Arya
Were it any other castle the main yard of Harrenhal, the Flowstone Yard, would have been packed with rushing servants, lazy soldiers, and returning outriders, but even with ten thousand men within the walls the great castle still felt empty. Lord Bolton's army only occupied the barracks and lower two floors of three of the five great towers. Arya heaved her way across the yard carrying a great bucket of water. The water was for Lord Bolton's leeching, this evening it would be all the little black ones across his chest and arms instead of the great big pale ones.
On her way to the Kingspyre Tower Arya passed by Elmar Frey, Lord Bolton's squire, who was pushing a great barrel of sand to clean Lord Bolton's mail. He was so busy he didn't notice Arya as she laboured past him into the Kingspyre Tower. Aya lugged the heavy bucket up three stories and she wound her way through the stairs to the highest habitable part of the tower.
The lord's bedchamber was crowded when she entered. The maester was in attendance, and dour Walton in his mail shirt and greaves, plus a dozen Freys, all brothers, half brothers, and cousins. There was also Harrion Karstark who waited at Lord Bolton's side, a pair of his sworn bannermen behind him. When Arya had first seen Harrion she had thought for a moment of revealing herself to him, but then she had remembered how he and his brothers had treated Jon when they and their father had visited Winterfell. So she had stayed silent, instead thinking of telling Ser Helman Tallhart or Robett Glover.
Roose Bolton was not yet abed for his leeching, he sat in a chair facing the lords and knights of Frey and Karstark. Arya approached the waterbasin and filled it up as Ser Aenys Frey continued speaking, from the corner of her eyes she saw the small table was covered in papers. Letters from Lady Walda most like. Lady Walda wrote from the Twins almost every day, but all the letters were the same. So Arya rarely paid any mind when Lord Bolton threw them into the fire, but if they're from her why haven't they been burned yet?
"We must not allow ourselves to be trapped here at Harrenhal," said Ser Aenys Frey who was a grey stooped giant of a man with watery red eyes and huge gnarled hands. "The castle is so large it requires an army to hold it, and once surrounded we cannot feed an army. Nor can we hope to lay in sufficient supplies. The country is ash, the villages given over to wolves, the harvest burnt or stolen. Autumn is on us, yet there is no food in store and none being planted. We live on forage, and if the Lannisters or the Baratheons deny that to us, we will be down to rats and shoe leather in a moon's turn."
"I do not mean to be besieged here." Roose Bolton's voice was so soft that men had to strain to hear it, so his chambers were always strangely hushed. "Before we continue I pray you will all take a moment, to read this," Lord Bolton pushed a letter across the table. "From a raven recently arrived from Riverrun."
The grumbling lords leaned forwards to read the letter. With the washbasin filled Arya shifted around the table to take a place in the corner of the room and wait on Lord Bolton's pleasure. Arya watched the change come over the lords, pride and righteousness seemed to deflate as they read the letter. Harrion himself seemed particularly distraught sitting down in a spare chair with a defeated thump, holding his head in his hands.
"Nan," said Lord Bolton. "I think Lord Karstark could use some wine. The Dornish red I think."
"Yes, my lord," Arya said quietly as she moved quickly to pour a goblet of wine for Harrion, why is he now Lord Karstark?
It was Ser Hosteen who broke the silence. "Someone must have the courage to say it. This… this is beyond a disaster. The war is lost. King Robb must be made to see that. If Lord Tywin so much as sneezes in our direction the Trident will collapse."
If he does Robb'll beat them, Arya thought savagely. He'll beat them as he did at Riverrun and Oxcross, you'll see. Unnoticed, she stepped across the room and offered the wine to Harrion's waiting hand. The bearded man took the wine and began draining it.
"Lord Tywin is many leagues from here," Bolton said calmly. "He has many matters yet to settle in the Reach. He will not march on Harrenhal for some time."
Ser Aenys shook his head stubbornly. "You do not know the Lannisters as we do, my lord. King Robb thought that Lord Tywin was fleeing south with his tail between, and know see what has become of him. Better than ten thousand men dead or fled. The Blackwoods and Vances turned traitor and taking their men over to the Lannisters, and his wolf and the Blackfish are dead."
"And the North is lost," Hosteen Frey spoke up. "He has lost Winterfell! His brothers are dead!"
