throat was gone, and the hand holding him up gruffly by his hair released him quite abruptly. Torrhen was so disoriented he didn't know which way was up or down, but he felt himself flop down on something quite hard, and he could only assume it was the ground. There was a flurry of words he couldn't even begin to understand since it sounded like High Valyrian, and then another scream cried out, followed by silence.
A moment later, rough yet gentle hands suddenly pressed down firmly somewhere on his head and shaking his shoulder.
"Boy…?" a tired voice whispered, it's roughly spoken Common Tongue sounding heavily accented and in a great deal of pain. "Boy…? Can you hear me…?"
Who was this? Another Harpy? It didn't sound like Ser Barristan, at least. It took everything he had just to open his eyes. Leaning over him were at least three different Unsullied men with the exact same face, and they all had the same injuries and identically worried, yet dazed looks on their faces as they tried applied pressure to somewhere on his head.
Despite how weak and exhausted the trio looked, they exhaled in unison when they saw him gaze up at them. "Good, you awake," they murmured, relieved. "Tell me, how many fingers I hold up?" They all raised their hands, holding up a vast multitude of moving fingers.
Torrhen's stomached churned even harder as he tried to count them. Why were they all holding up fingers? Shouldn't only one of them be doing that? At the very least, they should all stop spinning back and forth so he could easily count. Was it six fingers…? No, wait… nine. He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could say anything, the icky feelings churning about inside rose up all at once.
He threw up violently all over them.
"He must have a concussion. Keep pressure on that graze on his head, and try to keep him talking. We need to keep him awake."
"Yes, Ser Barristan," said the Unsullied together, nodding to someone out of Torrhen's line of sight.
"I'll go look for help. I'll be right back."
Rapidly retreating footsteps wandered out of range. Torrhen's heart dropped down into his flip flopping stomach, making him feel twice as sick. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs at the knight to stop. He couldn't leave! If he left, he'd have no way of finally meeting his future mother! Stay, please! Still the only thing that escaped his lips was more vomit. He would have apologized to the soldiers if he could have, but they didn't seem to mind. Unlike the first time, they were able to maneuver themselves out of the way in time to avoid being splattered.
There was a soft whimper, followed by gentle panting and something cold and wet brushing up against his arm. Moments later, the outlines of several black furry creatures with bright red eyes appeared in his vision. Shadow was here. Along with two other Shadows. Were there always three Shadows? He wasn't entirely sure. He could have sworn that there was only ever Shadow and—
"Your wolf brave, like you," said the three Unsullied suddenly. "Save me and Ser Barristan."
The three of them were starting to slip out of focus. Torrhen didn't mind though. Sleep sounded good. Relaxing. "Had… Had to…" he murmured. "Ser is… Ser is queen's knight."
"You approve of queen?"
He nodded, too tired and sleepy to keep his eyes from drooping. "She… She good… I… I want to…"
"Stay awake, boy! Open your eyes! What you want with queen?"
"I… I want to meet her…"
And then the world slipped away into comforting darkness.
"We shouldn't be out in the open."
"I had to get out of that wheelhouse."
"Volantis is a large, busy city. The likelihood of you being recognized—"
"We're across the Narrow Sea. A whole ocean stands between us and Cersei."
"Cersei may still be in Westeros, but the price she's put on you will have spread far and wide by now. A lordship and three sacks of gold for your head would tempt many men."
Derisive snort. "She should've offered her cunt. Best part of her for the best part of me."
There was a lengthy sigh. "Really, I think we should-"
"I was losing my mind in that box. I can't remember the last person's face I saw 'til now that wasn't yours."
"It's a perfectly good face, you know. Not scarred, at least."
"Scar or not, take a look at me. What am I to everyone else? One more drunken dwarf!"
Ignoring the eye roll Varys gave him, the imp of Casterly Rock took a lengthy swig from his personal flask as they wandered through the busy market. Tyrion Lannister had spent so long with only the Spider for company upon fleeing King's Landing he'd begun wondering if he'd lost the edge to superior wit. It was good to know he could still make the plump eunuch sigh. Even if he couldn't, it wouldn't have mattered. He was not returning to that small, stuffy wheelhouse. Not until he'd passed out drunk in a brothel with at least two scantily clad women praising him. Any whore would do… just as long as they weren't mysterious dark-haired beauties hailing from Lorath.
