That evening, a heated conference had just ended in Dragonstone between the surviving leadership of Danaerys' army. The Dragonqueen had been narrowly convinced by her advisers (even Tyrion, who'd barely avoided drowning that very morning) to give Cersei a final chance at parley before facing complete destruction. At least this way the fault would lie with the usurper queen if she still refused to see sense.
A Dothraki entered the hall and stood before his queen.
"Khaleesi, there is a man outside asking for audience."
Danaerys looked up from the painted table where she was planning as best she could to recover from the crippling loss Euron and Cersei had inflicted on her. They had destroyed most of her ships, and many of her Unsullied and advisers were now lying on the seafloor, or worse, in the hands of Euron's raiders. Yet it was the unknown fate of Missandei that nagged at her most.
The Iron Fleet had unexpectedly called off their assault after their ships had mysteriously struck reefs none of the Dragonstone natives remembered charting, and already there was uneasy talk of monsters from the deeps awoken by Rhaegal's corpse sinking into the sea. But despite the providential destruction of their enemies, Danaerys' surviving ships had been in no condition to pursue the fleet or even stop them from taking prisoners from the waters as easily as if they were collecting driftwood.
"Did he say why?"
"Only that he leads a band of sellswords, and is offering his services."
"Another one... Send him in. We'll need all the men we can get to take the city."
After reaffirming her intent to take King's Landing by force, Danaerys started as the unmistakable armored bulk of the Wolf entered the hall, followed by a smaller man. He had somehow contrived to carry even more skulls on his person since the last time she'd seen him, including the head of what looked like a turquoise-scaled lizard, if lizards grew to the size of horses.
"You again? We did not see you after the battle for Winterfell."
"I had obligations to other powers. I have now come to offer you my aid."
Danaerys considered it, while Tyrion looked uneasy. She deeply regretted the absence of Sansa, on who the Wolf's abrasive personality had little effect.
"Still in exchange for a skull?"
"A skull... and ten coffers of gold. And whatever plunder we can carry."
Danaerys raised an eyebrow as her court muttered darkly.
"Ten? You did not want payment last time."
"True, because I had thought it was a venture that would pay for itself. Now I have debts to pay, warriors to feed, you know how it is."
Danaerys looked around her. The room was full of advisers, but none seemed willing to bear the responsibility of hiring the Wolf, while none of her bodyguards seemed to relish the prospect of escorting him out. Tyrion was shaking his head desperately. She looked back at the barbarian.
"We do not have the means to hire you."
The Wolf shrugged, as if the refusal meant nothing to him.
"So be it. There are other opportunities for employment around here. I've heard tell a House Lannister is looking for men, they seem to fear an imminent invasion."
Danaerys started. The Wolf was looking her straight in the eyes, as if daring her to kick him out. For a moment she contemplated calling for Drogon to incinerate him. But she knew she had to control herself, and her Targeryen blood, lest she become the monster her allies feared in her. Already Varys was starting to show signs of weakness, opposing her most rational decisions and disbelieving in her destiny.
She had lost one of her children and far too many soldiers today, and Missandei had still not been found. She had to remain strong for the sake of the others who looked to her for guidance. There had to be a way to resolve this peacefully.
Then a small detail came to her mind.
"Arya mentioned you had a ship?"
"That I do."
The Wolf took on a self-satisfied expression.
"And it... flies?"
"It does."
Mutters filled the room, but before any could voice an objection, the Wolf spoke again.
"It flies, but it's a moody little bitch; needs to feed on near a hundred men before it'll get up. And sometimes it's even fussier, one time it wouldn't lift off before I'd specifically fed it murderers, whores, traitors and plague victims. While five days away from the coast. Took us two weeks to get what it wanted, we could have rowed halfway to Araby in that time. You have that kind of manflesh lying around?"
Danerys' councilors looked horrified. Without outright stating their opposition, they tried to silently beg their queen to do no such thing, one mouthing "Cersei" to get her to understand whose level she would sink to.
