Archive of Our Own ^beta

Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Lady of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons – set sail from Meereen for Dragonstone to reclaim the Iron Throne in the name of House Targaryen. Daenerys is the only surviving child of King Aerys II Targaryen, the "Mad King", and his sister-wife, Rhaella. 

She was aged two and twenty years upon reaching Dragonstone with her fleet and armies. Also came three dragons; Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion; the first dragons to fly over Westeros in nearly 200 years.

This story was written over the course of a year. Pylos, Maester at Dragonstone is the principal author. Maester Pylos began recording past and current happenings upon the Queen’s landing at Dragonstone. His assistants labored late into each night, researching books and scripts in the Citadel libraries, sending letters to maesters assigned to the great and lesser Westeros Houses, and writing much of the draft chapters.

The dialog and narrative is as imagined by us, from records kept by witnesses, or as recalled to us by those present when spoken.

We worked in haste, to record history before darkness in the far North came south.

King’s Landing
In the Year 310 After Conquest

Queen Daenerys Targaryen strode into the small council room with confidence.  Unsullied guards closed the twin doors behind her, taking positions in the hallway.  Two Dothraki bloodriders, Aggo and Jhogo, stood inside at either side of the doors.   Each held an arakh across his chest.

The queen’s violet eyes shone brighter than the sun, betraying her excitement.   Her silver hair reflected sunlight streaming into the room from the west.   Six braids, one each for victories at Qarth, Astapor, Yunkai, Meereen, and Vaes Dothrak.  The sixth for her return to Meereen.  The Dothraki understand their Khalessi’s braids’ meaning, as do her closest advisors. 

She wore a modest yet lightweight blue dress, hemmed at her ankles, ties crossing behind her back, closely fitting her waist and hips.   The front cut higher than she typically wore going about the pyramid.  No man or woman could deny her beauty.  A dragon brooch pinned to her dress, black bejeweled sandals adorned her feet.

All stood until the queen took her seat at the table head.  Unlike the large round table in the Ruling Council room, this room held a rectangular table, suitable for no more than a dozen.  Daario Naharis, commander of the Second Sons and sometimes lover, sat sideways in his chair directly across from the queen, elbow on the table.  The usual smirk was firmly planted upon his face.   As Hand of the Queen, Tyrion Lannister sat to her right, wine goblet in hand.   Missandei sat to the queen’s left, with Grey Worm, commanding the Unsullied, next to her.  The other council members chose from the remaining seats; Ser Barristan Selmy, his left arm in a sling; bloodrider Rakharo completing the queen’s khas; Yara Greyjoy as Master of Ships; and Varys, Master of Whispers, sitting with arms crossed into his sleeves.  No Meereenese sat among the small council.

This was the last small council meeting before the voyage.  A final check on decisions, plans, and responsibilities settled earlier.   Daenerys took a bite of cut fruit from the service set before her.   Glancing at her council, she spoke first, “Please enjoy these fresh fruits and lemon cakes laid out for us.  These may be the last such luxuries until Dragonstone.”   Several council members reached for fruit or cakes, Yara did not.

“Yara, how many ships?”  Daenerys asked, knowing the answer.

“Nine hundred ninety-eight, my Grace.  Galleys, carracks, longboats, and some cogs,” Yara added, “The Dornish and Tyrell ships arriving late are taking on passengers and cargo.”

Daario broke a quiet moment, still smirking, “I had told you, my Grace, that you needed a thousand ships to conquer Westeros.  Now you have them, and of better quality!”

Daenerys briefly rolled her eyes.  She wanted more ships.  One thousand ships leave more than half the Khalasar in Meereen.  The ships she wanted and needed were in Volantis, the Voyage would take them near to that slave city.   The Sealord of Braavos sent one hundred ships, a fraction of his fleet, mostly to offset the Iron Bank.  The bankers thought little of the young, petite Meereenese Queen and her dreams of taking Westeros, Valyrian blood or not.  The bankers were prepared to extend additional credit to Cersei Lannister, usurper sitting on the Iron Throne.

“Daario,” Daenerys meeting her former lover’s eyes without emotion, “please report on the port, docks, cargo, and loading.”

“Of course, your Grace,” Daario stopped smirking.  “The port and harbor are crowded with ships and ferries.  The Dornish and Tyrell ships occupy all 100 dock slips, taking on cargo and Unsullied.  Other Unsullied are ferrying to the Braavosi ships moored in the harbor.  As ships come to the docks, crews take on food – mostly flatbreads, cured meats, salted fish, and dried fruits – water and wine.”  Stopping for a breath, he spoke on, “We are loading water on each ship for every passenger to have three flagons each day.  Crew will have enough for five flagons daily.  Thankfully the Braavosi ships arrived with water casks and foodstuffs sufficient for the journey.   These will not need to dock.  Theon Greyjoy is now meeting with ship captains and harbor pilots who will guide the ships out.”

Yara was not pleased with having pilots aboard her ships, “I don’t know why you insist on pilots.  The Ironborn have no need for pilots to find our way to sea.  Other ships can follow us if their captains fear sailing out alone.  The pilots are slowing us down!” 

Daario was ready for her rejoinder, “We have many Meereenese captains.  They will not sail from the docks without a pilot.  As the queen understands, the pilot guild is strong.  The guild has her blessings.”

Daenerys wanted to correct Daario for speaking on her behalf.  She held back and spoke directly to Yara, “I support the guild.  I do not wish to lose ships in harbor.  The Ironborn will take on pilots.” 

Yara simply nodded.

Acknowledging her closest bloodrider with a nod, the queen asks of the Dothraki. 

“Khalessi,” