Weeks passed slowly by in King's Landing.
Despite the great shock caused by Daenerys' disappearance, it had caused relatively little upheaval or public rejoicing, the citizens of King's Landing caring more about rebuilding their homes than celebrating the death of their city's ravager. They were more inclined to curse Cersei for having forced the Dragonqueen's hand, as there was no doubt that the strange lightning that had burst from the Red Keep had pushed Daenerys over the edge and forced her hand. There was a grim irony that the Queen and her pet Maester had been incinerated, sharing the fate of the smallfolk she had so despised and the faithful of the Seven she had thought to use.
The groundbreaking procedure of electing a monarch had caused greater controversy, but it too had died down. There were insufficient stores to last the upcoming year, let alone hold public festivities, but if king Bran the Broken was in some way offended at the indifference that greeted his ascension he showed no sign of it.
Sansa was now Queen in the North, and likewise saw little challenge to her rule, especially with Bran fulfilling the oath in Daenerys' stead and granting the North its independence. Most of the Wildlings had returned beyond the Wall, and reports from there were few and far between, mostly mentioning a decrease in intertribal warfare.
Gendry Baratheon was ruling Storm's End about as well as he could, but from all accounts he would have much preferred to remain a blacksmith. The Riverlands had been relatively quiet, though the number of wolf attacks had been on the rise. The House of Mormont was slowly recovering, Lynna brooking no disrespect her age might cause.
The Iron Fleet had finally attacked the very day of the Wolf's insane heist and subsequent death, ravaging a Lorathi convoy with unusual ferocity. Only the black sails of the Silence, sighted by ships too far to help, had given a clue to their identity, and the only survivor found had expired of his horrific wounds soon after. The fleet had then gone on eastward, taking with them the convoy's cargo of silks and dragonglass, and had not been heard of since.
Yara had been crowned on the Salt Throne, with any opposition from the Iron Islanders swiftly dealt with. The only Ironborn Euron could count on now were those in his fleet, and Tyrion had already sent messengers to every port in Westeros promising gold, titles, land, and a royal pardon for any Ironborn who would deliver their captain to Bran's justice. By unspoken agreement the question of the Iron Islands' independence would be settled only with Euron's head.
Tyrion looked up as he crossed the courtyard to join the council. The sky was a brilliant blue, and it seemed hard to believe it had ever not been so. Freshly-shaven, and wearing newly-tailored robes appropriate to his role as Master of Coin, he felt quite cheerful as he took his place among the assembled council, sitting on a raised dais.
The Hand of the King arrived and sat alongside Tyrion. Jon Snow looked less tired than usual, though it was well known that he had taken the role of Hand with great reluctance, after much convincing from his adoptive siblings.
A bold raven landed on the table and croaked harshly as Samwell Tarly pushed it away. It flapped off to land awkwardly on the battlements, croaking again before smoothing its feathers. There had been an unusual increase in the number of wild ravens in the city, attributed to the abundance of corpses available to them after the siege.
Once Grey Worm emerged from within the Red Keep and stood before them, the council was ready to address the most pressing issue of the day.
"You're sure you won't reconsider?"
Grey Worm remained perfectly immobile.
"No. We have been paid. There is nothing left for us here."
Tyrion sighed. The presence of a disciplined army would have been a great boon during the continued reconstruction of King's Landing. But Grey Worm had made no secret that he wanted to leave the city, and its painful memories, as soon as possible. Missandei's corpse had never been found, it was only for the memory of Daenerys that he had agreed to stay until a successor was named, to ensure that the city she had conquered would not immediately fall into anarchy and self-destruction. That he and the Unsullied had stayed these past few weeks was all they could demand of him.
"Very well. Will you take the Dothraki with you, or..."
"With the death of the Queen, there is no alliance between them and us, what they do is none of my concern. We sail for Naath, let them return to the Grass Sea or stay in these lands if they wish."
Tyrion was about to say something, when he stopped. A faint but regular thudding sound was heard from the Keep, growing ever louder. The council looked at each other, and suddenly a figure emerged into the sunlight that should have been banished to their nightmares. Ned Stark returning carrying his own head would not have caused greater horror. Tyrion had to grab the table to keep from falling from his chair.
"WORM!"
The Wolf advanced towards them with the speed and inevitability of a tidal wave. Every man present put their hands to their sword, but the Wolf's gaze never strayed from Grey Worm. In only a few steps he stopped and looked down at him, ignoring the naked blade in the Unsullied's hand.
He had fewer skulls on his armor compared to the last time they had seen him, but Jon saw no signs of the hideous wounds the dragonfire had inflicted. Was he even a man, and not some fiend from the pit, to whom death was only a delay?