Whatever else Ser Hosteen said was lost to Arya as for a moment she forgot to breathe. Dead? Bran and Rickon, dead? What does he mean about Winterfell, Joffrey could never take Winterfell, Robb would never let him. But if Robb's lost a battle then maybe they might have... It took all her strength to remain still and silent, the way Syrio Forel had taught her, to stand there like a piece of furniture. She felt tears gathering in her eyes, but willed them away. It's not true, it can't be true, it's just some Lannister lie. But the raven came from Riverrun, a voice in the back of her mind whispered.
"And there is Stannis to consider!" Shouted Ser Jared Frey, who was lean, balding, and pockmarked. "With King's Landing fallen he might even now be marching north to strike at Harrenhal."
"I rather doubt that," Roose Bolton said softly. "Not yet at least if this is any indication," the lord of the Dreadfort held up another letter, but rather than offer it to the lords he simply spoke of its contents. "King Stannis offers the lords of the North and the Riverlands, but one last chance to bend the knee to him. Those that do not," he shrugged. "Will be destroyed," he idly picked another letter from the pile on the table. "Lord Tywin makes a similar offer, albeit one more couched in courtesy."
"It is because of the Lannisters that my father and brothers are dead," Harrion Karstark spoke up. "I will never bend the knee to Joffrey," he spat. "But I have no quarrel with Stannis. King Robb must be made to see reason. He must put off his crown and bend the knee, little as he may like it."
"And who will tell him so?" Roose smiled. "Make no mistake if these letters have come to us then they have come to Riverrun as well, where King Robb and all his other lords and ladies rest, including his uncle and his mother. If they cannot convince him to bend the knee… then what chance have we?"
"Perhaps the king wishes to speak with all of his lords bannermen before making such a great decision," answered Ser Aenys Frey.
"Unlikely give what commands the king has sent," Lord Bolton picked up another letter. "His Grace commands that our host be readied to return North once he arrives at Harrenhal and that as we wait on him that raiders should be sent to punish the traitors, Lord Norbert Vance of Atranta, and Lord William Mooton of Maidenpool. The second of whom has bent the knee to King Stannis."
Good let the traitors burn, Arya forced herself not to smile, but others had different thoughts
"Seven Hells," swore Ser Hosteen. "Has King Robb gone mad?"
"House Stark prefers to call it… wolfsblood," whispered Lord Bolton.
"It's this same madness that made Brandon Stark ride to King's Landing and call for Rhaegar to come out and die," Harrion spoke again.
Ser Aenys withdrew a hand from his temple. "If the king will not bend the knee, perhaps we should, before Robb's madness brings death to us all."
Traitor. The other Freys began to nod in agreement. Traitors.
Harrion Karstark growled into his beard. "House Stark bent the knee once, and after far less than this disaster. If Robb will not kneel, than it comes to us to do what is best for the North," he nodded glumly at the Freys. "And for the the Trident."
Roose Bolton and the other traitors continued to speak in hushed tones, but Arya didn't listen to them, she quietly stepped away from them. She moved around the table, quiet as a shadow, as she slipped out of Roose Bolton's bedchamber. Fear cuts deeper than swords.
Once she was out of the room Arya started to run. Robett Glover and Ser Helman Tallhart, I think I can trust them. I hope I can trust them. She had met them before, for a short time at least, in Winterfell when they had come to pay respects to her father. The red and pink garbed Bolton guards turned their heads to watch her as Arya rushed past them. Arya ignored them.
She opened the door of the Kingspyre Tower and leapt free of the tower, free from the traitors, running across the Flowstone Yard to the Tower of Dread where the Glover and Tallhart lords stayed. The guard at the door to the tower didn't question her, for Arya still wore the flayed man of Bolton upon her breast. She ran into the tower taking the stairs two at a time as she rushed to the last two loyal lords in Harrenhal.
She found Ser Helman in his chambers, the northern lord was supping privately, all but jumped as Arya ran into his room. He rose his face consumed by anger until her recognized her and the banner on her breast. "What is it girl? Why does Lord Bolton send you in such a rush?"
Arya's chest heaved as she gasped for breath. "Lord. Ehm. Lord Bolton did not send me."
"And you felt you could just burst in on a knight of House Tallhart!" Ser Helman's face was clouded with anger, he grabbed her arm. "It's time for you to learn respect for it seems Lord Bolton has been lax!"