That being said though, he couldn't deny that the regular areas in Volantis had its charms, even if the city itself seemed overcrowded. Every step he took he had to carefuuly look around to make sure no one else might accidentally knock into him due to how packed the streets were. And it was so noisy. Were Varys not walking right next to him, the dwarf was certain he wouldn't be able to discern his words from the chatter of the rest of the crowd.
"Ugh! What do you mean, the shipment won't arrive on time?! I've been trading with this merchant for over three years now, and aside from weather-related issues, they've always sent their goods on time before!"
"True, but your contact is from Meereen. He's struggling to re-amass his wealthy since the Dragon Queen ended slavery."
Perhaps he'd been wrong, assuming that he and Varys wouldn't be able to hear each other if they got split up on the streets. The conversation between a furious merchant and an irritated nobleman they were passing was so loud, anyone with ears could listen in.
"Fucking bitch, that so-called Dragon Queen… Just wants a city to call her own! Ending slavery is just her excuse for doing it!"
"Wouldn't be surprised if you're right. She's completely disrupted the entire economy here in Essos! Don't even know how many nobles in Slaver's Bay have been writing to my father and his friends lately."
"What for? To ask for loans?"
"Yes, but not to restart their businesses. They want to invest."
Their words trailed off as the dwarf and eunuch turned a corner. Tyrion took another swig from his flask and sighed. "This queen you speak so highly of certainly seems like she's doing a fine job," he sarcastically quipped. "Does a good deed by banning the slave trade, yet doesn't implement a plan to compensate for the loss of income loss. She must be a very smart woman…"
"Every ruler makes mistakes at some point in their rule regarding gold. It's the ones who are willing to listen to the advice of their councilors regarding how to fix that mistake that reveal if they're self-interested or not."
"You think it was just an honest mistake?"
"Hard to say at this point, my friend. We shall both have to discuss this with her in further detail when we finally meet her."
Tyrion couldn't stop himself from chuckling. "You speak as though she'll really include us in her inner circle. Did you forget that you betrayed her father or that I'm from the very family that helped slaughter hers?"
Varys shook his head, a slight smile spreading across his lips. "No, that's still a real possibility, but if she's as smart as my little birds have claimed she is, she'll at least be willing to hear us out. It would be in her best interest to do so, especially since I intend to divulge a few certain songs my birds have sung to me recently."
The dwarf glanced up, curious. "Oh? Like what?"
"Well for one, a few have overheard whispers here in Volantis regarding the nobles. As we just heard, the former masters in Meereen aren't all that happy with the Mother of Dragons. They've been pleading with their friends here and in the other slave cities for help."
"Help how?" Varys discretely flicked his eyes off to the side as they passed a dingy pub. Numerous sellswords were lounging about right outside the entrance, laughing boisterously as they chugged down ale. Tyrion raised a skeptical brow. "Sellswords? They want money for sellswords? That's their grand plan?" he asked dryly. "They're going to overthrow a woman with two large armies and three dragons by hiring sellswords?"
"I'm only stating what my little birds have heard," Varys evenly answered. "They don't know if the masters will actually hire them or not. They only know that the idea was discussed."
Tyrion was silent for a moment as he considered this. "What do you think, then? Will they do it?"
Varys frowned, brows furrowing together. "I am unsure as of now. I'm still trying to rebuild my spy network on both sides of the sea because of your sister. Were it my old informants, they'd know how to get details. My new little birds are still learning the ropes to spy work. Even if they learn fast, they're still stretched too thin to fully verify if everything they've heard is true. The only thing I'm completely certain about regarding Meereen is that an earthquake recently happened there."
"An earthquake?"
Varys nodded. "Yes, a few weeks ago. The city was hit hard. They're still rebuilding."