"There you are, Worm, glad I caught you. Heard some distressing news on your account."
The Wolf looked Grey Worm up and down.
"Is it true that you intend to leave the continent, and take your army with you?"
Surprised as he was, Grey Worm said nothing, unwilling to give the barbarian the satisfaction of an answer.
The Wolf sighed.
"I'll take that as a yes. What a shame. I do so hate to be the bearer of bad news once I return."
Grey Worm still said nothing, though it was obvious the Wolf was waiting for him to answer. There was a flash of irritation across his features before he continued. Grey Worm could not avoid smirking just as briefly.
"And imagine her reaction, when I tell her that the handsome rescuer she's been awaiting all these months, the savior on a white charger she awaits to strike down her foes and rescue her from captivity, the paladin of martial virtue has abandoned her, out of selfishness and cowardice!"
" 'Plenty more where she came from', the stalwart hero must be thinking, as he empties his lust on a tavern-wench or passing scullion, and so she must let go of that last hope, give in to despair and let herself starve away, knowing the afterlife will be an empty place indeed without her true love by her side."
Jon was the first to speak. His voice sounded relieved and terrified in equal measure.
"You have Daenerys!?"
The Wolf frowned, though it could have been at the interruption or the answer.
"No, I don't know where she is. You've had no luck tracking the dragon either, I take it."
The Wolf sighed and turned back to Grey Worm.
"No, it is the fate of another close to your heart that concerns me, Worm. A friend of yours, fished up near Dragonstone by the rust-born's fleet before ending up enjoying my hospitality."
Grey Worm spat on the ground. The Wolf truly was as stupid as he looked, if he thought the life of another Unsullied would give him any leverage.
"They are as dead to me as the ones Cersei had murdered."
"Oh yes, she did say that."
The Wolf grinned, his voice rising to an unsubtle falsetto.
"And what a trustworthy one the whore-queen is. 'Certainly, husband, these are your children!' 'Of course I will send my armies to fight the dead, brother!' 'Why yes, Dragonqueen, I did capture your handmaiden and translator; no, you can't see her!' "
The Wolf grinned again. His voice sounded nothing like Cersei's, and yet Tyrion was uncannily reminded of her, which only made the crude mockery all the more effective. Hate, hope and fear chased each other across Grey Worm's face. The Wolf answered the unspoken question.
"Yes, she's still alive, and unharmed..."
"...for now."
The Wolf's eyes went to Grey Worm's sword, as if noticing it for the first time. He fell silent, eyes continuously going from Grey Worm's face to the blade. Finally Grey Worm sheathed it, looking away to avoid seeing the tiny smirk he knew would play across the Wolf's lips.
"How and why she came into my hands is a tale for another time. Thus far, she has remained untouched and unmolested, unnoticed even, by my men. They haven't seen her, but they do know I'm keeping something, or someone, of great value behind locked doors. Doors they have been forbidden from entering."
The Wolf pointed a finger at Grey Worm.
"And by your inaction you are condemning her to become their bedmate, their plaything, to be used and abused at will, more cocks rammed into her holes than men go through the city's gates in a week-"
Grey Worm's hand flashed to his side, drawing his sword and ramming it towards the Wolf's throat in an instant. But the Wolf's hand was faster still, the point impacting against his gauntlet's palm and pinching the blade between thumb and ring finger. Grey Worm strained, but the sword did not budge. The Wolf went on, sounding completely unconcerned.
"Yes, you could kill me now. Well, try to, at any rate."
"But what then? Suppose the gods tire of my existence and allow you to kill me. I do not return. My crew begins to wonder what happened. Word of my death comes to them. It's hard enough getting the vicious little bastards to follow my orders when I'm around to kick them into obedience, you think they'll have any regards for them once I'm dead?"
"Just think of her, staring at her door as she hears approaching footfalls, the jeering and bragging of the louts outside, the pounding at the hinges, the smash of iron and wood as the door falls inward, her chamber now filled with a score of randy, drunken rapists, calling for reinforcements, their throbbing manhoods already halfway out of their breeches..."
Tyrion didn't know if it was an effect of the Wolf's voice or his own cursedly reliable memory, but he could see the scene the barbarian described as though it were happening before his eyes, as though it were only yesterday Tysha had been gang-raped on his father's orders. The rest of the council looked equally outraged and horrified.
"Poor, sad, lonely, helpless little Missand-"
"You are not fit to speak her name!"
With a sudden effort, Grey Worm ripped the blade from the Wolf's grasp and thrust it upwards. The Wolf's eyes widened and he jerked his head to the side, the blade slashing his cheek from chin to hairline. The giant's hands closed around Grey Worm's.