"Lord Bolton plots treason with Lord Karstark and the Freys," Arya shouted as Ser Helman began dragging her out of the chamber.
Ser Helman froze in place. "What did you say?"
"Lord Bolton got a letter from Stannis, he's going to bend the knee and the Freys and Karstarks too. They're calling Robb mad."
Ser Helman squeezed her arm even tighter. "If you're lying to me..." He left the threat unfinished. "Stay here," Ser Helman released her at stalked out of the chamber.
Arya glared at the Northern knight's back as he left the chamber, I'm glad I didn't tell him who I am.
After Ser Helman was safely gone Arya eyed his supper, roast pork with applesauce and a side of vegetables. She glanced back into the hall to make sure no one was there and then snatched a carrot off the plate and popped it into her mouth. As she was chewing she saw Ser Helman and Robett Glover marching in grim silence down the hall. Curious she moved over to the window in Ser Helman's chamber, from there she could look over the Flowstone Yard and watch what was happening. She saw a Glover man run to the barracks, while Ser Helman Tallhart and Robett Glover left the Tower of Dread and started to march towards the Kingspyre Tower they wore their swords. Before they could enter the tower they were met outside by Ser Jared and Ser Hosteen Frey.
Arya bit her lip as she watched the four men share words, she saw arms begin to swing, and finally saw hands go to swords. She wasn't sure who drew first but suddenly Robett and Ser Helman were running for the barracks, and Ser Jared was lying still on the ground. From her place at the window Arya saw Lord Bolton exit the Kingspyre Tower, followed by Lord Harrion and Ser Aenys Frey, their swords in hand as they gathered their men in the shadow of the tower. Shouting came from the barracks as armoured men spilled out of the building. Screams and clashing swords filled the air as fighting consumed Harrenhal.
Daenerys
The road from Astapor to Yunkai was long and hot, the road was made of fused black stone like all of the Valyrian roads that spread across lands under the dominion of the Old Freehold. Dany sat atop her silver while her bloodriders, Jhogo, Aggo, and Rakharo, waited beside her, Ser Jorah waited as well, while Grey Worm and Strong Belwas stood side by side, with Arstan Whitebeard lurking behind the two eunuchs.
Dany and her advisors were atop a hillock that overlooked the army marching beneath them. Endless ranks of Unsullied, followed by the numberless hordes of the former slaves of Astapor. But it was not the army that drew Dany's attention it was her navy, or rather what little remained of it.
Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar had been shadowing the army as it moved northwards to Yunkai, and from there to Meereen. They had been carrying supplies for the army, food, and water, and even firewood. Her silver flinched as another thunderous boom carried over the sea and Dany saw the main mast of Balerion begin to fall.
The battle, if it could even be called a battle, had started a bare half an hour ago. The enemy ships had been sighted at dawn. The had come from the west out of the dark seas of Slaver's Bay, hidden by the remnants of night. The had attacked with all the speed and ferocity of a pack of wolves attacking a herd of sheep. The enemy had attacked in a broad arc that left no way for the slower ships under Groleo's command to escape. After the enemy had surrounded the three trade ships the thunder had started booming and the smoke started to cloud the seas.
Another boom echoed and Dany was made to watch as Balerion shuddered and began to join the other ships in sinking below the waves. So strange to hear such sounds in a clear day.
She turned to Ser Jorah. "What manner of weapons could do this?"
The broad chested knight shook his balding head. "I know of nothing that could do that, Khaleesi," he said nodding at the sinking ships.
Arstan shook his head. "Poor man. Poor Groleo, all he wanted was to return to Pentos. To his wife and children."
I didn't know he had a family. How much do I really know about any of them, she thought thinking of her court of her people. What are their hopes and dreams?
"Is there a danger of them striking the army with their weapons?"
"Perhaps," answered Ser Jorah. "It might be wise to move inland, out of range of their weapons."
"That would take the army off the road," rebutted Arstan, who was twirling his beard in his fingers. "Away from the wells and oases, from the farms and granaries."
"But we'd be safer," Dany said. "My people would be safer."
"And the army would be slower," Arstan shook his head, his snowy hair fluttering in the wind. "More vulnerable to raiders from Yunkai."
Ser Jorah and Grey Worm nodded their agreement with the old squire.
"Raiders at least can be fought… Whatever those weapons are we have no defence, nor any means of striking back." Dany nodded. "Yes. Give the orders, have the army move farther inland."
Ser Jorah nodded with a glum twist to his mouth. "Yes, khaleesi."
Grey Worm simply gave a pair of taps on the ground with his spear.
As if summoned by her words and her thoughts another puff of smoke rose from the enemy ships, another thunderous sound filled the air, and seconds later the sunbaked earth of the coast of Slaver's Bay was sent flying. Her silver reared and Dany pulled on the reins with all her strength and she struggled to control the panicking horse. Instantly her bloodriders were at her side, not taking the reins of her silver, to the dothraki that would be almost unforgivable, but instead to protect her from whatever attacks might follow the thunderous blasts.
With an effort Dany brought her silver under control and looked up to see what carnage the barrage had wrought. Dany saw the great furrows and craters dug into the ground, like a giant child had been playing with a hoe or a spade, but mercifully it seemed that few enough of her people had been hurt.
Ser Jorah took her by the shoulder his bearded face twisted in concern. "Khaleesi are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "No. I'm alright," she turned to her council. "See to my commands get my people into the safety of the hills. Rakharo, Aggo, Jhogo lead the khalasar ahead, you will be my eyes and ears."
The councillors gave their bows and promises of obeisance, with Rakharo, Aggo, and Jhogo murmuring. "Blood of my blood," as they gave shallow bows from their saddles, and quickly rode to gather the small Dothraki khalasar.
Her people did not need much urging to begin moving farther inland, in truth the greatest difficulty was in keeping the freedmen from scattering across half the countryside as they fled the terrible weapons that would cut them down like wheat before the scythe. The second greatest was in keeping them from looting the countryside as they moved inland. While Dany had no great sympathy for the Masters whose estates would have been sacked, she feared that it would have been their slaves that would bear the brunt on the freedmen's thirst for vengeance.
As Dany watched the lines of freedmen disappear into the hills she turned to Ser Jorah. "I hope I made the right choice."
Ser Jorah shook his head and said nothing.
Three days of marching in the rough hills of the Astapori hinterlands had spread her people across nearly three leagues. Companies of Unsullied tried to keep order, but the rough terrain made it easy for the freedmen the become separated in the night. And it was on the morning of the fourth day that the raids began.
Daenerys surveyed the wreckage of the freedmen camp. It was beside a stream in a narrow gully between two rocky hills. Near five hundred of her people had been encamped here, and now they were dead. Slaughtered in their sleep... even the children, she looked a moment at a dead girl, she looks barely more than seven.
She turned to Ser Jorah her voice low and tight. "Were there any survivors?"
"Yes, khaleesi," the big man said. "A woman and her two children, they hid in a crevice."
"Has she said anything?"
"That the raiders were not Ghiscari, that they were lead by a man with blue hair, and that their banners bore crows and lightning bolts."
"Sellswords then?"'
Ser Jorah nodded in agreement. "Yes khaleesi, by the banners I would guess the Stormcrows."
Dany shook her head. "I'm not familiar with that company."
"That are not an old company, nor have they done any great deeds, but their reputation is good. The company is five hundred horse, likely armed in a mix of Dothraki and Westerosi style. Lances, swords, bows, and light armour."
"The kind of soldiers that are best suited raiding."
"Yes khaleesi."
"And so long as the enemy are still present I dare not return my people to the road," she shook her head. "But these raids cannot continue. One is too many. But we have not the cavalry to chase them down, my khalasar is brave but they are few in number, and most are too old or too young."
"There might be something we can do," said Ser Jorah.
Dany couldn't help breaking into a grin as Ser Jorah laid out his plan to catch the Stormcrows, she turned to Grey Worm. "What think you of this?"
For a moment the iron discipline of the Unsullied cracked as Grey Worm gave Ser Jorah a sideways eye. "It could work," he admitted.
Dany gave them a grim smile. "Then see it done. I want the head of this blue haired man, this captain. And see to the survivor I want her and her children well cared for."
That night two hundred of the best armed freedmen and two hundred Unsullied led by Grey Worm himself, made their camp in the broad valley between two low hills, far off from the main part of her people. The camp was deliberately disorganized with tents and blankets and fires laid out randomly. The spears and shields of the Unsullied were kept hidden beneath the cloth or else were disguised as cooking spits or tent poles or travois. The freedmen themselves wore their normal clothes, which were often barely more than rags, and the Unsullied had left aside their spiked caps in favour of the traditional dresses and skirts of the women of Slaver's Bay. From a distance the Unsullied with their slight frames looked indistinguishable from actual women. The camp looked almost identical to the one that had been attacked the previous night.