Danaerys saw their efforts and understood them. She could not in nearly the same breath be the Breaker of Chains and visibly participate in human sacrifice. She pretended to ponder the matter.
"I see. However, I add a condition to your price."
The giant said nothing, but now it was his turn to raise his brows.
"We will need protection from the Iron Fleet, and have lost many of my transports. For ten chests of gold, I will hire you, your men, and your ship, to use as I see fit."
The Wolf looked unabashedly surprised while behind her Tyrion winced, both in anticipation of the Wolf's reaction and the upcoming hole in Dragonstone's treasury.
"You- you mean to use the Seafang as a ferry? The greatest longship the North has ever seen or made, reduced to carrying the weak and wounded!?"
The giant's voice, usually a thunderous growl, had risen into a furious roar. And yet as hands went to hilts, before their astonished eyes, the Wolf had dropped back into his dangerously informal mien, as if the island's volcano had erupted and then spooled its lava back inside. Danaerys felt a quiet satisfaction that for all his crass bluntness, the Wolf's ego could still be punctured.
"Well, first time for everything, I suppose. I accept your terms, Dragonqueen."
"Einarr here will watch over the gold, won't you Einarr?"
The Wolf's acolyte, hearing his name being spoken, stepped up and nodded vigorously as the Wolf repeated the statement in their own tongue. Tyrion stared hard at him. The marauder had been at the battle of Winterfell not long ago, but his beard was now much longer, as if it had been left to grow for the better part of a year, and his bald head bore several long-healed scars Tyion did not remember seeing at the last stand of mankind. Jingling his purse to get his attention and intent across, the former Master of Coin led the marauder away towards the treasury.
"The Seafang will be in the harbor in six days."
Once again the Wolf turned on his heel and was out the door without taking his leave. Danaerys watched him go, reflecting that this was probably as much respect as he would show, before her mind turned to more pressing matters. Only the brief thought occurred that he had not mentioned whose skull he was after.
That night, Tyrion and Varys held an urgent conference. Their queen's behavior was getting dangerously close to the very tyrants she had sworn to overthrow, eclipsing even the presence of the expensive and inscrutable murderer of the Mountain suddenly showing up again. When the left each other, neither man was certain of where the other's loyalty would lie if the parley failed.
Three days later, the Iron Fleet sailed triumphantly into King's Landing. The fleet seemed to have lost quite a few ships along the way, but the remains vomited a flood of prisoners, duly chained and paraded through the streets and into the dungeons, led by Euron Greyjoy wearing a slightly-oversized helmet with forward-sweeping horns, a repeat performance of his earlier victory over the Sand Snakes and his niece.
From her window in the Red Keep, Cersei watched the heavy-handed display, sipping a goblet of wine. Euron had done his job well, and the little bitch was now deprived of many of her men, even with the bulk of her army still on its way under the leadership of Ned Stark's bastard. Things were going perfectly, all thanks to her own brilliance, the ingenious political mind her father had always refused to acknowledge.
"Strickland!"
In the courtyard below, Harry Strickland, commander of the Golden Company, turned around. Euron Greyjoy was headed straight for him, and dragged him to a secluded corner.
"You remember what you said about your elephants?"
Strickland stared.
"That the voyage was too long for them?"
"Exactly. Now, I've found a way to get around that little problem."
Euron patted the horned helmet hooked to his waist.
"We've got a little while before the dragon-bitch gets here, but we still need to move fast. Meet me on the Silence this evening."
Euron turned and headed into the keep, leaving Strickland unsure of what had just happened.
At the window of her bedchamber, Cersei heard Euron's approach long before he'd opened the door.
"Right! Piss off, you lot, got plenty of things to tell the queen! Go see if Gregor's sprung any leaks and plug them up, will you?"
Euron slammed the door in Qyburn's affronted face, and went to Cersei with a conquering stride.
"Dragonqueen's down one dragon, and almost all her ships! Not bad, eh?"
Cersei smiled at him, though it did not quite reach her eyes. Her gaze went to the extravagantly-horned helmet covered in strange symbols Euron carried at his hip.
