The buzz of evening activity in the warcamp was drowned out by a shriek, a thud, and the sound of tearing canvas and splintering wood. Amid the wreckage of a tent not far from the edge of the camp, thrust into the ground like a giant sundial, was a bolt of wood nearly the size of a man, its iron head impaled fully a foot deep into the ground. From the angle it could only have come from the walls of the castle.
At the other end of the shaft was a patch of bright red, which on closer inspection was a strip of painted parchment nailed to the wood. Once the parchment was removed, a few lines of writing were visible.
The parchment was immediately brought to the commanders' tent. A lord from the Stormlands, the liege of the soldier who brought the message, read it aloud.
"Though you negotiate in bad faith, I am giving you a single chance to settle things fairly. We will meet tomorrow evening. Bring the Worm, Snow and the Shield-slayer."
There was silence. That the Wolf was furious was obvious through his choice of delivery, replacing arrows with bolts, but his motives were mysterious as ever.
"What does he mean by bad faith?"
Tyrion looked just as confused as the others.
"Maybe he means the siege engines?"
"Or the Red Priests?"
Night fell with the debate unresolved.
Missandei started as her door slammed open. The maidservant combing her hair flinched and pulled back. The Wolf stood in front of her, casting glances about the room before looking at her.
"You were a slave, weren't you?"
The brutal attack did nothing to reassure her.
"I- I was."
"Good! Then being traded like a fattened heifer will not be a novel experience for you."
"W-What?"
The Wolf swept his arm out.
"Your lover is out there as I told him to be, but now I have new demands for him. I will parade you before his eyes, and if he still has any honor in him, he will do as I tell him to do."
Missandei winced as she imagined what the barbarian could demand of Grey Worm. There was only one thing left to do, kill herself to deny him this victory. It would break his heart, but would save his soul.
"I would die before that happens."
The Wolf looked appraisingly at her.
"You know, I do believe you would. Perhaps I should have you chained to a wall, your tongue cut out and branded with red-hot iron to prevent you from biting it off, and men to force air into your lungs to make sure you don't stop breathing. They might be tempted to force other things inside you, of course, but such is the price of life."
He looked thoughtful, but his eyes remained fixed on her.
"Or... hmm. The corpsemonger is always asking for more fresh meat. He has some skill at bringing men from the dead, I daresay his imagination will work wonders for keeping you alive."
Missandei felt tears run silently down her cheeks at the barbarian's dispassionate listing of horrors. She choked out an answer.
"What will you ask of him?"
The Wolf grinned sardonically.
"Ah, the spark of hope. How quickly it removes thoughts of death."
He stopped grinning, which did not make him look less threatening.
"What I will ask is that he convince the other southerlings to send their men against me. It turns out they were holding back this entire time, can you imagine how long this damned siege is to last if they don't even commit their full forces?"
The Wolf did not seem to be expecting her to answer.
"If he accepts, then you leave with him."
Missandei stood still with shock. The Wolf looked down at her.
"If he refuses, then I will no longer have any reason to keep you alive and untouched."
Missandei could not avoid the chill of fear running down her spine.
"So. Remember to make yourself look as pathetic and endearing to him as you can. The last thing I need is for him to believe you're happy and content here."
The Wolf spoke to the handmaidens and left. Despite her best efforts at learning the language from the young women, Missandei could not understand all that he said, although it clearly involved her.
The door slammed shut. Missandei made it to the straw mattress before she collapsed, utterly defeated by the conflicting emotions inside her. Hope and love competed with fear and despair.
She heard rustling behind her and sat up. Grisilda was still holding the comb as Natasia put another log in the fire. The pale young women, with hair so blond it was almost white, now looked at her with confusion and apprehension.
"Mistress? He wants us, make you ugly? Wear a sack?"
She tried to reassure them. Of all the people in the fortress, they were the only ones to treat her with any sort of kindness. Though she was their mistress, she had tried to teach them the language of Westeros and Naath for lack of anything better to do, and they in turn tried to teach her that of her captors, but still knew little about them.