Ser Jorah and her bloodriders flanked Daenerys. "Khaleesi, we must return to the main camp."
Dany nodded once and then spoke to her bloodriders. "Return to the khalasar be ready to strike when the trap is sprung."
"Blood of my blood," the three young dothraki spoke as one. They then turned their steeds to join the rest of the dothraki in hiding a few hills away from the trap. Daenerys was not long in taking Ser Jorah's advice and returning to the safety of the main camp.
Now safely ensconced within the palisade and guarded by ten thousand Unsulled spears, Daenerys laid down in her tub as Irri and Jhiqui washed her with scalding water, she was too nervous to sleep just yet. Her handmaids scrubbed her skin raw and carefully washed her long silver hair. Nothing to do now but wait.
Jhiqui needed Dany's tense shoulders. "Relax khaleesi, worry will make you sleep badly."
"It is known," agreed Irri.
Dany sighed. "I'll try," she closed her eyes. "You can go now, I want to be alone for a time."
Without a word the two women left Daenerys alone in her bath. She closed her eyes and laid her head back. She opened her eyes again it was because a hand was shaking her shoulder, the water was cold.
Irri shook her shoulder again. "Khaleesi, your bloodriders have come with Jorah the Andal and Grey Worm."
Dany rose shivering from the cold water. "Get me dried and dressed, then send them in."
Irri and Jhiqui worked quickly drying Dany off with hot cotton towels, and bundling her in a silk robe and in the skin of the hrakkar Drogo had slain, the white lion of the Dothraki sea. She sat down on a low couch and awaited her councillors. They entered one at time. First her bloodriders Aggo, Jhogo, and Rakhara had new bells in their long black braids. Grey Worm came next, he had taken the time to divest himself of the dress and put on his spiked cap. Ser Jorah entered last, he was still in his plate and carrying a bloodstained sack.
As one the five men knelt before Daenerys and bowed their heads. Ser Jorah in the center pulled the open the sack and dropped a severed head upon the floor. A head with blue hair, a three pronged blue beard, and golden mustachios. While Rakharo and Aggo together offered up a Myrish stiletto and a Dothraki arakh, each with a golden hilt shaped like a naked woman.
Daenerys smiled. One less child killer in the world.
Davos
In the late morning the Small Council met once more around the map and table. Davos again stood behind Ser Richard and Maester Cressen. His belly full after breaking his fast with all his sons, save for Daven who had been serving the king. It had been the first time in weeks that Davos had had a chance to speak with them. Dale, Mathos, and Maric had been busy with the Royal Fleet, while Allard had spent most of the last week exploring his new lands.
"Lord Celtigar, what is the state of the brothel investigation?"
Lord Ardrian coughed once to clear his throat. "We have found many records relating to the management of the treasury, though some appear to be in some kind of code," he waved his hands. "The understewards Your Grace appointed have been very useful in decoding them, though there is still much work to do."
King Stannis grunted. "What of the Riverlands?"
It was Maester Cressen who spoke first, raising a letter with a single wrinkled hand. "A raven from Riverrun, Your Grace. Lord Edmure has bent the knee, as have the Mallisters, Brackens, and Freys."
"Good. What of Robb Stark, what of the North?"
"There has not yet been any response from them, Your Grace."
The king ground his teeth. "They as yet have time to bend the knee. But my patience is not inexhaustible. Lord Edmure is to be confirmed as Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, and commanded to guard the Riverlands from Lannister and Ironmen reavers. The Riverlands have not the strength left to do much else."
"We have received word from the Vale as well, Your Grace," spoke Lord Alester. "While Lord Royce seems amenable to joining the Small Council, there is a disturbing amount of resistance from amongst the valelords to any kind of military aid, particularly from Lady Lysa. It seems she fears for her son."
Stannis ground his teeth a moment. "Lady Melisandre, have your fires revealed any of this to you?"
The red woman bowed her head. "There have been no details Your Grace, but I shall ask R'hllor to spread his revealing light across the Vale."