"Where did you get that?"
"This? Picked it up from one of the ships. The little bitch is hiring mercenaries now. Piss-poor ones too, but at least they have pretty little toys."
"Who knows, maybe it'll be in his size?"
Cersei glanced down. Her belly was not yet visibly swollen, nor was the child formed enough to start moving. She turned again, looking out the window. Moving swiftly, Euron stood behind Cersei, running and squeezing his hands over her body. It was just as well he could not see her face.
"Ahhh, killed my enemies, saw them driven before me, and heard them crying. Gods alone remember when I've ever been this hard."
"You swear by the gods now?"
"Well, I just killed a dragon, only man in the world with that claim right now. Guess you could say I've found religion."
"And now let me show you what else a man of the Iron Islands can do with a long hard shaft..."
In a single movement he had grabbed her hair and wrapped an arm around her waist, twisting her head around.
He forced his tongue into her mouth, then lifted her bodily and dropped her on the bed.
As the western sky turned red as blood, Euron pulled his clothes back on, wiping his finger on the sheets.
"I'll be gone for a little while."
There was no response from the bed, Cersei's eyes still unfocused, her face flushed and her chest heaving. Euron turned back just before leaving the room.
"But I'm bringing you a surprise."
As the light faded and the torches of the harbor were lit, Strickland walked up the gangplank of the Silence, wondering what the Ironborn had planned. Euron had a reputation as a sorcerer, but how did he plan to move elephants across the Narrow Sea before Danaerys' forces attacked? The commander of the Golden Company stopped before a mute, who looked him up and down before pointing towards the prow, where Euron was talking to two shapes he could not make out.
"There you are, Strickland! Come up here! Crew! Haul anchor, we're leaving!"
Strickland started as the gangplank was pulled up and the Silence pushed away from the dock, the crew pulling ropes with practiced efficiency. Then he saw Euron looking at him.
"Oh, don't worry about your men, we'll only be gone a day or two. The dragon-bitch'll keep, it'll take her a while to meet up with her Snow boytoy."
"Now come here."
From close up, Strickland looked at Euron's associates. One was a scarred old man wearing wolf furs and bearing a staff decorated with feathers, amulets and a mummified raven. He could not help but stare at the other, a towering, shapeless mass bigger than Ser Gregor, covered head to toe in sailcloth bound with ropes at the joints, with only two ragged and uneven eyeholes to mark its face. The thing's hands were covered in crude gloves made from dark fur. A chain that could have been used to hold a bull went around its neck, the other end wrapped around the sorcerer's free hand.
"That there's Sven Swordeater, a sorcerer from the North. Kicked out from his tribe for his experiments, or so he tells me. And that's his most successful experiment and assistant, named Grongo or Mongo or something."
Strickland could not keep his gaze from the monstrosity.
"Best for all involved if you don't try to see what he looks like under that cloth, last idiot who tried was half-eaten by the time we pulled them apart. He's touchy about his looks, aren't you Bongo?"
The thing under the sailcloth uttered a weird ululating sound, halfway between a bear and a walrus.
"Good man-thing. Delicate and shy as a young maiden, is Trongo. Sven, when you're ready."
The sorcerer looked at the receding city and shook his head.
"Not do here, captain. Too big risk. Need ship out in deep water."
"That so."
Euron stared at Sven a little longer than was necessary, before grinning and clapping him on the shoulder.
"Well, if you say so. Come on, Strickland. The captain's cabin awaits, and I'll have grub brought up for Sven. And a big juicy live rat for Drongo, eh?"
The thing let out another warble, although with a distinct undercurrent of menace this time. Euron went belowdecks, only assigning a pair of mutes to watch the sorcerer and his pet.
Some hours later, Euron emerged from his cabin, Strickland in tow. The Silence had come to a halt near the northern coast of Blackwater Bay, lights blazing fore and aft of the massive ship, and as Strickland watched, an equally enormous longship approached from the port bow.
