The next afternoon, Tyrion woke up with the single worst headache of his life. He dragged himself to the war council, where only pointed glares from Danaerys kept him from falling asleep at the table. He was able to deliver a satisfactory report on the Wolf's intentions and the quality of his wines, and after repeatedly dousing his head in cold water, able to understand that Danaerys intended to leave the next morning.
The Wolf, for all his drinking the previous night, seemed no worse for wear, and seemed to take sadistic pleasure in rousing his men by yelling at them, addressing the cringing assembly with a voice so cheerful as to simultaneously entice and justify murder. The longhouse timbers were dismantled and converted to a floating barge to carry the battering ram within the day, and the Seafang loaded and stocked by evening.
Ravens received from Dorne confirmed that the Iron Fleet had been spotted sailing south past their coast, but the Arbor's fleet had not yet caught sight of them. Free to move through the bay unopposed, Danaerys' court began the voyage to the mainland, the Seafang at the head of the flotilla, with Drogon flying high above.
The armies of the North had established a war-camp not far from King's Landing, and the siege was laid.
Danaery's forces began blocking the main routes to the city and raiding all the supplies that hadn't been burned. Jaime Lannister had been brought along, over Tyrion's objections, and kept chained in a tent under constant armed guard. Being considered of little use in the more intellectual aspects of warfare, the Wolf's marauders could be seen mingling with the common soldiery, occasionally participating in contests of strength against men and horses.
As there was little risk of Bronn attempting to kill Tyrion in the middle of an army, the Wolf was rarely seen at the Imp's side or at Danaerys' council of war, a state of affairs greatly appreciated by all.
Every day the Wolf would instead ride up to the walls of King's Landing on the largest stallion the war camp could offer, an unending litany of insult and obscenity flowing from his lips and audible to all despite the distance, bowmen finding themselves putting down their bows and reaching for their swords, unable to strike him down from range, so enraging were his words.
He cursed out the commanders and soldiers as cowards and weaklings, theorizing on the unnatural affections their fathers held for livestock, their mothers' tenderness extending to any man but their husbands, the scorpions serving to compensate for their shrunken manhoods, and suggesting perhaps the defenders should send their women and children to fight as the menfolk lacked both the skill and the courage to defend them.
More than one enraged defender singled out in such a way had to be held back by his comrades, the Wolf's triumphant laughter ringing in their ears. Several times the soldier managed to break free, unbar a gate and throw himself screaming at the barbarian, only for the Wolf to casually decapitate his victim before crushing the severed head underhoof. One man even drew his sword and hurled himself off the battlements in his haste to close with his tormentor, giving the Wolf cause to insult their intelligence as well as their ineptitude in battle.
At last Danaerys' commanders reached a decision for the final attack. The city was deemed to have taken in as many refugees as it could, and its food reserves could only dwindle with the major roads blocked off.
Davos Seaworth would once again attack King's Landing from the sea, while the Dragonqueen's army would stand before the gates and give the city a single last chance to surrender by ringing the bells, or be slaughtered without quarter.
In the large tent at the center of Danaerys' war camp, the Dragonqueen's advisers were going over their final plans for the next day's attack when the Wolf entered, heralded as always by the inefficient protests of the sentry outside. Danaerys closed her eyes and sighed, but managed to control her first instinct to have Drogon eat him.
"Ser Wolf."
Ignoring the rest of the advisors but giving her a nod, the single mark of acknowledgement anyone could remember, the Wolf went straight to Danaerys, seemingly preoccupied.
"Ah, Dragonqueen. I have a request of you."
Danaerys looked surprised, but waited for the Wolf to justify her granting him anything. But as usual, he made no effort to do so, speaking as though her ally and not a hireling.
"Concerning the assault-"
"You are not going."
Danaerys' tone was final, though she expected the Wolf to protest. He would learn to obey her orders or she would demonstrate that his usefulness to her was at an end, and for all his claims of being a great warrior, nothing would stop her from calling to Drogon just outside the tent.
But as always, the barbarian managed to completely overthrow her plans completely without even the appearance of effort.