Stannis continued to grind his teeth. "Have we any supporters besides Lord Royce?" He asked of Lord Florent.
Lord Alester spread his hands. "Lady Waynwood seems amenable, though there are some dynastic concerns between the Waynwoods and the Arryns. Her ward is Harold Hardyng Lord Robert's heir." Lord Alester spread his hands "And he is young, handsome, and popular."
"Lady Arryn has no need to fear Harold Hardyng usurping the Eyrie, not so long as I am king."
"Of course, Your Grace. Alas I fear Lady Arryn will remain neutral and will keep the valeknights in their castles. Perhaps if you were to speak to her yourself?"
"There is no time for that. The army must march tomorrow or it might as well not march at all." The king turned his gaze to Davos. "Lord Seaworth."
Davos stood slightly straighter. "Your Grace?"
"Which of your captains would be best left in command of training the new companies?"
Davos thought for a moment. "Justin Massey, Your Grace. He's popular with the men and he's skillful enough to command the companies." He's also loyal to the king not the Florents.
"Very well, see to the arrangements the army will leave tomorrow at dawn. Now my lords, there are other matters to speak on but they cannot be discussed here," King Stannis stood and left the chamber, bringing the Small Council in his wake.
In the company of King Stannis, the Small Council, and half a hundred guards, Davos entered the manse that had been given over to Lady Asami Sato. Ser Richard and the rest of the kingsguard flanked the king, resplendent in their cloaks of snow white silk. The gates were manned by a pair of Dragonstone men, who bowed as the King and the council passed them by.
Perhaps at one time the manse had been a beautiful place but not anymore. The broad flower gardens had been removed and fruit trees had been cut down, all to make room for pits of burning coal framed by brickwork. The smell of smoke and brimstone filled the air. Gaggles of smiths, bellmakers, and alchemists were at work creating black powder and learning the secrets of making dragons from Lady Sato.
The lady herself was speaking watching a smith work on a narrow iron rod. She was a plain woman, dressed in simple brown and grey robes, her black hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head, she could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty. As the king approached the woman turned, tapping her staff on the ground to signal the smith to cease working. She bowed to King Stannis. "Your Grace," she said with only a slight trace of an accent. "Be welcome in this place."
Stannis said nothing for a moment. "Thank you, my lady," he forced out. He surveyed around the ruined gardens of the manse. "Production continues?"
"It is improving," she answered. "The men learn quickly, and between the city and Dragonstone there is almost everything needed to make the black powder and the dragons," she gave a small smile as she said the last word.
Stannis gave her a sharp nod of approval. "Good. How long until the first dragons are ready to be used."
"A month at least, Your Grace," she answered. "Longer for the great-dragons."
As Stannis began to grind his teeth and fired off more questions at the foreign woman Davos took the opportunity to begin taking a closer look at the brickwork kilns and contraptions that filled the grounds of the manse. Molten metal, iron and bronze I think, was being poured out of ceramic pots into molds that formed the metal into barrels and locks for the hand-dragons. Davos saw some larger barrels made of bronze, larger but not big enough for true dragons, perhaps some kind of test or a new design. Davos turned his head as he heard footsteps, the Red Woman. Melisandre of Asshai joined him in staring into the fires.
"I am of two minds about these weapons," she said after a few moments of silence, Davos said nothing. "As weapons of fire they are surely a blessing from the Lord of Light," she paused and turned to face Davos directly, the ruby in her choker pulsing softly. "And yet because of their presence Azor Ahai Reborn has yet to accept his place in the world and accept R'hllor into his life. What think you of that?"
Davos said nothing for several moments. "I think…" He turned his gaze to meet the Red Woman's directly. "That the ways of gods are beyond the comprehension of mortal men and women."
"Well said my lord," she turned to return to the king's side. "I will pray for you and for your sons, my lord."
What does she mean by that? What has she seen in her fires? After a moment's hesitation Davos followed the Red Woman and returned to the king's side, where Lady Sato was finishing her report.
"There are just two more things, Your Grace," Lady Sato bowed again and motioned to several servants who had been lurking in the shadow of the manse, far from the heat of the forges and the kilns. One of the servants stepped through a nearby door of gilded wood, he returned a moment later carrying a small case and in the company of Tobho Mott who carried a sword wrapped in cloth. Everyone seemed to stop moving, stop breathing, even King Stannis seemed to be wrapped in anticipation as the master smith advanced. Tobho Mott knelt before the king and swept back the cloth to reveal the sword.