Sven waved a torch, and called out to the longship in his own language. The longship's stern was soon brought to the Silence's prow, and soon both crews were busy throwing ropes to each other, securely tying the two ships together. Though not a sailor, Strickland thought it odd that after the ropes were tied off, stout steel chains were also stapled to the Silence's bowsprit and the longship's stern.
Once the ships were bound to Euron's satisfaction, the sorcerer and his shambling slave crossed over to the longship, while a number of the longship's crew boarded the Silence, clad in thick metal armor covered in spikes and furs.
"I've never seen armor like that on a Wildling."
"That's because Wildlings don't have to fight the things we're going to face."
Strickland looked hard at Euron.
"The hell's going on, Greyjoy?"
Euron's face took on a smug grin. Strickland fought the impulse to punch him.
"Simple."
"Sven here knows a shortcut that can take us to Essos in less than a day. Less than an hour, in fact, by his reckoning. But, it involves going through the homes of things that don't much like intruders."
"So, we go through, avoid being seen, make port in Essos, take a day to get the ships and the elephants together, another to load them up and chain the ships, and we'll be back in King's Landing before the sun sets on the third day."
Strickland could only stare in horror at the madman standing before him. Before he could draw his sword, a great shout came from the longship before them. The sorcerer had lit a fire in a brasero and was shouting incantations, punctuated by a drum smashed with enthusiasm by his acolyte and a rattle shaken by one of the crewmen who had been tied to the mast. The longship's crew were at the oars, pulling in time to the shaking of the rattle. The Silence slowly followed.
The sorcerer threw handfuls of powder into the fire, causing multicolored flames to flare up, and as the drumming reached a fever pitch let forth an unholy screech, echoed by his assistant, who dropped the drum to scream even longer and louder, the sound buzzing and scraping at Strickland's mind.
Before Strickland's horrified eyes, the very air in front of the longship split open into a roiling mist that brought to mind a suppurating wound. The longship hurtled inside, followed by the Silence.
Inside the hole was even worse. An overpowering nausea struck Strickland, for there was no horizon and no water below, the ships seemed to be floating in a permanent fog, at the same time distant and close by, with the frantic movement of the oars and the taut ropes the only hint that they were moving. Lights appeared in the fog and quickly became burning eyes, glaring malevolently at them.
"Draw your sword, Strickland, here they come!"
Strickland gaped as the fog seemed to take shape, a long gray tendril solidifying into a clawed arm. His hand was only halfway to his sword when the arm fell to the ground with a shriek, one of the longship's armored fighters having chopped it with his vicious-looking axe.
"Draw your fucking sword you daft cunt, I still need you alive!"
Snapping out of his stupor, Strickland managed to free his blade. Everywhere on the Silence the armored warriors were hacking and slashing at the entities invading the ship, Euron impaling one on his twin swords. One popped up in front of Strickland himself, who struck at it reflexively. It screamed at him in a way that incongruously reminded him of his mother's voice and faded away.
He risked a look behind him. Over on the longship things were going only slightly better, the sorcerer's pet giant running the entire length of the ship, striking at the entities before they could fully form. But even this was not enough to protect the crew, and one of the rowers broke out of his trance, released his oar, and jumped screaming over the side of the ship. The thing let out a howl, muffled by the cloth over its head.
Another fog demon formed before Strickland, slashing at his cheek. He immediately thrust at the thing's face, or at least the place that had the most eyes and mouths, and was rewarded with an ear-piercing yell.
Suddenly the fog lifted. Sea air once again entered Strickland's nose, and he gripped the Silence's gunwale to empty his stomach over the side, a splitting headache smashing at his temples.
"Well, what'd I tell you?"
Euron stood grinning, sheathing his swords. Strickland looked up. On the blessedly fixed horizon was a collection of lights so intense it could only be a city. On his first voyage, they had left during the day, but from the arrangement of the lights he was certain it was Pentos.
"King's Landing to Pentos in less than a day. Not bad, eh?"
