In one of the Red Keep's infirmaries, a small figure sat at the side of a sleeper far larger than her.
Sandor Clegane's face, though wrapped in bandages and hollow where his eye had been, seemed to Arya Stark to be kinder in sleep than she had ever seen him in wakefulness. The face of the man he might have been, if not for the burden of being the younger Clegane.
He shuffled on occasion, and his mouth mumbled incoherent words, but the healers had assured her that he was more likely to survive than his neighbor, an equally comatose man with a hideously burned face wearing the armor of a Golden Company's officer.
Arya heard approaching footsteps and turned around, her hand reflexively moving to Needle's hilt when the Wolf's bulk appeared in front of her.
"What are you doing here!?"
The Wolf frowned as he looked at her.
"I am here because I heard the Hound had been found alive and almost well, little song, and I wanted to see for myself."
The Wolf fell silent, looking intently at the sleeping Hound, then sighed.
"At this rate, he'll miss the battle."
"What battle? Isn't the war over already?!"
"War never ends, little song. Not while there are two men alive to fight in it... although I wonder if the rust-born is truly a man at all."
"Euron?"
"So they say. He should be here in a few days, and with him, the chance to do battle which the Dragonqueen denied us!"
The Wolf's voice was loud enough to be heard from outside, but the two sleepers did not budge.
"But... he can't hope to win, can he?"
"What does that matter? Victory, defeat, on the battlefield there is nothing but the killing. Sweetest thing there is."
"And why do his sailors follow him to certain defeat?"
Arya stood up. The beginning of a plan had occurred to her, and she had to act on it while there was still time.
"I'll leave you to talk to him then."
"Talk? What for? He can't talk back. Or have you been confessing your feelings into his ear and interpreting his grunts as reciprocated love?"
The Wolf laughed obscenely. Arya did her best to ignore him and immediately ran towards the harbor. She knew it wouldn't be easy to find a ship and get it to sail immediately, but it had to be done.
The next day saw a storm of activity on the waterfront. Two empty hulls were quickly waterproofed with tar and towed to the mouth of the river. The hulks were chained together and moored on either bank. Elephants trumpeted along the docks, the Golden Company struggling to keep the beasts under control. Whitecloaks and Goldcloaks repeated drill after drill under the watchful eye of Ser Brienne.
The picket lines in the bay had been recalled, and no ship dared venture out of sight of the walls of King's Landing. Dothraki horsebands scoured the countryside for supplies, chafing at Tyrion's express order that the civilians were not to be coerced in any way, though the imminent threat of the Iron Fleet provided sufficient motivation.
Jon Snow awoke to learn a fisherman wished to see him, and had in fact waited through the night to do so. Jon had the man brought to him, a grizzled seaman nearly twice his age.
"What do you want?"
The man looked intimidated, but managed to speak.
"Well, it's like this, your lordship. Yesterday evening a young woman came down and rented my boat, and my son to helm it, to sail out east."
"What?! With the Iron Fleet closing in?"
"We didn't know that at the time, your lordship, in fact by the time I learned it my boat had already left."
Jon pounded the table.
"And you didn't think she might be a spy?"
"No, your lordship, I recognized her! It was lady Stark!"
Jon stared in silence.
"The young lady Stark, your lordship. Arya. Even if I hadn't recognized her she gave me her name, and she told me I was to give you a message."
"And what message?"
"She said she was sailing out to Dragonstone, and not to worry about her, your lordship."
Jon buried his face in his hands. He saw only one way in which Arya could think to end the invasion before it started, by removing Euron. That the Iron Fleet would fall apart without its dreaded leader was certain, but what could she hope to do with a single boat?
He looked up. The man was still there, now looking awkward.
"Well? What else?"
"Well, your lordship, she gave me money to rent the boat, and that's fair enough, but I didn't know she was sailing it to certain death! I've got only one boat, your lordship, only one son, and if both are taken from me..."
"I'll see to it that you are compensated suitably."
"Yes, your lordship! Thank you, your lordship! Gods bless you your lordship!"
Jon waited until the man was gone to pound his fist on the table again. His sister, alone among the Iron Fleet, and him unable to send any ships after her... Or could he?
He went to the guard outside.
"Get me Davos."
"… and the Wolf."
Only a few minutes had passed until the Wolf darkened the tent, but to Jon it was days, especially as Davos had been right outside the tent.
"You wanted me, Snow?"
"Yes. I need you and your ship to set sail immediately. Head east."
The Wolf blinked.
"Change of plans?"
"Yes. My sister has gone on a boat to kill Euron. Catch up to her and bring her back before she gets herself killed."
The Wolf looked surprised, then laughed.
"That girl's got more courage than many a grown man."
"Yes, yes, now go!"
The Wolf's eyes went to Jon, then Davos.
"You tell him?"
Seaworth said nothing, but his expression spoke for itself.
The giant sighed.
"I assume Seaworth there already told that it can't be done. And he's right. A single ship might find her, or it might spend a week out and never see her. It's not just a question of speed, but of having enough ships spread out far enough to have a good chance of sighting her. And you'll need those ships close to the city."
"Afraid of facing them alone then?"
The Wolf's face did not change, but his voice grew hard.
"You're angry, Snow, and angry men make mistakes. Like sending half their forces on a fruitless chase, to be picked off by the enemy."
Davos sighed.
"She left last night. If we were to send all the ships out this instant, they'd at best arrive just in time to fight the Iron Fleet in open waters. Can't be done, Jon."
The Wolf nodded.
