Tyrion wasted no time in returning to the camp, where his return was greeted with more than one expression of disbelief.
The commanders and most of the Red Priests were already in the tent when he arrived, followed by Shagga carrying the sack the Wolf had given him.
"Well?"
Tyrion poured himself a goblet of wine and drained it. He took a deep breath.
"He's offered to leave the castle, along with his men, for good, in exchange for... hostages."
Grey Worm looked puzzled.
"Hostages?"
There was a rumor of worry in the tent as each man calculated his place in the social hierarchy, corresponding worth as a hostage, and how to appear less valuable.
"Yes. But not highborn."
"What?"
Tyrion poured himself another goblet.
"He specifically requested prisoners, murderers, traitors and rapists specifically. Every last one. Oh, and the sick and dying."
"Out of the question."
Tyrion nodded with relief, glad that his opinion was shared by Aldma. He was disquieted to see that there were others who did not look so enthused.
"So he is lying, then, when he says he intends to leave once we give the prisoners up to him?"
Aldma did not answer right away.
"That specific part of the deal he might, yes, but he would certainly not fulfill the spirit of the bargain. Those captives he demands would be sacrificed to give his hateful gods a firm foothold on our world, enough that his presence would indeed no longer be necessary. We have seen only a fraction of their power wielded against us."
Consternation filled the tent.
"But...
Tyrion looked thoughtful. He set the empty goblet on the table.
"He did seem less than happy to bring this deal to us in the first place."
Aldma looked curiously at him.
"He did?"
"Oh yes. He seemed angry having to make the offer in the first place, and he made it quite clear that he didn't want us to take it."
The Red Priest sneered.
"Of course. He sees murdering helpless prisoners as beneath him, yet would gladly slay men on a battlefield though they would be equally helpless. You see the cowardice, the lies that motivates his actions."
Jon spoke next.
"Then you believe that we can still win."
Aldma nodded, exuding confidence.
"Of course. We lose men to him, that is inevitable. But in doing so, we deny his gods the victims they demand."
There was a meaningful silence, which the Red Priest interrupted.
"He said nothing else?"
"He almost got in a fight with Shagga... and he gave me this to give to the khal."
Tyrion pointed to Shagga, who lifted up the sack. As one, the Red Priests took up their staffs as though the sack was a live snake. Several people jumped back, although Shagga merely looked confused.
Aldma touched his staff to the sack, though nothing happened.
"Hmm. There is no taint about it. The khal, you say?"
"Yes. He wanted the Dothraki at the battle, it seems, and is unhappy that they weren't there."
Aldma took the sack, opened it, and extracted its contents one by one: a small gourd, a stone, and a tightly-rolled and closed scroll.
From the blank looks the Red Priests gave each other, Tyrion could tell they were just as ignorant about the objects' significance.
"Perhaps we had better wait for Goro to return."
Aldma frowned, but eventually nodded.
"Indeed. Whatever harm he intends to the khal, it comes from the content of the scroll and not the objects themselves."
More than a week later, the Dothraki warhost was sighted returning to the camp, having made a long detour to stay out of range of Harrenhal's defenders.
The Dothraki did not enter the camp but waited some distance away. Four riders left the host and entered the camp. Beric was the first to arrive, heading straight for the Red Priests. Arya went to the commanders' tent, followed by two of Goro's bloodriders.
Jon looked up as she entered.
"Arya!"
Jon hugged her tightly. He knew her to be utterly capable of defending herself, and surrounded by Dothraki and Sandor Clegane in any case, but could never forget she was once a helpless young girl. Arya left his embrace to look at the assembled commanders.
"So?"
"We found them all right."
Arya leaned over the map, pointing at each village in turn.
"He'd been sending his men against villages, burning some, pillaging others, and leaving others to flee, and converting Murton's Fork to the worship of his gods. They were led by a man called the Warrior who'd been turning them into monsters. He might be an Ironborn."
"Monsters? As in wights?"
Arya shook her head.
"Some like those freaks of his that fought at Winterfell."
Several of Winterfell's veterans looked uneasily at each other. The Wolf's obese marauders had been terrifyingly effective against the wights, all the more so against ordinary men.
"Others worse, like animals in human shape. They had us surrounded when Nymeria saved us."
Only Jon could truly appreciate what that meant.
"Nymeria!?"
"Yes. She showed up, just in time to save me, and then the Dothraki, and her wolves turned the tide. But she... she left as soon as she'd gone."
Arya fell silent. Jon did not push the matter, and was quite grateful when the Red Priests entered the tent, looking grave. Beric stood among them, and stepped forward when Arya nodded at him.