Still feeling nauseous, Strickland did not answer, unsure that he would be able to prevent himself from strangling Euron. Already the longship's crewmen were undoing the ropes and chains linking it to the Silence. One of the armored fighters was looking blankly at the blood-spurting stump of his arm, a jagged wound that left three clear inches of bone sticking out from the ruined flesh.
"We'll take the Silence into port. Send the word to get the elephants ready at first light tomorrow, giving you a night to get your stomach back where it should be, and negotiate the ships in the morning."
Despite his stomach threatening to rise up and return more of its contents, Strickland managed to answer.
"We're going through that again? The elephants won't last a minute once those things get in the hulls!"
"True, but only if the men on deck falter. The bastard things prefer souls to meat, but they eat both. We'll split the longship's crew among the cogs, but your goldenboys will have to pull their weight. Best hope they're worth their pay."
Euron hopped ships one last time to confer with the shaman and his acolyte, then returned to the Silence. The longship disappeared into the dark, while the Silence sailed into the port of Pentos. Before dawn the remainder of the Golden Company had been alerted, and as Euron had predicted, took two days to muster the elephants and the ships to carry them.
As dawn fell on Dragonstone six days after the Iron Fleet's raid, the harbor was a flurry of activity, Danaerys' closest advisers preparing to leave the island and head for Queen's Landing. The Seafang and its unpredictable captain had made port in the night.
Having given her orders, Danaerys and her closest advisers stood on the docks and looked at the massive longship, waiting for the Wolf to explain his absence. Near them, his henchman awaited with the gold coffers that were to pay the warband.
Varys arrived in a hurry, having sent a few last-minute messages. Danaerys stopped him in his tracks.
"Not you. I need you as spymaster while I'm gone."
Varys started, although his face betrayed no further emotion. He seemed about to speak, but Danaerys kept going.
"And I can't have you and Tyrion on the same ship if it's sunk."
Varys smiled, although he felt unsure of the Dragonqueen's sincerity.
"Einarr!"
The Wolf appeared on deck, shouting instructions to the marauder even as he descended the gankplank and walked up the jetty. The luckless Einarr grabbed one of the chests and slowly started dragging them aboard, the rest of the crew being apparently occupied with ropes and moorings. If the Wolf had noticed Danaerys waiting for him he showed no sign of it, any concept of deference due to an employer clearly nowhere on his mind.
Aware that the insufferable barbarian was still necessary to her invasion, Danaerys took a deep breath before speaking.
"Ser Wolf. Might I ask what you've been doing since I last saw you?"
The Wolf turned to look at her.
"Fishing. For information, among other things."
Danaerys' lips thinned.
"And what have you found?"
"The Iron Fleet haven't entirely gone home. There's still a few ships patrolling the bay, since they know they you have a few seaworthy ships left."
Danaerys nodded. She was no sailor, but it made sense.
"Very well. My first order is that you take my courtiers near King's Landing. I will go first on Drogon. Do you have a plan?"
The Wolf looked out to sea, then at the sky, seeming to think it over.
"Yes. We'll take one ship, fast enough to outrun them and their bolt throwers. They don't even sail in pairs, the cocky bastards. So if we run into one..."
The Wolf smiled broadly.
"We either outrun it, which shouldn't be hard, or fight it, which should be easier."
"I forbid it."
The Wolf looked surprised, but Danaerys held firm.
"You will take my advisers to the east end of Blackwater Bay and avoid battle. I'm not paying you to put them at risk. My Unsullied will throw your gold over the side at the first sign of an Ironborn ship if you don't immediately sail away from it, is that clear?"
There was an uneasy silence, hands hovering near hilts behind Danaerys. Thankfully the tension was broken by the Wolf's henchman cursing vigorously as he dragged another heavy coffer aboard the longship. The barbarian shrugged.
"As you wish. We should be there in three days if the wind holds... and you don't take too many onboard."
"Half a dozen men, and them."
The Wolf's head turned to where Danaerys was pointing.
A contingent of downcast-looking Dothraki, weaponless and on foot, had assembled on the docks, their hair shorn close, waiting for their khaleesi's command. The Wolf looked curiously at them.
