The air boiled and the Seafang burst forth, emerging in the air above a stone-flagged courtyard surrounded by immense but ill-maintained walls. Scores of marauders immediately threw ropes down to their counterparts on the ground below, and the entire ship was slowly hauled downwards. The Wolf called out orders and corrections, and the longship descended into a wooden cradle sitting incongruously in the middle of the courtyard. The gangplank was thrown down once the longship had settled down and the ropes been secured. The dragon's head prow shook in all directions, but finally lay still.
Two men descended into the hold and emerged soon after, pulling the stumbling Cersei and Qyburn with them. Both prisoners were wearing blindfolds and were yanked roughly to the side as the rest of the crew began carefully pulling out the straw-wrapped contents of Qyburn's laboratory and carrying it off the longship.
The Wolf stood by the mast, watching the sky.
A single raven descended to settle on the prow, cawing harshly. The Wolf snarled. The marauder holding back Cersei spoke up, and she stiffened on recognizing the same man she had mistaken for Euron.
"Nothing, yarrl?"
The Wolf's reply was more impatient than angry.
"Nothing. By all the gods of Chaos, where is that girl!? I burned down a city once, and didn't feel the need to run off afterwards like a damn Anguillois killing his first serf!"
"Dragon fly faster raven, jarl. Need wait longer for know where her go."
The Wolf let out a sound somewhere between a snarl and a sigh.
"No matter. Sven, take him down."
Sven nodded. He guided Qyburn around the many obstacles along the way to the wall and to a door through which the Maester's equipment was carried in a long file.
"Akkarulf, take our guest to her chambers. See to it that she lacks for nothing save freedom, but remember what I told you."
Cersei tried to lunge at the sound of the Wolf's voice, screaming and spitting, but was easily caught by the marauder behind her, pulling her arms behind her back.
"Yes yarrl. When are we leaving?"
"Tomorrow afternoon. Evening at the latest."
Still Cersei thrashed. The Wolf put his thumb and forefinger on either side of her neck and squeezed. Cersei felt something sticky on the fingers closing on her throat.
"You are no longer a queen, kin-rutter, and would do well to remember that."
Cersei fell silent. Akkarulf could feel her trembling.
"Now unless you want to sleep outdoors, compete with the pigs for slops, and to have both your available holes plugged by every passing man or horse bored or randy enough to want you, behave."
Cersei flushed with shame and rage, but she stopped struggling. The Wolf patted her on the cheek.
"Good little whore. Smart little whore. Off you go now."
Akkarulf pulled his captive away, utterly unmoved by the tears he saw trickling down behind the blindfold.
The Wolf turned his head to the sky once more, growled impatiently, and headed for a door on the far side of the courtyard.
Qyburn did not know how long they walked, soon giving up on the idea of remembering how many steps he'd taken or how many times he'd turned. He suspected most of them were detours anyway, and for all he knew he'd been made to zigzag his way for an hour through an empty room that could be crossed in a minute. Finally he felt the air grow colder on his face as he was taken down a long stairwell. He was turned around one last time, and the blindfold removed from his eyes.
The first thing he saw a stone wall vaulting into the darkness, much of it blocked by enormous blocks of ice stacked against it. The light was faint, emitted by glowing crystals scattered at haphazardly intervals. The Wolf's sorcerer stood impassively before the stairwell, through which marauders still carried his equipment and shelves, taking pains not to bump into the lintel. The black eye the Wolf had given him had not yet faded away.
Qyburn straightened up, wincing as he peeled the crusts of scale-like skin that had disguised him in King's Landing. He suspected he knew some of the ingredients composing it, and out of habit, stuffed a long strip of the material in his sleeve for later study.
"Well? What now?"
The sorcerer still said nothing, but pointed an arm behind Qyburn. The Maester turned his head, and immediately turned around again, utterly aghast.
"This is what your master expects me to revive? But I- I can't possibly-"
The scarred sorcerer grinned at him. Such was Qyburn's terror that he did not even react to the sight.
"Can't, bone-dancer? Not even try? Jarl Strong Wolf very disappoint."
Qyburn gaped helplessly.
"Work, bone-dancer. Work hard, keeps hands warm. Keeps life in body."
Laughing, the sorcerer turned and retreated up the stairwell. Dozens of marauders stared blankly at Qyburn, until one of them pointedly shook the crate of glassware he was carrying.
Qyburn realized he only had one option left to him, to play along until he could safely access the more exotic ingredients he'd been careful to bring along.
"Put that... put that there!"