"They were using stones to subject these men to such horrid tranformations. We gathered them from their corpses, but they must guarded day and night until they can be safely disposed of."
One Riverlands lordling looked confused.
"The stones?"
"Most of them had stones on them or embedded in their body. The more they had, the less human they looked."
"What kind of stone?"
A Red Priestess spoke next with a heavy foreign accent.
"A cursed thing, a glowing green rock which transforms and mutates the body."
Tyrion frowned.
"You mean warpstone?"
Beric and the priests looked flabbergasted at Tyrion.
"That is one of the names for it. How did you know it?!"
Tyrion had not expected such a response.
"He used such a rock on one of his own men on Dragonstone."
Jon frowned.
"That thing he made his sorcerer swallow?"
There was a thump. The Red Priestess had actually fainted.
While the other priests tended to her, Beric rounded on the assembled lords of Westeros, most of which looked confused.
"Swallowed it? And you sat there and allowed this to-"
He stopped as suddenly as he had started.
"No, of course you didn't know."
Beric took a deep breath, but his obvious fear was starting to catch the other commanders.
"What did he claim it would do?"
Tyrion searched his memories.
"Daenerys was going to have Drogon burn him alive. The Wolf said the stone would cause him to die in immense pain, since the sorcerer had betrayed her."
"What? How?"
"Well, it was complicated... Varys tried to poison her, but when Grey Worm came for him, he was gone."
Grey Worm nodded.
"We found only the Wolf's seer, and a few feathers from the man's cloak. He made no resistance when we came to arrest him. The barbarian made a great show of insulting him, then claimed he would punish him in Varys' place before letting the Queen execute him."
"And what did he do?"
Tyrion downed another goblet.
"Well, he made the sorcerer eat it, and he... he choked a lot, and then he started burning from inside. Then Drogon incinerated him."
Tyrion shuddered at the memory. Jon looked at Beric.
"You're saying the seer is still alive?"
Beric looked grim.
"R'hllor has taught us that it has another use, to increase the sorcerous powers of those devoted to his gods at immense cost to their minds and sanity. I do not claim to know exactly what happened, but it would be safest to assume this seer is alive and well."
Grey Worm gestured towards the walls.
"Would he not have used his seer yet?"
Tyrion shook his head.
"Going by what he said, he doesn't want to use magic at all. And he said nothing about the presence of the Red Priests when we met despite the Flame Guard being there, so clearly he doesn't care that we have them."
Another Red Priest made a noise of contempt.
"He sees us as beneath him. This will be his undoing."
A knight of the Stormlands looked at Arya.
"So you prevented him from getting supplies and reinforcements, but you've learned nothing about his plans? No prisoners?"
Arya gave the man a heavy-lidded look. He quailed under it, to the amusement of his neighbors.
"We were lucky to survive... but we brought back a captive. The man they called the Warrior."
Jon started.
"You did? Has he said anything?"
Arya shrugged.
"Nothing useful. He goes on about us all being cowards unworthy of fighting him. At least the Wolf could be funny about it."
Several people shot a glance at Beric, who shook his head.
"The Dothraki have kept him alive for interrogation. But thus far nothing has made him talk, or even managed to truly hurt him."
One of the Dothraki, who had remained silent since entering the tent, suddenly spoke up.
"Our blades pierce his skin, but not his flesh. It is as though he had armor beneath it."
The other ko nodded.
"His entire body bleeds like a woman during her pollution, and yet does not die. Days of being dragged by the khal's horse, of nights spent with cold water thrown over his naked body, and still he is not broken."
A Crownlands bannerman spoke angrily.
"You're telling me the bastard has an invincible man working for him? How do we fight that kind of magic?"
Arya snorted.
"He's not invincible, he went down after Sandor started beating his face in."
Aldma interrupted.
"In any event, we will begin working on ways to ward us from the Abomination's sorceries. His gods work in subtle and corrupting ways, but we should at least be able to counteract the worst of them. In the meantime, ensure no man touches the warpstone until we find a way to be rid of it."
One of the commanders, a Donrnishman, looked thoughtful.
"Stop me if I'm wrong, but... this warpstone. Could there be any way of using it ourselves? From what I understand, the one they brought back can't be killed by blades or blows, so can't we..."
The man blanched as the Red Priest gave him the full force of his glare, aided by looks of disbelief and contempt from the other priests.
"You see? Already the seeds of doubt are planted. To use this stone is to invite madness. Wiser by far is the fool who builds a house at low tide, for at least he harms only himself."
The Red Priests left the tent, heading out to the Dothraki and their tainted plunder.