"No. He wants me to look sad and wretched for when he returns me to Grey Worm."
"Returns you?"
The girls looked at each other, various emotions playing across their faces.
"Then... you leave?"
"If he spoke the truth."
"Mistress... take us with you!"
Missandei turned, surprised. This was the first time they had asked anything of her.
"What?"
There was a desperate, hungry look in both girls' eyes as they fell to their knees and pleaded.
"We serve you, we your slaves, just take us with you!"
Missandei blinked. That she should free them from slavery to such a barbarian was obvious, but how could she manage it? Was this some sort of trap on the Wolf's part?
"I- I will try."
But she had no idea how.
Cersei squealed and caught her breath, pushing Bjarnhilda's mouth harder against her crotch. The androgyne kept licking, driving fingernails into her flesh, waves of sensation pulsing out from between her legs. The hard wooden chair drove splinters into her naked back, but the pain only amplified the pleasure she felt.
She hardly noticed when the door of her cell opened, but did notice when she was roughly hauled up and folded over the crook of an armored elbow. She screamed as a wooden switch fell on her rear, the pain searing her like a bar of heated iron.
Again and again the switch struck her defenseless nethers, Cersei's screams cut off by Bjarnhilda's tongue suddenly filling her mouth, hir hands gripping her neck and hair. Tears fell freely down her face, less from the pain than from the humiliation of being thrashed like a maidservant caught stealing. But the longer it went on, she realized her heart was beating as it had never done before. A warm buzzing sensation filled her heart and belly as though still the subject of Bjarnhilda's care.
At last her tormentor let up, and dropped her gasping and sighing back into the chair. Through eyes blurred with tears she looked up at the Wolf, who looked down on her with an expression of venomous contempt. She raised her arms as though to embrace him, moaning as she did.
"More... Do it more!"
The Wolf spat in her face.
"Your meddling has wasted weeks of my time, slut. From now on you do as I say and nothing more. And to do that, you're going to play the part of a queen, and not a village whore desperate for custom."
The barbarian spoke to Bjarnhilda, who nodded. The Wolf turned on his heel and left. Cersei abandoned herself again to the androgyne's probing fingers and tongue.
Jaime gasped in pain, struggling in vain against the four marauders restraining his spread-eagled limbs. The dwarf Xerhexes took a plate of gold fashioned into armor, one side intricately carved, the other brimming with hooks and spikes. He placed it against Jaime's bare chest, and the hooks wriggled and squirmed as they sank into then out of his skin. His gold hand throbbed, his screams went ignored, and he was not aware that the Wolf had entered the room until he heard his sardonic voice.
"Does it hurt? Fear not, gold-hand, the memory will pass."
Jaime grit his teeth. The hooks stopped moving, locking the armor piece in place.
"Quite easily, in fact, given how loose your memory seems to be. Perhaps age is catching up with you?"
Jaime winced, and not due to the hooks. He felt rather than saw the Wolf approach him from behind, feeling his breath on the back of his neck. The marauders shifted to move out of their captain's way, still holding his limbs prisoner.
"I asked you who ended these Tyrells and so was responsible for the Reachmen not standing before my walls."
Dread filled Jaime's heart, distracting him from the pain of the armor plates embedded in his chest and legs.
"You told me it was a poisoner, but their name seems to have slipped your mind. I think we can put a name on him... or rather, her. Fair hair, likes showing her tits, pumps out inbred children as fast as she can take in her brother..."
Jaime shook his body until the tearing of his skin made him stop. The dwarf made an impatient noise, but did nothing more. The marauders tightened their grip.
"Don't- don't hurt her."
"Hurt her? You wound me, gold-hand. I have provided her with daily entertainment such that she could never have known in her prime, and you think I'm going to take that away from her?"
"No, she will be treated as a queen for the next few days, and that includes visits with her chosen consort. Try and look the part, will you?"
The Wolf turned and left. Xerhexes picked up another plate and applied it to Jaime's shin, showing no reaction to Jaime's agony.
