In his room in Dragonstone, Varys scratched away at a parchment before looking at the dribbling candle. Once again, he'd worked until well past midnight. With a sigh, he put down his quill. Another day gone by with no news of the envoys, Danaerys having shut herself up in the Painted Chamber ever since her return two days prior, with only the sound of breaking furniture proving she was still alive, but even these had stopped eventually.
Obviously the meeting had gone disastrously wrong, but surely Cersei had not captured them all, or she would have sent a gloating messenger. The Iron Fleet controlled the bay, and in spite of the Wolf's assurances, it was possible they had overtaken the mercenary's longship.
Varys sighed again and extinguished the candle before heading for his bed. It was useless to torture his brain without more information, but if the Queen remained isolated, the question of who was in charge would arise.
As he was about to disrobe, a small child slipped into his chamber.
"It's Tyrion and the others! The dragon-ship's in the harbor!"
Thoughts of sleep gone, Varys outpaced his young spy as he rushed down to Dragonstone's harbor. The passengers had mostly disembarked, with Tyrion and Grey Worm looking impatiently at the ship, whose captain was walking up and down the deck, yelling at his crew. Finally the Wolf completed his inspection and descended, joining them just as Varys caught up to Tyrion.
"Well?"
"We need to see the Queen."
"I don't know if she'll see anyone. She's been alone in the Painted Chamber ever since her return."
"She's still not over those men the slut-queen killed? Get her someone to rut her brains out, that'll take her mind off it. We can wait until she's in a better mood to deliver the news."
The Wolf spoke with his usual unconcerned manner. Varys looked at him in disbelief before shifting his gaze to Tyrion and Grey Worm. Both shook their heads, though Tyrion looked reluctant and Grey Worm furious. Varys nodded in turn.
"Follow me."
A pair of Dothraki guarded the entrance into the fortress.
"We must see the queen. It's urgent."
The guards opened the door, but as the Wolf made to follow the other three inside, the Dothraki stepped in front of him.
"You cannot go armed before the Khaleesi!"
The Wolf looked at the bloodrider and blinked.
"Ah. Of course. What am I thinking."
The Wolf drew his sword, weighed it in his hand and suddenly rammed it through the wooden door, staring at the luckless guard all the while. Then he pulled out another blade and shoved it through the door again, until he was bereft of visible weapons other than his hands and the spikes on his armor, the door splintered through by the gigantic weapons.
"If you're going to try pulling them out, put gloves on. They're delicate little things and I don't want fingerprints all over them."
The Wolf swept past the Dothraki, delivering his parting shot in a conversational tone.
"Commendable zeal these horse-lovers show in guarding their queen. All the stranger that they should show themselves such cowards on the battlefield."
As the envoys walked down the corridor to the great war-room of Dragonstone, they came to another, larger door, before which stood a Dothraki and an Unsullied in full armor. A platter loaded with food and drink was placed against the wall next to them.
"Has she come out? Or said anything? Has she even taken food?"
"No, Lord Varys."
Tyrion took a deep breath, stepped up and tapped at the door. There was no sound from within. He knocked again, slightly louder. Still there was no response.
"Your Grace? My queen?"
"Danaerys?"
"... Dany?"
Silence was the only answer.
"So? Do we go in?"
Varys shook his head.
"Wait a bit. There are some things I'd like to know first."
Tyrion opened his mouth, then looked at the Wolf. Varys caught his meaning, and both men quickly stepped away, leaving the Wolf and a distinctly unhappy-looking Grey Worm to wait, both looking the way they'd come.
The Wolf broke the silence first.
"So. 'Grey Worm'."
Grey Worm pressed his lips together, but did not respond. The Wolf continued regardless, not turning his head but speaking as though thinking aloud.
"Your skin's grey the same way my hair is pink, and unless it means "fighter" among your people you're one of the least wormlike men I've seen. An ill-fitting name on both counts. Why do you keep it?"
Grey Worm remained silent, which did nothing to stop the Wolf.