That evening, khal Goro entered the tent, satisfied that his men could be allowed to rest, their horses fed and watered, and the warpstone under reliable guard. He nodded at Tyrion and Jon.
"You have heard of what we found?"
"Madmen and wolves?"
Goro nodded again.
"Meanwhile, I've had a neighborly chat with the Wolf."
The khal's eye fell on the table, on which lay a stone, a gourd and a closed scroll.
"What are these?"
"He gave them to me when we spoke, told me to make sure you received them. And a message."
Tyrion took the scroll.
"You have read it?"
"No, we thought it better to wait for you."
Goro nodded. Tyrion opened the scroll, and pulled a thin sheet of paper from it. He read the message aloud.
"From Wulfrik the World-Walker, the Inescapable, High Executioner of the true gods and next masters of this world, to the..."
Tyrion's voice trailed off as the letter's contents hit him. Jon looked worried.
"Tyrion? What is it?"
Tyrion shook his head and started reading again.
"To the... to the dog's son calling himself leader of the horse-lovers, doubtless more from his skill at pleasing them than the strength of his arms:"
Tyrion stole a glance at the khal, who had not moved. Appalled silence fell over the assembly as Tyrion forged on.
"You degenerate scum, who has yet to take the field while the real warriors do battle under the gaze of the gods. Were you born so craven, or did you find it easier to grab your ankles than grab a sword? Loathsome coward, danger only to the virtue of little boys and sheep, I have met eunuchs with greater courage than you!"
"How dare you keep even a single strand of hair on your head, when it should be smoother than a baby's chin to reflect your utter absence of courage or valor! That your men have not risen up and cast you out speaks ill of their own morals."
"Flee back across the sea, unworthy servant of the Dragonqueen's memory, and take your place among the simpering servants of the crone-council in the City of Riders, where your soft hands, arched back and quivering tongue will be better appreciated!"
"If your whore of a mother was not already so shameless as to consort with pigs and dogs, she would have cursed the belly that ever spawned you, and the donkey that spilled its seed in her to make so spineless a wretch!"
Tyrion turned the letter over. Khal Goro had not moved an inch during the reading.
"But perhaps I am wrong, and your inactivity stems not from your overindulgence in wine and the arses of boys too young to grow beards, and you still prefer mounting a horse to being mounted by them. Perhaps you are merely homesick."
"Accordingly, here is a stone taken from the Mother of Mountains, in which place a sow relieved herself; and water from the Womb of the World, taken after the crew of my ship emptied their cocks and stomachs into it."
"Perhaps these will help you find the bravery you seem to have misplaced during the crossing."
"Face me on the battlefield, or let your very name be forever associated with trembling fear and piss-stained breeches."
Tyrion fell silent. From what little he knew of the Dothraki's beliefs, the horselords allowed no foreigners to violate their mountain or their lake. Still Goro said nothing, only looking contemptuously at the relics. Finally he spoke.
"This barbarian thinks to infuriate me with a stone and water? He has stone piled up in great walls, he has water beside him, and he thinks I will fall for so cheap a trick? Ha!"
The khal laughed long and loud, joined with some nervousness by the other officers. However, he soon stopped and looked at Tyrion.
"What is it? You do not find his presumption amusing?"
Tyrion shook his head.
"Amusing isn't the word I'd use, no. I think he did this solely to enrage you into doing something stupid."
Goro looked at the stone and the gourd again.
"You were the most cunning of the khaleesi's advisors. You believe these are truly taken from Vaes Dothrak?"
Tyrion looked left and right, but saw no way out.
"I... I think he really is telling the truth. He can leave the fortress at anytime he wishes, without being seen. He brought the war elephants of the Golden Company across the Narrow Sea with his magic, there is no reason he could not have gone to Essos and taken these from there."
Goro still looked impassively at him.
"Then he will die. Slowly."
The khal seemed to be thinking.
"But."
"Yes?"
"I will not reveal this to my bloodriders. Not until the walls are breached and we may at last make him pay for his insults."
Tyrion breathed a sigh of relief.
"That is the best course of action for now, I think. As long as you don't allow him to murder you up close."
"You think him so formidable an enemy?"
The Khal's expression spoke volumes. Naturally he would assume that to Tyrion, all well-formed men were invincible opponents.
"I know him to be so. Remember that this is the man who butchered the Mountain, and fought the Night King to a standstill, and has magics none of us know anything about. He survived a fight with Drogon, how many men do you know that can say the same?"
Goro said nothing, but turned and left.