Ramsay Bolton strode through the courtyards of Harrenhal, two of his six arm clasped around each other, digging talons into his flesh. He stopped on seeing the man he was looking for.
"Wulfrik!"
The Wolf did not stop but kept walking, forcing Ramsay to trot after him.
"Snotling."
Ramsay ran around, planting himself before the giant and reared up to his full height, although this still did not let him reach the Wolf's chin.
"I have a demand."
"A demand? It is already privilege enough that I allow you to move freely around the castle."
Ramsay carried on, though the Wolf's tone was impatient.
"Freely? There are at least a dozen doors you told me I was not to enter!"
"And for good reason. What is it you want?"
"I want to lead troops into battle, and bring Slaanesh their pain!"
The Wolf stared at him, his expression unchanging. At last he spoke.
"Do you now. And have you led soldiers to battle? As I recall, when I killed you you were safely hidden behind three rows of archers and had another man to do the fighting for you, as you proved so woefully inadequate."
Ramsay's cheeks burned at the memory of his excruciating death. He had not appreciated it at the time, but the sheer agony of it had granted him entrance to the Crystal Palace.
"I commanded the Dreadfort!"
"Because you earned it, or because one of your fathers owned it?"
Instead of waiting for an answer, the Wolf turned his head and whistled.
"Gorion!"
The Ironborn crossing the courtyard turned and ran towards the two of them.
"Jarl?"
The Wolf jerked a thumb at Ramsay.
"What do you know of Snotling here, or of what he was before the gods took interest in him?"
Gorion blinked, but answered readily enough.
"He was famed for his cruelty, jarl."
"No doubt he was. He tells me he was given command of a castle once, and apparently managed to avoid running it into the ground."
"The Dreadfort? I believe so, I was not among those he defeated and took prisoner there."
"Oh, he defeated Ironborn? Very well. You have convinced me, Snotling."
Ramsay smirked. The oaf was easier to manipulate than he had imagined.
"After all, I have given the Ironborn, the horse-riders and the Free Folk a chance to prove themselves, why should you not get your own? Gorion, make it known to all your men that Snotling here is henceforth in charge of distributing the wine and girl-flesh."
"What!? But- That isn't what I asked!"
"No, but it is something more in line with your... "talents", Snotling."
The Wolf had a way of pronouncing words that made them sound like merely speaking them left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Do well in this and I shall see about entrusting you with more important responsibilities. In fact, to make your task easier, I have only one thing I ask of you."
The Wolf leaned in close.
"Don't. Fuck. Up."
Ramsay tried to hold the Wolf's gaze, but lowered his eyes. The blades of his arms ripped into his skin, and he basked in the pain.
"As you will."
Ramsay sagged and turned about, while Gorion left at a nod from the Wolf. The giant scratched his chin for a moment, snarled irritably, and went back up the way he had come.
Missandei started when her door slammed open.
"Change of plans, you're sleeping elsewhere tonight."
The Wolf was already pulling back through the door when Missandei spoke, her heart thundering at her own audacity.
"Wolf. I will take these girls with me when I leave the tower."
The Wolf looked stonily at her, gaze switching rapidly from the handmaidens and back to her.
"What? What the hell for?"
She waited a little and gave him the most pitying look she could. Appealing to kindness was sure to fail, seduction even moreso, this was her only chance.
"You know nothing of cosmetics, clothes or what a lady needs to look presentable, do you."
The barbarian snorted derisively.
"I pride myself on my ignorance of such things. My work is done on the battlefield, not the bedroom."
Missandei's fist twitched. It was not the first time she had been insulted like this, and not even the worst one, but the Wolf's arrogance made it particularly intolerable.
"Then you don't know what I need to keep Grey Worm interested in me. I have taught these girls in the ways of beauty of my people, and it would take too long to find new ones. He may lose interest in me and set sail within the week."
She was laying on the lies thick and fast, but the Wolf gave her a sharp look. At last he shook his head bad-temperedly.