"Good! Don't need to ask you then."
"That was your request?"
The Wolf nodded.
"Got word that the Iron Fleet might be coming back, despite the very explicit promises I made to the Greyjoy weakling concerning his eyes and balls switching places should he show his face in these waters again. And him being one of the last men who should be left unwatched at your back, I'll take the Seafang out to sea to watch for him tomorrow. Maybe he'll turn back once he sees the city is on fire, but he'll more likely grab what he can."
Danaerys said nothing, the raven sent from Dorne having confirmed that the Iron Fleet was sailing back north. Too late to catch her at Dragonstone, still in sufficient numbers that she would be forced to wait for the Redwyne fleet's arrival to have a hope of destroying them at sea. What was Euron thinking? Had he foreseen that his fleet would be trapped in King's Landing, and so fled the bay only to return once she was away?
The Wolf knowing about this was a minor annoyance, but she was about to finally take the Iron Throne, and could afford to be magnanimous.
"Do as you intended."
The Wolf shrugged.
"Was going to anyway."
Before Danaerys could order the Wolf's head removed for his insolence, he'd cut in again.
"But about the Deathbound, and my own men, those I won't need as rowers. Are they to guard the camp on such a sword-day? Your horse-lovers especially were so looking forward to dying for you."
Danaerys hesitated. In truth, she had nearly forgotten about the Dothraki whose lives had been sold to the Wolf.
"They will join the attack."
The Wolf nodded.
"Excellent. Anything else?"
"Not unless you have any advice as to the assault tomorrow."
Despite the evident irony in her tone, the Wolf seemed to take the question entirely at face value, striding to the scale model of King's Landing and scratching his chin. When he spoke again it was with clear authority.
"Clear the walls of the bolt throwers at first opportunity, but only once you see that they're busy shooting the infantry, last thing we need is for you to lose another dragon. Start from... this tower towards the main gate. If your archers can send volleys to make them keep their heads down, so much the better, but watch that you come down just after or while the shafts are landing."
The Wolf pointed at the blocks representing the different companies of footsoldiers.
"The archers should send a signal big enough to be seen from the air, try sailcloths in different colors and patterns. Keep your dragon from roaring or they'll hear you coming, and might get off a shot or two. One lucky shot is all they need, don't give it to them. Fly down from the sun if you can, it stops them aiming properly."
There was no trace of the Wolf's usual cockiness in his voice now, only a pragmatic stating of clear and cold facts. The impression that the barbarian had not only carried out many a siege, but was clearly familiar with the use of flying creatures, was not comforting in the least.
"If the bolts are the only thing they have against you, the faster you break those the sooner you'll carry the walls. Too late to train him to bring men up to the battlements, so that's out of the question... Best to keep things simple : Clear the walls once it's safe, then the towers, keep an eye on what signals the Worm sends you."
Having said his piece with the tone of a man used to being obeyed, the Wolf turned about and was at the door of the tent when he paused.
"Oh, and cover your ears if you hear bells. It was hard enough bringing all these armies together, if one's just going to surrender it spoils everyone's fun."
Danaerys shot a glance at Tyrion, but he was staring horrified at the Wolf as he went out of sight. The barbarian's encouragement to wanton slaughter was almost as galling as his regular insulting manner, even more so thanks to his endorsement of her. His arguing for Cersei's public execution would almost have been enough to make Danaerys consider mercy. She sighed deeply.
"That's him out of the way. Ser Davos, I want you to keep an eye to the sea during the attack. I don't trust him not to sneak in and try to plunder the city."
"It'll be done. Do we sink him, or..."
"Capture if you can, kill him if you can't."
That night, a small boat left Danaerys' camp and headed for King's Landing as quietly as it could.
Oars dipped silently in the water as the boat stealthily approached the walls. This late at night, there were very few torches on the walls, and a man could very well approach the walls by sea without being detected. Tyrion and Jaime exchanged one last embrace, well aware it was likely the last time they would see each other for some years if all went well.