"Now 'Grey', maybe, it's not always about skin color. I knew a Grimbroen Greyhair and a Hjoldar Greyblade, Kalev Greymeat would eat fermented shark even the scavengers wouldn't touch, I once gutted an Aesling seer named Morgedal Greyeyes when he tried to cast a spell of unending sleep on me, then there was Hsevvek the Grey, so called because he never washed, the filthy old pervert. And of course, that little bitch Greyjoy."
Still Grey Worm managed to stay silent, though there was a grinding noise from his teeth.
"But 'Worm', now... That's a name parents would only give to a particularly hated child. If you were born of cuckoldry, or rape, or killed your mother by coming into the world. A name only the ratkin would take on, unimaginative as they are."
"No, unless the gods played a particularly cruel trick on you and 'grey worm' is an apt description of your co-"
"It is the name I chose for myself."
The Wolf seemed taken aback.
"Really."
Now he turned to look at Grey Worm, who continued to glare down the corridor.
"Any particular reason? Is it to stab your foes while they're laughing at you?"
Grey Worm's hand tightened on his sword.
"It is the name I had been given on the day I was freed by my queen. I carry it to remind myself of that day."
"Ahhh. A good omen, then."
Now it was Grey Worm's turn to look at the Wolf, this time in disbelief.
"Long ago, I too was freed of my previous petty obligations, which I had foolishly held so dear. Although I kept the same name, my old self was dead, but I was what the gods had ever intended me to be, though I was too blind to see it before."
A slight noise interrupted, and the Wolf turned around. Tyrion and Varys had returned to the door and were knocking again, to no avail.
"Allow me."
Tyrion hastily jumped back as the Wolf raised his fist. Instantly an arakh and spear were pointed at his throat, Grey Worm's blade only fractionally later.
"You will NOT intrude on the Queen, barbarian!"
"No, I won't."
The Wolf grabbed the tip of both weapons in his free hand, Grey Worm's sword clinking against the back of his armor.
"I'll just make sure she knows there's people here to see her, and without any of you to take the blame."
The Wolf brought his clenched fist against the wooden door with all the slow, ponderous grace of a church bell tolling the death of a king. The boom reverberated throughout the corridor, masking the splintering of wood as the hinges threatened to tear themselves apart. The echoes of the first blow had not yet faded away that he struck again. Heads appeared from doorways further down the corridor, one querulous voice demanding that the halfwit using a battering ram at this ungodly hour be put to death. Finally the key was heard to turn in the lock.
The door opened. Danaerys' sleep-deprived glare would have petrified most men, but the Wolf continued in a voice so jovial and hearty as to excuse murder before a judge.
"Good morning, Dragonqueen! Not interrupting, are we?"
Danaerys' mouth opened, but the Wolf interjected before she could order his immediate decapitation.
"I brought your men back safe and sound, as agreed. I've also arranged for the Iron Fleet to bugger off for a while, which Tyrion here believes should have required your permission, we're here to make sure it meets your approval."
Danaerys stared at the Wolf, then at Tyrion, Grey Worm, and Varys. Those who'd been on the ship grudgingly nodded.
"Come in."
Danaerys turned around, thankfully unable to see the Wolf's face radiating smugness. The war-room seemed to have been ransacked by Iron Islanders, wall hangings torn down and furniture overturned. When Tyrion, Grey Worm, Varys and the Wolf had entered and the guards had closed the door, Danaerys sat in the one chair that she had not reduced to splinters. The four men stood before her, accidentally placing themselves in order of height.
"So. You chased off the Iron Fleet, in a single ship, half-full of diplomats."
Danaerys' sarcasm would have had any courtier sweating, but the Wolf did not notice, or more likely did not care.
"Not quite. Ran into some weakling in a horned helmet. I'm told he's called Euron Greyjoy, only one with a tongue aboard his ship in any case, and informed him that while he was busy plowing the whore-queen instead of the waves, his throne is currently held by his niece."