Tyrion was rather muddled. Earthquakes were relatively natural disasters. Unlike the usual plots and schemes that people played with one another, they weren't something that could be outwitted or even prevented. When they happened, people simply had to ride out the tragedy and pick themselves up afterward. That being said though, there were certain areas of the world that experienced earthquakes more frequently than others, like how the Stormlands endured more storms than anywhere else in Westeros. If his general knowledge about Essos was correct, then out of all the general areas throughout the eastern continent where earthquakes sometimes happened, Slavers Bay wasn't one of them. If anything, the Free Cities of Braavos or Pentos were more likely to suffer from natural disasters. It was rather odd that Meereen would be struck hard by a powerful earthquake…
He was still musing to himself as he and Varys stumbled across a small gathering in the middle of the market square. Numerous citizens were circled around a young woman standing atop a small stack of wooden crates. She was dressed finely in a beautiful red dress with a matching crimson hooded cloak. A red priestess, one hailing from somewhere here in Essos judging by her features and High Valyrian dialect. Curious, Tyrion halted himself a short ways off from the crowd to listen in, bringing the Spider to a stop as well.
"Āeksio, cast aōha ōños bē īlva!" chanted the priestess. The crowd repeated the chant, watching her with rapt attention. "Syt bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys."
The dwarf took another long swig from his flask. It had been a quite some time since he'd had any reason to converse in High Valyrian, so his knowledge on the language was a little rusty. Still, if his mental translation was correct, he was fairly certain the woman had something along the lines of 'Lord cast your light upon us. For the night is dark and full of terrors.' Another overzealous fanatic, most likely. Such a far cry from the drunken oaf that was Thoros of Myr, the only red priest he'd ever met.
Varys rolled his eyes at the Red God worshiper. "Let's move on," he suggested. "We shouldn't stay in one place for too long."
Tyrion knew he had a point, but he still waved off the suggestion and shuffled over to as set of rickety wooden steps nearby, climbing them until he sat down a little ways higher than the priestess herself. Varys sighed as he silently followed, giving him a cross look as he did so. Tyrion ignored him. If in the unlikely event that Daenerys Targaryen didn't have him executed where he stood upon their meeting, he would be spending quite a bit of time in Essos. He might as well reacquaint himself with the native tongue on this continent. And besides, it was far better listening to the exotic language from a beautiful woman in the fresh air than from a certain plump eunuch inside that stuffy wheelhouse.
Gulping down some more wine, he did his best to mentally translate the priestess' High Valyrian as she addressed her listeners.
"R'hollor knows hen aōha sufferings. Ēza ryptan aōha cries se prayers. Ziry listens naejot se slaves hae ziry listens naejot dāryssy. Ziry listens naejot se dōron vali isse pōja loneliness se mundari, assuring zirȳ bona they've daor issare forgotten!"
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. "You're fluent in High Valyrian, yes?" he murmured to Varys. The Spider nodded. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but did she just say her god has listened to all men's suffering? And that he hasn't forgotten the lonely Stone Men's prayers?"
"Close enough."
He shook his head with a frown. "And just what do the Stone Men driven mad from greyscale pray for, I wonder?" he quipped. "To be cured? Good luck with that…"
Varys shushed him. Good thing, too, because the priestess went on.
"The Āeksiot Ōño ēza ryptan aōha prayers, se issa finally answering zirȳ. Ēza jittan ao zȳhon champions naejot triumph toliot se Rōvēgrie Tolie's sȳndror! Mēre hen zȳhon saviors ao already gīmigon. Sigligon hen perzys zaldrīzī hen dōron dorēdrugon, se mele comet signified zirȳla part isse se legends! Se Dāria Zaldrīzoti, Daenērys Jelmāzmo!"
"'The Lord of Light has heard your prayers, and he's finally answering them.'" Tyrion mocked, chuckling lightly. "'He has sent you his champions to triumph over the Great Other's darkness! One of his saviors you already know.'"
Varys shushed him again. "Keep it down! Do you want to start a riot?"
"Oh, come now, Varys. Even you must admit this sounds like nonsense. I thought you hated religion?"
Varys pressed his lips together and sighed. "'Reborn from the fire to wake dragons from stone,'" he murmured, "'the red comet signified her part in the legends…'"
"'The Dragon Queen, Daenerys Stormborn!' We're going to meet the Lord's savior! Why didn't you tell me sooner, Varys?" said the imp, sarcasm dripping from his words. "I've always wanted to meet the savior."