The marauder obediently placed the crate where Qyburn pointed. Two men carrying an entire shelf of deformed animals preserved in glass jars stepped up, as did four others carrying the sailcloth-wrapped corpse of the Mountain. Qyburn soon forgot his fear as he dealt with the setbacks he had long ago faced in the Citadel: directing inept laboratory assistants, finding alchemical supplies in mislabeled containers and cleaning up disorganized workbenches.
Jaime sat up as he heard echoing steps in the hallway outside his door. In the days since he'd woken up in this stone-walled room he had not seen a single person despite his pounding on the door and walls.
The cell was not cramped, perhaps having been used as a lumber room in other times, a straw mattress, a roughly-hewn stool and a bucket the only items of furniture within. The only light came from dayholes pieced in the upper walls, allowing him to mark the passing of time but set too high to look through them and identify where he was. A small hatch in the bottom of the door would open at odd intervals to insert a basket of food and replace the bucket with an empty one. Oddly enough, the food would not have disgraced the table of the richest Houses of Westeros: fresh bread and lettuce, heady wine and spiced meats.
He was obviously not in the Red Keep, but knew of no other fortresses nearby where he could have been taken. If Euron was involved he might have been taken across the Narrow Sea, but this seemed unlikely. Tyrion had told him the Iron Fleet had been made to sail back to its home islands.
Whoever his captors were, they had taken his golden prosthetic, but left him his sword. He had attempted to pry at the door's hinges, regretting the absence of his Valyrian blade, but the hatch had opened and a spear thrust through it at random, then another, then a third. The message was quite clear.
One man Jaime could have taken but not so many. He was evidently a prisoner of some importance, an observation that gave him small comfort.
The steps stopped outside, a key turned in the lock, and a figure so huge it could only be the Wolf entered the cell, carrying a torch.
"You!"
"Me."
Jaime struggled to find words to express his outrage. Almost unseen behind him, a gray-clothed servant placed a basket on the stool and replaced the bucket with an empty one, closing the door behind her as she left.
"Where am I? How did you bring me here? What-"
The Wolf put the torch in a wall bracket and held up his hand.
"One at a time, gold-hand. Where you are: in a cell."
The Wolf sounded as though he was explaining the fact that water was wet to a simpleton. Jaime fought the urge to punch him.
"How I brought you here: By ship."
Jaime threw himself forward, fist clenched. The Wolf grabbed Jaime's arm, spun him around and released him. Jaime stumbled to a halt before he could hit the wall and turned around. The Wolf continued as though nothing had happened.
"I presume the third was 'What happened to the city and it's people in my absence'. Yes?"
Jaime stared in disbelief. The Wolf went on.
"It seems your sister had strange and powerful magics up her sleeve, and something of a grudge against the cityfolk. You know how jealous women are with their affections! She clearly loved those people dearly, and to see them abandon her for a younger and more attractive queen must have rankled. You'd think she'd be used to it by now, what with the whoremonger of a husband she'd had."
"Anyway, they'd opened the gates for the Dragonqueen to enter, ringing the bells to announce their surrender, and that's the moment your sister chose to strike."
The Wolf stopped talking, as though to judge the effect on his audience.
"But whatever spell she used, she would have been better off keeping for later. It struck true at least, sending fire or lightning straight to the Dragonqueen's heart as she entered the city, but all it did was piss her off something fierce, and in an entirely understandable bad mood at being attacked during a truce, started setting fire to everything she could see. Starting with the Red Keep."
Jaime's head dropped, having only registered one thing. Cersei was dead, then. The Wolf said nothing for some time.
"Of course, merely destroying the seat of power of her enemy wasn't enough, so she moved on to the rest of the city. She flew off after a while."
Jaime raised his head. He had never wanted to cry this much since he'd been a child, and yet pride forbade him from breaking down in front of the barbarian. When he felt in control of his voice again he spoke up.
"What do you want from me?"
"Right now, for you to rest and stay in good health."
Jaime blinked.
"What?"
"I need you alive. Unless you're the type to kill yourself over losing a woman."
There was so much scorn in the Wolf's voice that Jaime felt tempted for a mere moment to commit suicide just to spite him.
"Or you can eat, drink, and keep up your strength. These are not the most comfortable quarters, I'll grant you, but living among silk and cushions makes men soft."
The Wolf pulled something from behind his back. Even in the dim light, Jaime's golden hand glowed.
"Cunningly crafted, this."
The Wolf leaned back against the wall, making no move to leave. Jaime, grabbed the basket and ate in silence, as much to feed himself as to have an excuse to look away from the Wolf's face. More spiced meats and strong wines.
Finally the silence grew too oppressive to bear.
"Why do you need me alive?"