Tyrion frowned. Something didn't quite add up, but the Wolf moved on before he could pin it down.
"It seems that his arse prefers to sit on salt than iron, so the Iron Fleet'll be out of the Blackwater and sailing south by midday, leaving the bay clear for a good two weeks."
The giant's tone was oddly contemptuous, as though Euron's flight was a personal offense. Danaerys had other concerns.
"Instead of killing him on the spot, which still leaves the Iron Fleet to threaten me, and Yara in the Iron Islands, and any ships unlucky enough to cross its path."
The Wolf shrugged.
"True, but it's a long way around. And there are ever so many dangers at sea. There's storms, reefs, mutinies, sea serpents, dragon attacks..."
The Wolf's sentence hung in the air. Danaerys almost rolled her eyes. Clearly the barbarian's mouth acted before whatever brains he had did, but he at least seemed incapable of treason against her. Executing Euron, and avenging Rhaegal, would just have to wait. She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
"So be it."
The Wolf nodded, and as was becoming a habit, headed for the door without waiting for dismissal. Tyrion idly wondered if such cavalier disregard for social niceties was a calculated act of defiance, warning against any attempt to command him, or if protests from smaller people simply didn't register with the barbarian. Danaerys' next words interrupted his musings.
"Varys, send a message to Yara. Warn her that Euron is taking his fleet home."
Varys nodded.
"And to Dorne, the Arbor, and the cities along the coasts of Westeros and Essos. Euron might get a little raiding done along the way, and what remains of the fleet is still dangerous to the unwary."
Danaerys turned her eyes from Varys to Tyrion.
"Tyrion. I took your advice, and gave your sister one last chance to surrender. This is the result."
Tyrion bowed his head, and kept it bowed.
"There are two kinds of people who fail me : traitors and fools. I'm willing to believe you were a fool, but I have no use for advisors with bad advice."
"Do not fail me again."
"No, my queen."
Varys stole a glance at Tyrion. He judged the moment right to deflect attention from his friend, unfortunately choosing the worst possible way to do it.
"Did you find out if Missandei was among the captives?"
The combined reactions of Tyrion, Grey Worm and Danaerys told him all he needed to know. Still Danaerys looked accusingly at Tyrion.
"I didn't have time to tell him!"
Tyrion took a deep breath.
"Cersei... Cersei had her murdered by the Mountain. Or will, she said he wasn't done yet. But by now, it's hopefully over."
Varys winced in horror. The loss of Missandei alone would account for their queen's erratic behavior. Even if Missandei had survived the Mountain's attentions, even if Cersei didn't have her killed out of spite like the other hostages, even if the siege concluded fast enough to find and rescue her, there was no guarantee, or even hope, that she would emerge anything but a shadow of her former self, if indeed she would even be in a state to recognize her friends.
Danaerys broke in, unwilling to reflect on the fate her handmaiden was undergoing.
"Go and tell the quartermasters to prepare as many supplies as they can to be brought to the mainland. We have a siege to lay, an usurper to overthrow, and a city to burn if they are still mad enough to think they can resist."
Understanding they were dismissed, Tyrion and Varys exited, Grey Worm following them.
"And send me food. I feel like I could eat a horse."
Outside the door, Grey Worm picked up the untouched platter and brought it to his queen.
Varys and Tyrion hurriedly left. On the way they passed the Wolf, who was removing his swords from the ruined door, making snide comments to the Dothraki guard who had attempted and failed to pull one out by himself.
When Varys returned to his chambers, his mind was made up. He would wait for Jon's return, and then act for the sake of the Seven Kingdom, as he always had. He did not see the look Tyrion gave him as he climbed the stairs to his chambers.
Beric Dondarrion winced as he stepped off the gangplank and into Volantis. His wounds had scabbed over, but now and then there was still an unpleasant twinge in his ankle where the wight had stabbed it. Ignoring the throngs of street sellers, prostitutes and pickpockets, he stepped resolutely towards the great temple of the Red God.