"No?"
Slowly the Wolf lifted Grey Worm to eye level, dangling him by the arms without apparent effort. The wound on the Wolf's cheek bled freely, but he did not seem to notice it. The sword dropped to the ground with a clatter, but everyone's gaze was fixed on the Wolf and his victim.
"I am not fit to speak her name, that may be so. But what does that make you, Worm, who on learning of her predicament, is set to sail away to the southern seas, its welcoming women and fertile deities, abandoning her to her ignoble fate in favor of a lifetime of worshipping tits and wine?"
Tyrion felt a stab of horror as he recalled the last conversation he'd had with the barbarian.
"You kept your name as an ironic joke, will you now live up- or down, to it? Will you prove your former masters right from beyond the grave? Will you reveal a true nature of craven cowardice, or will you be the man the Dragonqueen made her general, to lead her armies to victory against her every enemy, even in her absence?"
The Unsullied and the barbarian glared at each other in silence, hatred from one and contempt from the other.
"You want her back, you'll have to take her back."
The Wolf lowered Grey Worm to the ground and released him before pulling one of his skull-pommeled swords halfway out of its sheath.
"Come alone or with an army. I swear by the skull of Torgald that no harm will befall her for another year and a day. But know this."
The Wolf pushed his sword back and stared Grey Worm in the eyes, pointing a massive finger at him. It was hard to say which man's expression was harder.
"If within that time you have not made your way to me, or the musters of the Seven Kingdoms show up to my doorstep and you are not with them..."
"I will decapitate her myself and give you both the head and body... after my crew have spent their lusts on both, and that before, during and after her death."
In the ringing silence that ensued, the Wolf made as if to turn, but paused and faced Grey Worm again.
"I did say that was the last time you'd draw my blood without retaliation."
The Wolf's knee rammed into the Unsullied's groin. He turned on his heel and marched away. A guard made a half-hearted attempt to lower his spear and prevent the Wolf's exit, only for the Wolf to snap it in half without breaking his stride. Tyrion pushed back his chair and ran after the barbarian.
Grey Worm stood up before the Wolf had left. He turned around and glared at Bran. His voice was level, but betrayed the volcano of hatred underneath.
"The Unsullied will fight."
"Ser Wolf-"
"Ser Wolf- wait-"
Tyrion struggled to catch his breath, having run as he'd never run before to catch the barbarian. The Wolf turned around.
"What the hell do you- Shield-slayer!? What have they done to you?!"
The Wolf's eyes goggled. His arms briefly jerked upwards, then fell back down. Tyrion took advantage of his confusion, whatever he meant by "done to him".
"You want us to fight you, is that right? Your words from the first time we met still hold true?"
"That they do."
"I'm afraid it won't be possible."
Tyrion's breath had returned to him now, and he felt strangely confident. It was so much simpler now that he could deal with the Wolf as an avowed if friendly enemy rather than an overbearing ally.
"You see, Euron Greyjoy might return at any time and ravage our coasts and cities while our armies are away. You understand, of course, that we cannot afford to do battle with you, as an unknown quantity, not when the Iron Fleet is still at large."
The Wolf looked at Tyrion.
"Euron and all his rowboats will not be bothering you, Shield-slayer, of that I can assure you. Empty the garrisons, call up every levy, summon every army, every knight in shining armor, every man-at-arms, every half-wit peasant who can tell the right end of a pointed stick; you may bring them all to me."
"So I was right. You were in Euron's employ all this time."
Just as Tyrion had expected, the Wolf flared up.
"Were it any man but you speaking those words, Shield-slayer, they would be a slandering smear on the floor. I tell you that you need not concern yourself with him. I swear this as true as I swore to the Worm just now."
"So why did you have his helmet on your ship? Did you forgive him the murder of your crewmen so easily?"
The Wolf's mouth opened silently, then he grinned. Tyrion did not feel any safer for it.
"So that's how you found out. Knew you were a smart one."
The Wolf chuckled.
"Even told my man to hide it away so no one would make the connection, but of course it wasn't enough to fool you, Shield-slayer."
Tyrion thought it would be wiser not to mention that he'd been looking for a drink when he chanced upon the helmet. Why did such praise have to come from such a monster?
"I... admit that I misled you on that count, but it was for the good of you all."
"Our own good!?"
"Kept your armies close to the city instead of retreating back to their homes, didn't it? Of course, I hadn't planned for the Dragonqueen to be off the board."
The Wolf sighed.
"Such feats that girl could have accomplished, if only she'd seen sense..."
The Wolf resumed walking, though he went slower. Tyrion considered calling for the guards, but then passed the horribly mangled corpse of a Lannister household soldier, his head a bloody pulp. Enough men had died at the barbarian's hands today. Tyrion ran after the Wolf.