The rowboat was lowered, and Jaime settled into it, a single sailor rowing for him. As soon as they were in the shallows, Jaime slid into the water as the sailor turned about. He took a deep breath. He was entirely alone now, and had to hope he wouldn't run into any overenthusiastic watchmen. The moonlight let him move about without stumbling. He looked curiously at a beached rowboat, even in times of war it was unheard of for a fisherman to leave his livelihood unguarded.
Jaime stealthily approached the side gate. He huddled against the wall when he heard noise behind the gate, then started silently as the door opened. His good hand went to his sword. He could not yet see who it was, but he heard a muttered conversation. Finally Jaime heard the door close and someone stepped into the moonlight, turning his head left and right.
Jaime stared in silence. The man was huge, built like the Wolf on a smaller scale, and his head was covered by a helmet covered in ridiculously impractical spikes. Exactly the kind of helmet Tyrion had described seeing on Euron Greyjoy when he'd left Blackwater Bay. What the hell was he doing here?
"Euron!"
The man started, his head snapping left and right before turning around.
"What!? Who-?"
On seeing Jaime was alone the man held his hands out in warning.
"Shut up you damn fool! They'll hear you!"
Jaime continued staring. This man was far larger than Euron, and the voice was different, clearly desperate not to be heard. Who was he?
"Who the hell are you? Why are you wearing that bastard's helmet? Answer me!"
"No- I mean, y- look, I'll just go that way and you go that way, and neither of us needs to fight."
Jamie drew his sword.
"You're not reporting anything to that prick."
"What? No, it's not-"
Jamie slashed forward, but the stranger drew his own blade, which was considerably longer.
"Come off it, Lannister, you don't want to do this! You're going to make me late!"
"Late for what, betraying the city and the queen? Or saving your own skin?"
The helmeted man looked to the walls before hissing in a low a tone as he could.
"Shut up!"
The stranger held his sword out, making no attempt to attack, but circling around. It seemed to Jaime the man was taking care to step softly, as if afraid of drawing the attention of the guards above.
Jaime stabbed again, striking the huge man in the chest but hearing the clink of metal. Despite being covered in a long mantle, he was wearing armor underneath.
The stranger slashed out, his blade sinking deep into Jaime's hand. Almost grateful for the golden prosthetic, Jaime struck again at the man's arm, and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath. The man wore a breastplate but had nothing more than cloth to protect his arms.
"All right, you answer and I don't yell that there's a traitor escaping. What's an Iron Islander doing outside the walls at this hour?"
"Look, I don't have time for this."
The man lunged forward, his fist colliding with Jaime's jaw. Then he wrenched his blade free of Jaime's golden hand.
The marauder looked at Jaime's unconscious body and sighed, interrupting himself as soon as he heard the sound echoing loudly in his helmet. He grabbed Jaime and hoisted him on his shoulder with ease before setting off briskly for the water. Dragging the abandoned rowboat into the water with one hand, he dropped Jaime in and quickly rowed away.
Some time later, the man was pulling himself over the Seafang's side, Jaime's unconscious body hauled up after him.
"About time."
"Sorry, yarrl. Ran into trouble on the way back."
"You got him in safely?"
"Safe and stashed away, if anyone saw us they only saw a big man in a helmet and another in a cloak. He was starting the ritual when I left him."
"And the rest?"
The man shrugged.
"I did what I could, but they'll be able to dislodge them soon enough, especially with their lives on the line. No more than an hour or so."
"That Seaworth seems to know his trade, they'll be clear of it before then. And what's this you've brought me?"
"He attacked me, thought I was Euron."
"He did? Hm. And why did you think him of value to me?"
The man placed Jaime on the deck facedown before turning him over. He did not bother looking for light, having long since learned that his captain's senses were far sharper than any man's, nor did he hide his self-satisfaction at the Wolf's surprised exclamation.
"That's the Shield-slayer's brother! A fine catch, Akkarulf!"
The Wolf stood up.
"Gag him, bind him, and get him in the hold while I open the way. There's sword-work to be done tomorrow and we need to be back by dawn."