"Don't those horse-lovers of yours usually have longer hair?"
Danaerys gave them a look, the memory spurring a fresh bout of contempt.
"They are worthless curs who can regain their honor by giving their lives for mine... and none of them were aboard the ships that were sunk. They'll be the first to die at the siege."
The Wolf nodded, clearly approving, which set off uncomfortable thoughts in Danaerys' mind, though she managed to avoid showing it.
"How'd they lose it?"
"They survived the battle against the dead by fleeing, and hiding in the woods. And if that wasn't enough, made up a story about fighting a dragon in the woods that left no corpse behind."
"A dragon?"
"Or some kind of fire-breathing monster. In the snow."
Danaerys' voice was nothing but contempt. Though they could not hear her, the disgraced bloodriders could tell their story was being discussed, and some winced.
"I wasn't sure whether to punish them for their cowardice or thinking me fool enough to believe their story."
Danerys looked up. For a second she was pleased to see that her story had had an effect on the barbarian, then shocked to see what that effect was. The Wolf was looking over the Dothraki and muttering under his breath, before fixing his gaze on her, with a disturbingly excited look.
"Dragonqueen. Sell me those men."
"What?!"
"Their lives are of no worth to you, only their deaths. Sell them to me, I can put them to better purposes. I will give you back three chests of your gold for them."
Danaerys stared again. The Wolf was completely unpredictable, he'd just proved it again, what would he want these men for?
"I will not deal in slavery, Ser Wolf. Not now, nor ever."
"Slavery? It's not slavery, they can leave whenever they want... if they prefer the straw-death to the bloody end of battle."
The Wolf shook his head.
"Put them under my command, as I am under yours, at least until the city is taken. If they still have yet to prove their worth by then, you will do as you see fit."
Danaerys kept looking at the Wolf. This had to be a trap, although she could not guess its purpose. She also felt entirely skeptical that he would obey her orders as easily as he intended the Dothraki to obey him.
Memory struck all of a sudden.
"You do not intend to sacrifice them to make your ship fly?"
The Dragonqueen's tone would have been made most men cower, but the Wolf merely shrugged.
"Them? No, they wouldn't do, especially for a three-day voyage. Fussy eater, is the Seafang."
Danaerys nodded, only half-reassured.
"Then what will you do with them?"
"Well for starters... put them to the oars. We'll make better progress than if they're just dead weight in the hold."
Danaerys looked over the bloodriders again. It was true that they would be of little use during the crossing, and even then she had not pondered their punishment much further. Varys walked over and whispered in her ear. She turned again and looked the Wolf in the eye.
"Four chests."
"Done."
The barbarian turned.
"Einarr!"
The Wolf's henchman, sweating freely from the effort of hauling all ten heavy coffers onto the ship, appeared at the gangplank, smiling wanly. At the Wolf's barked command, the smile disappeared and his eyes goggled, grabbing the gunwale for support and looking wildly from his captain to Danaerys. His hands opened and closed convulsively, he stood up to his full height, opened his mouth, then whatever inner resistance had flared up died just as quickly, his spine seemed to curve on itself and he turned around, looking even more broken and dejected than the Dothraki.
"I'll go explain while your gold comes back."
The Wolf planted himself before the bloodriders, who looked at him with wariness at first, then shock as he spoke in their own tongue.
"Horse-lovers! Cowards and gutless worms, all of you!"
"From this day you are mine to command, unworthy of belonging to the Dragonqueen's army until you prove yourselves men and warriors! If you ever want a blade in your hand and a horse under your legs again, you will obey without question and without comment!"
"Did I make myself clear, or are your ears still full of horseshit? I have a very efficient earpick here, if need be!"
The Wolf drew his blade. Even if they had been left their arahks, the lightly-armored Essosi would not have tried it. The Wolf's gaze swept the assembled Dothraki.
"Cowards, but not madmen. Good! Now..."
The Wolf's sword pointed at the towering pile of food and equipment that waited to be loaded on the ships.