Varys made a face at him. Tyrion grinned. Leaving that carriage was the best decision he'd made in months. Fresh air and new faces were just what he needed. He would lose his reputation of being the cleverest Lannister if he lost his cynicism. Smirking to himself, he glanced back over to the priestess, only to freeze when he saw her eyes locked on him.
"The Lord's long-awaited prophecy is at last on the horizon," she declared, now speaking in the Common Tongue. Tyrion blinked at the language shift, especially since her gaze had yet to waver. "The Long Night is coming. Only the Prince and Princess that were Promised can bring the dawn and reshape the world."
Tyrion couldn't help but feel on edge. The way she was staring at him right now… Did she recognize him? Perhaps Varys was right about moving on. Carefully adjusting the hood of his cloak to better hide his face, he rose to his feet. "Let's find a brothel," he murmured.
The eunuch was more than happy to oblige. Keeping their heads bowed to avoid detection, they casually strolled away from the gathering and towards a large building where many prostitutes were lounging about outside, beckoning men to their establishment with seductive eyes. As the duo passed the temptresses and filed through the open archway, Tyrion resisted the urge to glance back at the crowd. He could still feel the priestess' eyes watching him. What did she want with him. More importantly, what did she mean by that last thing she said about a prince and a princess? He didn't know much about at all about that prophecy she mentioned, but he'd heard that another red priestess in Stannis' inner circle had proclaimed him the so-called 'Prince that was Promised.' That being said though, there was no record from the little birds Varys had on Dragonstone that the Red Woman had ever mentioned that there was both a prince and a princess. Had Lady Melisandre been wrong, or was this priestess wrong? Or was it all just fanatical ramblings? He felt silly for seriously thinking about all this, but… if in the unlikely chance it wasn't just nonsense and this new priestess was correct about this bizarre prophecy, then she was probably wrong about Daenerys being one of the saviors. The Mother of Dragons was completely alone in the world. With her parents and brothers dead, she was the last of House Targaryen, and he knew from past small council meetings back in King's Landing that the son she was supposed to have with that Dothraki Khal died in childbirth. She had done for herself since then if the rumors about her were true, but those two facts made the idea of her being the princess impossible. Nonsense, all that talk. Pure nonsense.
Passing a lone middle-aged knight drinking alone in a dark corner, Tyrion waved Varys over to an empty table nearby. "See? We blend in easily." Varys didn't comment. Tyrion could tell he was still on edge even when a silver-haired young woman dressed in a provocative low-cut blue dress approached them with a tray, passing them cups of ale. The dwarf kept his eyes on her as she approached the lonely swordsman. "Interesting hair color," he murmured.
Varys nodded, sipping his drink. They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the Dragon Queen-lookalike as she refilled the swordsman's cup. She attempted to whisper in his ear while running her hands temptingly across his chest, but the man only averted his eyes and politely waved her away. No matter though, considering another table with several drunk sellswords hooted and cheered for her to entertain them. Pleased to have attracted a large group, the woman kept an alluring smile on her face as she glided over, each step she made looking both regal and seductive at the same time.
Tyrion raised a brow. "It appears you're not the only one supporting the Mother of Dragons."
"Someone that inspires priests and whores is worth taking seriously."
"She's still never stepped foot in Westeros since being forced to flee as babe. She knows nothing about what the politics of the Seven Kingdoms are actually like. Does that sound like someone who would be a good queen?"
"That's why if she is smart, she would welcome advisers such as us into her service. You and I know how to play the game better than most, my friend."
Tyrion snorted and took a hearty swing of his ale. He highly doubted that was true. If it were, then the past two years would never have happened. He'd still be living happily in the Red Keep prior to his forced marriage to young Sansa Stark. Enduring his father's silent hatred and his sister's spiteful remarks, and every night visited by his beloved Shae…
His fingers tightened around his cup, heart clenching painfully. How long had she been sleeping with his father? After he pushed her away to get her to leave King's Landing? Before? It was so painfully obvious to him now that she never truly loved him, not when she was willing to call all her Lannister partners 'her lion.' He needed a nice, good fuck to get her out of his mind. A good tumbling was the only way he'd get over her. Luckily, he was in the best place for men to be to get over their heartache.
Letting his eyes make a quick glance around the room, he soon spotted a rather striking brunette draped in a fine red dress with a plunging neckline and with slits along the skirt that ran all the way up to her waist. Perfect. Draining what was left of his drink, he slid off his cushioned seat.