The blade was hidden inside a sheath of gold and leather, with small black diamonds worked into the gold. The guard and pommel were both formed from valyrian steel instead of silver or common steel. The guard shaped like antlers and the pommel was a stag's head mounted with a crown of gold, and on the grip was what Davos thought to be sharkskin. Small flecks of gold and black diamonds were set into the guard, grip, and pommel, making it sparkle in the sunlight.
The king said nothing as he took the sword in both hands and drew it from the scabbard. He raised it up into the sunlight. The blade was just over three and a half feet long with the guard, grip and pommel adding another foot to the length. The sword's blade was the dark smokey grey common to valyrian steel. The blade was diamond shaped with a fine point, suitable for cutting, and thrusting through the gaps in plate. Davos squinted as he examined the markings on the blade, careful not to speak aloud he slowly managed to connect the letters together and form them into words. On one side they read, Ours is the Fury, and on the other, One Realm One King.
"A glorious sword for the beginnings of a glorious reign," said Lord Alester. The king said nothing, though Lord Ardrian and Maester Cressen mumbled their agreement.
"I pray that Your Grace is satisfied with my work," Tobho Mott said quietly.
"More than satisfied, Master Mott," Stannis said turning from the smith as he shifted the valyrian steel in the light. "And the second thing?" He asked of Lady Sato.
The woman bowed once and clapped her hands to summon another servant. The servant advanced carrying a box of lacquered hardwood. Stannis sheathed the valyrian steel sword, and passed it to Daven. He took the box from the servant and opened it, inside was a dragon. A small one of a kind Davos had seen only a few of the higher ranked Beikango possess, weapons which they seemed extremely reluctant to part with. The grip was made from weirwood, the barrel and the club-like but, were of valyrian steel, likely leftovers from the forging of the new royal sword, the hammer was formed in the shape of a stag's antlers, and on the barrel itself were silver lightning bolts. In the upper part of the box were ten balls of valyrian steel.
"I have never worked with such metal before, never seen a metal so strong," said Lady Sato her voice tinged with awe. "Even though twice the normal powder charge can be used I think this barrel shall never be in danger of bursting."
Davos grimaced as he recalled the early attempts of the Dragonstone smiths to make their own dragons.
Lady Asami Sato continued. "Master Mott must again be thanked for forging the barrel, he is truly a master of his craft."
Tobho Mott smiled a moment as the Beikango woman continued to heap praise upon him.
Stannis took up the dragon and examined it for several long minutes, as Lady Sato continued to speak on the various technical specifics of the weapon, most of it went over Davos' head as she used several Beikango words for which there was not yet an equivalent in the Common Tongue. Davos caught Daven's eyes, Davos' son seemed even more befuddled than Davos himself.
"Enough Lady Sato," King Stannis said at last. "I'm sure it will work as intended." The king returned the dragon to it's case and gave the case to Daven, who now juggled both the dragon and the sword. "But now we have council matters to attend too. Come my lords." His golden cloak furling behind him, the king led the Small Council as they returned to the Red Keep.
As the royal party approached the Red Keep Davos felt a hand on his elbow turning he saw it was Ser Merret Dunmon, a knight from the Narrow Sea and one of Davos' dragon captains.
"Mi'lord," the younger man said. "There's something you should see," he pointed towards the Blackwater.
Ser Merret was a calm man at most times but Davos heard an edge of nervousness in his voice. Davos turned to see what had so shaken the man. From high on Aegon's Hill, beneath the walls of the Red Keep Davos watched as the distinct ribbed sails of a pair of unfamiliar Beikango ships entered the Blackwater and began to approach the docks of King's Landing.
"Your Grace," called Lord Alester, he had seen the ships as well. "The ships..."
Stannis stopped staring at the ships from atop his grey gelding. ""If they are selling dragons buy them. If they are not… then do nothing so long as they obey the laws and pay the tariffs and dues. And summon their captains to me I would speak with them privately. Lord Seaworth, see to the companies. Lord Alester, continue to marshal the men of the Stormlands, and Crownlands for reinforcements, you will have command of King's Landing in my absence." The king glared at the Small Council. "What are you waiting for you have your duties, and there is a war to win."
"Yes Your Grace, echoed the Small Council."