"You can start by getting everything there onboard. I'll make seamen of you grasslanders yet, or my father was a hairbarrel. Einarr!"
The henchman, hearing his name called and putting down the fourth chest on the docks, winced and turned to face his captain. A few orders later, his face brightened considerably, and he looked with relish at the Dothraki.
"Obey that man as you would obey me, and no one needs to lose an ear... or other extremity. Work hard, work well, and you'll see how the Norsca reward men who claim to have killed a fire-worm."
Leaving the marauder to bawl at the Dothraki until they were hauling crates to his satisfaction, understanding his gestures and tone rather than his speech, the Wolf sheathed his sword and turned to Drogon, who was awaiting on the stone docks for his mother to climb up on him.
The Wolf's mouth moved in ways that seemed no different from an ordinary man's, and yet the snarls and chirps that issued from it had only been heard from Drogon and his brothers.
The dragon's head also turned, and responded in kind. The Wolf made another rumble like a distant avalanche and fell silent, seemingly content with the result. Danaerys went to Drogon without another word, unwilling to acknowledge the fact that the barbarian could communicate with her child far better than she could.
Tyrion and Varys approached the Wolf cautiously.
"What did you say?"
The Wolf looked surprised, Tyrion balling his fists as the Wolf's gaze searched around at man-height before dropping down to him.
"Asking him if he knew where to go if she was hurt. We can't have him land on the ship, he'd capsize us, and unless we build a pontoon big enough for him and tow it all the way to the coast..."
The Wolf shrugged, then barked something at the longship. An aged man wearing a wolfskin, hunched over a staff, descended the gangplank and headed for the keep. Tyrion and Varys looked at him curiously, the dwarf recalling his presence at Winterfell.
"You're leaving him behind?"
The Wolf did not even spare his underling a glance.
"Sorcerers."
Varys looked up sharply.
"I'd keep the old bastard with me to keep an eye on him, but with a ship full of people your queen needs alive... Best to keep him away from us, it's hard to stab someone in the back where there's a sea between you."
The Wolf's face contorted, and he spat bitterly.
"And sometime's that's not enough."
Varys spoke up, still keeping an eye on the retreating wolfskin.
"You distrust him?"
"I've never trusted sorcerers, I'm not about to start now. At least here the worst he can do is poison any man stupid enough to buy a potion off him."
Tyrion considered his next move carefully. The Wolf had admitted to owning a flying ship. From the confused reports of the Mountain's defeat, it supposedly appeared from nowhere as well.
"But your ship, and your mastery of tongues-"
"Gifts fom the Gods."
The Wolf's tone made it remarkably clear that such gifts were to be considered magic at Tyrion's peril.
"The Seafang flies, and hide itself so it seems the very air swallowed it, but it needs no sorcerer on it to do so, only its captain may decide its course. There were a few wizards who've tried to take it from me, I let them work their feeble spells over it until they ceased to amuse me and fed them to it."
"And yet, at Winterfell..."
The Wolf gave him an annoyed glance, but he pressed on.
"The weapons you used against the Night King, and the... crow-men you brought along. You're telling me there was no magic in that?"
"Don't remind me. Damn near three year's worth of voyages the entire thing cost me, and to what result? A half-thawed mute with a face like a dog's arsehole who shatters like Tilean glass the moment you touch him, and corpses whose only worthwhile possessions came from those of my crew who joined them. Serves me right for thinking sharp steel wouldn't be enough."
"So you... won't be using them again?"
"Who? The Crow Brothers? They were useful in the cold, but down here, where a man can smell a corpse from a mile away in midday..."
Reassured as to the absence of the unnaturally resilient warriors, and as the Wolf seemed to be in a more tolerant mood than could be expected from the Mountain's slayer, Tyrion pressed his advantage.
"I have heard, Ser Wolf, that you do not take kindly to being called a sellsword. And yet here you are fighting for gold. May I ask why?"
The Wolf's face darkened.
"The answer good enough for your queen should be good enough for you, half-man. I have warriors under me, who fight for glory but need more solid payment."