He barely took more than two steps away from their table before Varys caught his wrist. "Where are you going?"
"To do what any traveler mad with lust does in this establishment," he replied, keeping one eye locked on the dark-haired beauty the whole time.
"Just this once, can you look and not touch?" the Spider sighed. "We should stay together right now, and I have one more rumor about the Dragon Queen to tell you about. My little birds don't know much about it, as everything's been disrupted due to the earthquake, but they did whisper a rather intriguing song. A song about a young street boy who's been trying relentlessly to get an audience with Daenerys Targaryen."
"Tell me later back in the wheelhouse. Right now, the only whispering I want to hear is from someone with hair."
Varys frowned. "This is important. No one's paying us much attention right now, and the sooner you hear this, the better. If anything, it'll make you understand why we should leave immediately and get back on the road with all haste."
"I'm sure that stopping for a few hours won't— drat!" Tyrion groaned. The woman was now straddling the waist of a young lusty nobleman, drawn over like a fly to honey by the prospect of gold. Tyrion scowled. "Well, there goes my chance at fun on this journey…"
"All the more reason why we should move on. I'm not going to sit here with you as you wait for her to become available again."
Tyrion sighed. "Fine, we'll leave. Just as soon as I go for a piss. By all means, come along if you wish to watch."
That finally made his bald companion stop pestering him. Had he realized that the only way to get a moment's solitude was mentioning his need to whip out his cock, he'd have done it the moment they first entered.
Weaving his way past all the scantily clad ladies and lusting men, he exited the building and turned down the alley right outside. Going all the way down to the open end, he pulled out his flask and drained what was left in it as he relieved himself. He should have brought a flask with him when he went to the top of the Wall all those years ago. Pissing off the edge of the tallest man-made structure in the world while gulping down a nice Arbor Gold would have made the experience all that more fun. One of the last stupidly fun things he'd done before the War of the Five Kings broke out.
He had just started putting himself away when he heard footsteps approach from behind. He couldn't suppress his groan. "Did you really decide watch? There's no need to worry, I'll be— oh." He had glanced back over his shoulder to give who he assumed had been Varys a rather disgruntled scowl, but to his surprise, it wasn't Varys standing behind him. It was the the lonely blond knight who'd been drinking alone at the table next to theirs. "Sorry," he mumbled, turning back around with a slight head shake. "Thought you were someone else."
The man said nothing in return.
"The show's already over," he quipped, wiping his hands clean on his cloak. "I'm sure the girls inside would be happy to provide new entertainment."
The words had scarcely left his mouth when a coil of rope was quickly looped around his waist, tightly binding his arms to his sides.
Tyrion struggled, now realizing the full extent of Varys' prior warnings. "Y-You've made some kind of mistake!" he gasped, squirming as much as he could to try and free one of his hands. "I-I-I don't know what's going on, but if you tell me w-what you think you're doing, I'll—"
The stranger tightly knotted his restraints, and then stuffed a thick piece of cloth into his mouth, tying it behind his head.
"I've made no mistake. I know you're Tyrion Lannister."
Tyrion closed his eyes and groaned through his gag. Seven fucking hells. He really did have the worst luck, didn't he? Whoever this bounty hunter was, he was definitely Westerosi judging by his accent. He must've either tracked him here from King's Landing or was just another Westerosi sellsword who'd heard about the bounty and was lucky enough to find him. Still, he wasn't going to let this man take his head to Cersei without a fight. He struggled with everything he had as his abductor swung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and started carrying him off. His squirming evidently didn't phase him at all, he was so small. Shit.
"As for what I'm doing," his abductor went on, exiting the alley and hurrying down the road to the docks. "I should think that's obvious. I'm taking you to the queen and the prince."
The dwarf blinked, momentarily ceasing his fruitless struggling. The queen and the prince? Cersei was still the queen mother to Tommen unless his nephew had already married Lady Maergery. If that was the case, then Maergery was queen now, but his nephew wasn't a prince anymore. He'd been crowned king right after Joffrey's death so that his father could hurry along with his trial. Was this stranger misinformed on the current status in Westeros?
Just what was going on?