That evening, Jaime's door opened without ceremony. The Wolf himself had come, clearly there was no ordinary foe to be defeated and humiliated. Jaime grabbed his sword, but the Wolf stopped him.
"Not today, gold-hand. A far more dangerous task awaits you."
Filled with dread, Jaime followed the giant docilely enough. This time they did not go to the sparring room but went up to Cersei's chambers, flanked by two half-naked marauders.
"Am I not fighting today?"
The Wolf stopped, Jaime colliding with his back.
"You truly want to fight, on this day of all days? It could be arranged, though missing such a moment would be quite a... loss. One that'd take most of a year to recover from."
Jaime felt as though ice water had been dumped down his spine. His gold hand shivered.
"Is she-"
"Started a few hours ago."
The door opened. Cersei lay back on the pile of cushions, her face flushed and nearly hidden by her belly. Her dress was pulled up to her waist and her legs spread apart, flanked by pale-haired women Jaime took to be midwives. A third crone was peering between her legs. The Wolf led Jaime to Cersei's side.
"Give her your arm, gold-hand. Grab onto it, whore-queen."
Cersei's terrified eyes flashed across to Jaime, and she grabbed his flesh arm with both hands.
"Something to hold onto, a wooden spoon to bite down on being beneath your exalted rank."
"You're not worried she'll break my arm?"
Jaime spoke in jest to mask his nervousness, but the Wolf gave him a look utterly devoid of humor.
"And whose fault is it that she's in this state?"
Cersei clenched her teeth then screamed, her head rolling backwards. Jaime screamed as well, Cersei's nails digging into the flesh of his arm, her fingers clamping down tighter than a dog's jaws on a bone.
The midwives set to work, the Wolf standing next to them with a bored expression. Jaime nearly vomited as his sister's fingernails plunged deeper into his arm, his head ringing with her screams, his golden hand buzzing in sympathy or mockery.
Finally a higher-pitched cry was heard and Cersei fell back, still panting. The Wolf flashed the parents a sharp-toothed grin.
"It's a girl, gold-hand!"
The midwives took up the newborn, cutting the umbilical cord and wiping her down with obvious practiced efficiency. But as Cersei opened her arms to take her child, the midwife handed the baby over to the Wolf. The barbarian held the girl up, slowly turning her over as would a Maester examining a curious specimen.
Jaime tried to step forward, but his arms was still in Cersei's hysterical grip. She was too exhausted to make any noise, but her horrified expression spoke for her. The Wolf now looked inside the baby's mouth, prying it open with surprising gentleness. Jaime ignored the pain lancing through his arm.
"What are you doing!? She looks perfectly healthy, there's not a mark on her!"
The Wolf shot Jaime a cold look.
"Precisely."
The Wolf finished his inspection and sighed.
"Oh well, it was too much to ask, I suppose. The next one may prove better favored."
Without explaining further, the Wolf deposited the baby onto Cersei's chest. She released Jaime's arm and looked down at her daughter. Jaime thought he'd never seen her so radiant. The baby's face screwed up and started crying.
"No, you can't go back inside."
Jaime looked up at the Wolf, then at his daughter. The Wolf then started cooing, not the sarcastic imitations made by parents but the true sound of a curious baby. The newborn fell silent and sneezed before she started bawling again.
"Now she's hungry."
Cersei seemed full of newfound strength as she slid her dress down her shoulder, bringing the baby to her swollen breast.
"My little Mirri..."
Jaime started. He looked at the Wolf, who had not reacted in the slightest.
The barbarian, having apparently seen all he needed to see, turned to one of the midwives and spoke to her in a foreign language. He nodded once she'd answered, put a hand on Jaime's shoulder, and pulled him out of the room.
As if nothing existed in the world save herself and her baby, Cersei started singing softly, a lullaby Jaime remembered her singing to Myrcella, so many years ago.
In the corridor outside, the Wolf gave Jaime a sidelong look.
"You pick a name for her yet?"
"Apparently Cersei already did. Mirri."
The Wolf looked as blank as when he'd first heard the name.
"Ancestor of yours?"
"She... It was the name of the witch who aborted Daenerys' first child."
The Wolf snorted.
"Ha! Good to see your sister can look to the future after all."
Jaime did not know what to make of the Wolf's statement.
"What... what happens to us now?"
"For now, not much. You get better at fighting, she gets better at rutting, you put another son or daughter in her, and hopefully, the gods get better at sending me timely visions of who to kill next."
The Wolf whistled before he turned on his heel and left. A bare-chested marauder whose face and torso were a mass of scar tissue motioned for Jaime to follow him, and led him back to his cell.