"So that's your fleet sunk. Then the rustborn arrive, take out the hulks, go up the river without a care in the world, and land as Seaworth did. Only this time, the walls have already been burned down and half the troops have a choice between dying to rustborn in front or to Essosi behind. Short of the Dragonqueen returning at that moment, I don't see you holding the docks more than an hour, and that's if they don't just send arrow volleys from shipboard until nothing moves."
The Wolf turned around and left. Jon stared into empty air. Davos put his hand on Jon's shoulder.
"She's a smart lass. I'm sure she'll avoid the fleet if she sees it."
"But will she flee them? Will they let her flee them?"
Davos sucked his breath through his teeth, but said nothing.
Drogon powered eastwards through the afternoon sky, Daenerys holding grimly on. She only had one chance to make her return.
There was still an oppressive cloud of ash hanging in the air to mark the site of King's Landing, but at least the city was no longer glowing. As Drogon approached the city, Daenerys could see ant-like figures scurrying about in panic. Drogon flew over the walls once more, but this time there were no archers nor scorpions to pierce his hide.
There was an odd activity along the harborside. As Daenerys looked down, she saw the seawall's scorpions were being repaired.
As she flew closer to the Red Keep, Daenerys heard a ringing that grew in volume and fervor. The bells, again. But this time, she felt no reaction to them except cold joy that the city was definitely hers. She could choose to interpret it as loyal subjects welcoming their queen.
She sent Drogon circling around the castle, searching for a place wide enough for her child to land. Then she saw it.
The Iron Throne was the only thing left standing in what had been the most coveted room of the Seven Kingdoms, its walls and roof gone as though removed by giants. Urging Drogon on, she slowed until he was nearly stalled, his massive wings kicking up immense clouds of ash with every beat. Finally he landed before the throne.
Daenerys slid off Drogon's back. The muffled sounds of a vast crowd approaching could be heard through the room's massive doors, but she still had a moment with the throne room to herself. She took a deep breath, stepped over to the throne, and sat down.
It was even less comfortable than she'd expected.
Drogon had shifted himself to sit behind the throne. The crowd was now outside the doors, but from the confused sounds, none of them could work up the nerve to actually go inside. Finally the doors opened.
Daenerys said nothing as she saw the mob pour in and stop at the sight of her. Winterfell pikemen, Unsullied guards, Dothraki bloodriders, servants and courtiers alike. Jon Snow and Grey Worm pushed themselves to the front of the crowd. Tyrion scrambled on all fours through a forest of legs and stood up as he emerged at the front. Then several people fell over as the Wolf plowed through them, only to stop at the sight.
An expectant hush fell over the crowd. Drogon chose that moment to stand up behind his mother, spreading his wings wide. For a single instant it seemed as though they sprouted from Daenerys herself. There was a wave of fear that spread across most of the onlookers' faces, but the pressure from behind was too great for them to flee.
Daenerys felt her heart grow heavy as she thought of Missandei, who should have been there with her. But now she had to seize the moment. Without moving from the throne she called out in a loud, clear voice.
"I am Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of the Name, rightful Queen of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Defender of the Faith, Princess of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Liberator of Astapor and Yunkai, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Called Stormborn, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons... and I have cast down the usurper queen and taken the Iron Throne, as is my birthright!"
"Who would contest me?"
She waited for the last echoes of her voice to die away. The mob stood as though spellbound. Tyrion reacted first, bending the knee and yelling "Long Live The Queen!"
The cry of "Long Live The Queen!" was swiftly repeated behind in an unending cacophony, and a ripple spread throughout the corridors as every man and woman knelt down before their rightful queen. All except the Wolf.
The barbarian looked at the sea of bowed backs with what obvious amusement. Finally he locked eyes with Daenerys. She said nothing, but her grip tightened on the throne's armrests. She would not tolerate another public display of insolence as he was so used to doing. Even if she had to send Drogon to swallow him, his insubordination ended now.
Slowly the Wolf drew his sword and held it skyward.
"BLOOD!"
Heads turned towards the Wolf, whose roar had covered the noise of the crowd. His face did not waver from Daenerys' eyes.
"FOR THE DRAGONQUEEN!"
The sword dipped towards her for an instant.
"SKULLS!"
"FOR THE IRON THRONE!"
Drogon uttered a deep rumbling sound.
"LET!"
"HER ENEMIES!"
"BURNNNNNNNN!"
Daenerys sat back, suppressing a sigh. It would have to do.
The spell was broken, and the mob surged forwards, around their queen, their mother, their goddess.
As the sun set on the vast expanse of Blackwater Bay, turning the waters to molten gold, Arya strained her eyes on the horizon as the sailors coaxed as much speed from their little craft as possible. She had not told them that they were sailing straight for the Iron Fleet, only that she needed passage to Dragonstone as fast as possible, and had given them enough gold to set out immediately and without asking questions.
Suddenly she saw a flash of white in the northeast.
"There! Is that a sail?"
The sailor looked out.
"Yes it is, my lady."
"Meet up with it. Hurry."
The sailor was about to comment, but the look on Arya's face dissuaded him. The boat changed course, and sent up flags to hail the other, a larger and speedier craft.
The ships had barely coasted up to each other when Arya swarmed up a rope, landing on the larger ship's deck.
"I am Arya Stark of Winterfell. Where did you come from? Have you seen the Iron Fleet? Has Dragonstone fallen?"
The crewman blinked under the deluge of questions and pointed towards a soldier whose uniform bore the Targaryen crest. Arya bore down on him like a shark smelling blood, intent on getting answers.