"Bah. It'll give him a replacement when the moon-time is on you, at least."
Suddenly his expression changed.
"Yes, him and not the little shit. Very well, take them."
He turned around, barking something at the servant girls that made them wince, and shut the door. The sound of the lock slamming home had not died away when they rushed forward, their faces full of hope and fear.
She nodded. The two slave girls threw themselves at her knees, tears streaming down their faces.
"Thank you mistress! Thank you!"
Daenerys was dead, but at least Missandei could continue her work. The expression of gratitude on their faces was almost too much to bear.
The women each pulled a leather strap from under their grey, worn dresses. Missandei looked at the object on the end, a circle with two wavy protrusions emerging from it at an angle. She looked confusedly as they babbled something to the icons, then stowed them away again.
"Your gods?"
Natasia nodded.
"Yes. They would kill us if they knew. Must hide to pray."
"But- you aren't from the north like him?"
"Like him?"
She spat on the ground.
"He is Norsca, servant of evil gods. We were Nordlanders, taken during raid. Years ago now."
Natasia stopped talking. Missandei could all too easily imagine what those years had been like, and silently put her hand on Natasia's shoulder.
Tyrion, Jon and Grey Worm stood in silence, calming their mounts as the Wolf approached. The horsemen led by Goro stood just far enough behind that they could intervene if the Wolf attacked during a truce, but he did not even look at them. There was no hint of friendliness in his voice this time.
"I'll make this quick. I told you to send every man available, and yet the Reach has sent no banners."
Jon and Tyrion exchanged a glance, while Grey Worm remained impassive.
"You... want us to-"
"I thought I made it clear the first time I asked. All your men. This war will not end before every kingdom is here to fight for its continued existence."
The Wolf's tone made it clear it was not his doing or his wish.
"It won't?!"
"So the seers tell me. Ask your ember-priests, if you can get a straight answer out of them. I can come and go as I please from these walls, but I cannot leave this wretched world until the siege ends one way or another, and that cannot happen until I have all nine realms united against me. Even a single banner will do... but you can imagine how much help said single banner will be."
Jon spoke up.
"So... this isn't about the engines?"
The Wolf snorted derisively.
"What gave you that idea? You have yours, I have mine, and the day I decide to remove yours... well, I won't need to send a parchment this time."
Tyrion tried to steer the conversation back on track.
"But... it will be difficult. They are in the midst of-"
The Wolf made an impatient gesture.
"Of finding a lord whose boots they agree to lick, yes. Or perhaps they need men for the harvest and cannot spare any for war."
"But we already sent a delegation out to ask for more men."
"Is that what it was for? Well, it then headed north. Either your men can't read maps or they decided to take the long way. I am merely a visitor, I did not know that the Seven Kingdoms were the Seven and Two... but I do know that the Reach lies south and west."
Jon did not answer.
"So: in order to motivate the Reachmen, I will unleash a plague upon their fields."
Tyrion looked startled. A plague was always a possibility during a siege, but to spread all the way to the Reach?
"It will not harm men or beasts, but it will wither and blacken crops, rotting them to pulp in less than a day. If the Reachmen want food, they will come here. And as for you."
The Wolf jerked his chin at Tyrion and Grey Worm.
"I have two hostages in my possession, dear to your hearts. One I will return to you tomorrow, the other you will fight to retrieve. In exchange, you will bring the Reachmen before my walls, by force if necessary."
The Wolf looked straight at Grey Worm.
"Do you understand, Essosi? Take your men and cow these westerners into submission if that is what it takes. Between starvation and slavery, I daresay they will make their choice swiftly. That is what I ask of you, and you can guess the price of disobedience."
"We meet again, tomorrow at midday."
The Wolf turned around and headed back to the castle before they could ask any questions. In the falling dusk he was soon another shadow among shadows.
As Jon, Tyrion and Grey Worm returned, heads still reeling at the incomprehensible actions of the Wolf, Jon had one question. He turned to Tyrion.
"What did he mean, dear to your heart?"