Tyrion looked behind him. The returned coffers were being dragged back to Dragonstone's treasury, the marauder called Einarr watching them with a visibly pained expression.
"Then perhaps you would be open to getting more?"
The Wolf looked at Tyrion, but said nothing. Tyrion gestured towards the keep.
"Somewhere more private."
Instead of answering, the Wolf grabbed Tyrion in a single hand, marching to the end of the pier next to a moored ship's lowered gangplank. There he extended his arm, dangling the dwarf over the water.
"Private enough?"
"Q-Quite. I want to hire you as a bodyguard."
The Wolf said nothing, but neither did he loosen his grip.
"You once defended my life, for... reasons that are your own, now do so in exchange for whatev-"
Tyrion stopped himself in time, acutely aware of the dangers of promising too much to people determined to take him at his word.
"In exchange for a reasonable price."
The Wolf snorted, but smiled. Backing up, he delicately placed Tyrion down on the nearby gangplank so they were now at eye level.
"Your bodyguard, you say. I should have thought a man who killed his own father with a crossbow would be quite adept at defending himself. In fact, I have heard other stories concerning you being armed with naught but a shield, and yet killing a man twice your size with it."
Tyrion's blood grew cold, but he had faced more dangerous negotiators before.
"Mere chance. A man in my position has many enemies, not all of them on the battlefield."
"And what manner of enemies would these be?"
"... A man who has some complaint about my family's treatment of him, and now works for my sister. Protect me from her, and I will see to it that you are richly rewarded."
"Your family's treatment, you say. What treatment, exactly?"
"He... He made demands that could not reasonably be asked for, and yet still held himself to be the betrayed party."
"What sort of demands?"
"Well... He wanted to inherit the lands and titles of one of the Seven Houses, despite having no tie of blood to them. He only had a title through my brother's rewards in the first place."
"Ahh, ambition. I know the problem well. And yet, despite this, he works for your sister."
"She is the one with the gold, at present."
The Wolf seemed to consider it.
"And what guarantee do I have that your word is worth more than hers?"
Tyrion was unable to stop the cursed sentence from leaving his mouth.
"A Lannister always pays his debts. My House has been around long enough that it's become proverbial."
The Wolf looked at Tyrion.
"Not much of a warcry. A single man?"
"A sellsword, by the name of Bronn Blackwater. My sister hired him to kill me... using the very same crossbow you mentioned."
"Did she now."
The Wolf seemed to be making an effort to remember something.
"It has been some months, but... I believe I said your sister was a very interesting woman. I see this still holds true."
Tyrion started. Some months? The battle for the dawn was fresh enough that most of the men still had nightmares involving blue-eyed corpses, why did he claim it was months prior? The Wolf pressed on.
"So, I am to maintain you alive and well until your sister is dead and the city taken, preventing this Brenn or other cutthroats-for-hire from claiming the price on your head. And what will you pay me to ensure your skin remains intact? I certainly hope you can offer a better deal than her, she seems to have gold to spare."
Tyrion's mouth went dry.
"Three coffers of gold. Paid once the city is taken and the gold back in my hands."
The Wolf seemed to mull it over.
"Three chests of gold, and expenses, to be paid once the city is taken... and one other thing."
Tyrion's lips were set, having expected this blow.
"What?"
"I want that crossbow."
Tyrion stared, but the Wolf did not look like he was jesting.
"The cross-? Very well."
"It is done, then. Now let's go, the tide's going out."
The Wolf returned to his ship, leaving Tyrion to trot after him. The ship having been loaded to the crew's approval, he personally showed the courtiers and bodyguards on board.
Before midday the Seafang was out of the harbor at full sail, heading westward at breakneck pace thanks to its rowers being regularly replaced by Dothraki whose enthusiasm compensated their lack of expertise. The courtiers kept to themselves, aided by Grey Worm glaring down any attempt at fraternizing, and the Wolf passed the time by interrogating the bloodriders at length on their supposed battle with a dragon in the forests of Winterfell.