After passing a long string of butchered soldiers and guards, they were now at the doors to the throne room, which had been shut and barred soon after Bran's coronation. They now stood ajar, the heavy wooden timber showing every sign of having been forced from within. Tyrion could guess how.
The Wolf took hold of the door, then turned to Tyrion.
"A word of warning, Shield-slayer."
"If you follow me through this door, there will be no return for you save the Seven Kingdoms emerging victorious from the coming battle. Enter this room before the sun sets today, and you will not be able to claim you were forced into following me in blind ignorance, but came knowingly and willingly, with all that entails. You understand?"
Tyrion started.
"Do you understand?"
"Y-yes."
"Good. Not that I wouldn't appreciate your company, of course, but we are both aware you will be far more useful to them outside the wall than plotting within."
"The Wall? You're coming from the North!?"
Tyrion's head started spinning. If the barbarian could unite the Wildling tribes, which would take little effort given how much he and the savages had in common, the Wall would be no match for them. And after the Wall...
"I'd rather leave that as a surprise... but no. Not beyond the Wall, there is no glory in fighting men so stiff with cold they might as well be made of wood."
The Wolf grabbed the door and had pulled it open when he paused.
"One more thing."
He turned to point a finger at Tyrion.
"A true dwarf you may not be, but your naked chin is an insult to yourself and them, Shield-slayer. I see it again when next we meet, we will no longer be on speaking terms."
Tyrion gaped, but the Wolf had entered the throne room and shut the door behind him so swiftly that Tyrion had not even seen the inside. Tyrion did not try to open it, not even when he heard a hideous buzzing sound, barely muffled by the door, and then silence.
Jon and Grey Worm came running up, at the head of a contingent of Unsullied.
"He is in there?"
Tyrion had scarcely nodded when Grey Worm approached the door.
"Wait! He said- he said that if we enter the room before sunset, we go with him."
"Good. No need to hunt him down."
Tyrion could tell there was no stopping the Unsullied. Grey Worm wrenched the door open, and nearly dropped his sword in surprise.
The throne room was just as empty as it had been that morning. Not only was there no sign of the Wolf, but the Iron Throne itself was gone. Only a few scattered swords remained of the fateful chair that had been the focus of so many wars, the silent witness and cause of so much grief and misery.
"How did- where-"
Jon sheathed his sword and looked up. Reconstruction of the walls had been half-heartedly started, but no attempt to raise a roof had been made save for a cloth in the corner to be draped over the room if it looked like rain.
"He came in a flying ship last time. No reason he couldn't do the same now."
"A ship? But it was destroyed!"
Jon said nothing, thinking.
"I wondered why he kept that damn prow with him when he was on the run, even when he jumped through the window."
Grey Worm frowned.
"You think it allows him to fly, even when not part of a ship?"
Jon shrugged.
"It seems like it."
"But we saw him fall!"
Tyrion remembered something the Wolf had said.
"It can make itself invisible. He told us that, if it's been fed enough men. It'd explain why we never found his body, even after dredging up the bay..."
Tyrion's eyes widened.
"For all we know, he's still in here."
Without a word they backed out of the open throne throne room and into the relative safety of the closed corridor. The guards spread out cautiously into the throne room, spears probing in front of them, expecting to run into the barbarian at any moment. Soon the entire room had been searched, and the tension fell.
"He's not here. Probably far gone by now."
"So we have no chance of finding him?"
"We can ask Bran for that."
"But why did the barbarian steal the throne?"
Tyrion sighed.
"He wants a fight. That's what he's been telling us all along, but none of us thought he was serious..."
He looked at Grey Worm.
"He comes here to tell you about Missandei, keeps me from going inside, steals the throne... he wants a war, not even for gold or power, he wants a war for war's sake. In the name of his gods."
"But why kill Daenerys?"
Jon remembered that horrible day.
"I'm not sure he intended to."
Tyrion nodded.
"He certainly sounded regretful enough. But she wasn't the murderer he wanted her to be. She had no intention of forcing her rule on other cities, so he must have done it to motivate her."
Grey Worm nodded.
"What else did he tell you?"
"That he's not coming from beyond the Wall, that Euron won't be a problem so we can send every man-at-arms we have to fight him... and he wants me to stop shaving."
There was silence.
"We're going to war again."
"My lords!"
A page ran up to the crowd, almost out of breath.
"A message just reached the king from a foreign delegation. He requires the presence of the council tomorrow."
"A delegation? From who? And where?"
"Red Priests from Volantis, lord Tyrion. Their ship is expected in the morning."