"A number of reasons, one-hand, some of which will be revealed to you in time."
The Wolf placed the golden hand on the floor in front of Jaime. He looked at the prosthetic. It did not seem to have been tampered with in any way.
"But let's see if your brother's intellect has rubbed off on you. Why do you think I need you alive and well?"
Jaime took his time in answering, both to show his contempt for the barbarian and to finish his meal. He made a show of strapping his golden hand back on before answering.
"So you can hand me over to Daenerys yourself, and claim the glory of catching me."
The Wolf cocked his head to the side.
"Funny you should say that... but no. To the world outside, you have not been seen since... since however it is you escaped from the camp."
"I suspect that your brother- he's doing well enough, by the way, thanks for asking- might be able to shed a few lights on that matter, but as he's the only one interested in finding you, and it is not the place of a mere bodyguard and mercenary to ask questions of his employer..."
Jaime gave the Wolf a cold stare, but the barbarian merely grinned infuriatingly as though he'd heard an excellent joke.
"Now..."
The Wolf took a step forward. Jaime suppressed his urge to back away, but looked surprised as the Wolf squeezed his arms like a slave trader assessing a pit fighter.
"Good! Eat and sleep well tonight, Kingslayer, tomorrow you fight."
The Wolf took the torch and left the cell. The key clicked in the lock, leaving Jaime more confused and angry than before.
"Necromancer! Did you get started?"
The Wolf's harsh voice bounced and echoed inside the cavernous stone chamber. Qyburn started and nearly swallowed. That would not do, not at such a delicate moment. He grabbed the stepladder tightly as he descended.
The Maester turned to face the Wolf, who was looking at him with no friendly expression. The handful of marauders likely left to handle the heavy lifting scattered before their captain. Steeling himself for the oncoming storm, Qyburn spoke up, his voice muffled until he pulled down the thick scarf wrapped around his mouth.
"I have not, lord Wolf. My previous successes were on the freshly-killed, or nearly-dead. But this..."
He gestured at the bodies behind him.
"Despite the cold, these have been dead for too long. I can, at best, work to repair the damage they received in their last moments."
Having said his piece, Qyburn pushed the poison pill between his teeth with his tongue. A few mocking last words and he would bite down, killing himself in a euphoric haze and robbing the barbarian of whatever heinous tortures he had in mind.
But the Wolf was as unpredictable as the chaos he professed to worship. He nodded curtly.
"I thought so. The magics of this world are as feeble and worthless as its warriors. It's a wonder you could even get that lumbering oaf up again."
The Wolf shook his head.
"Very well, corpsemonger, you shall soon have the means to work your trade."
Qyburn stared in incomprehension, while the Wolf went on.
"In the meantime, continue restoring it, along with your other projects. If it's almost-dead men you need for your experiments, you'll not be wanting for those."
"You- you aren't going to kill me?"
The Wolf looked surprised.
"Tired of living already, necromancer? Or are you perhaps seized with remorse over the crimes you committed? Is death the only repentance possible for your continued service to the whore-queen?"
"No! No. But-"
The Wolf interrupted.
"But what."
The Maester chose his next words with care.
"I am... surprised, is all. I would have thought you the kind to kill any man who fails you."
The Wolf said nothing, then leaned forward until his face was a finger's length from Qyburn's. The Maester stared up at the wolf's teeth that lined the monstrous barbarian's jaws. The Wolf's voice was now perfectly measured, and all the more terrifying for it.
"And do you intend to fail me, necromancer?"
Qyburn managed to squeak out a response.
"No lord! Never!"
"Then we understand each other perfectly."
The Wolf stood up, jabbing a finger into Qyburn's chest with enough force to push him over, had it not been for the ladder behind him.
"I expect great things from you, fleshcrafter, and am going to considerable lengths to make it easier for you. Remember it was your life I was to take instead of your halfwit creation's, without even getting into the issue of your stealing the Bloodwolf's meat to feed the Lord of Maggots. As such, your breathing false life into what I ask you to animate is your guarantee of a long and continued existence. A servant who eats my meat, drinks my mead, and yet does not serve is not one I will keep for long."
The Wolf turned around.
"And do something about the smell."
Qyburn watched the giant go, then turned back to his work, spitting out the poison pill and replacing it in the pouch around his neck. He picked up his tools, climbed the stepladder and pushed a block of ice out of the way. He could feel the chill through his gloves, but the sweat running down his back felt even colder. He had gained a reprieve, no more.
Could the barbarian truly call upon powers that could restore life in something dead for so long? He shuddered to think it, and yet could not deny the excitement such a thought gave him.
If only...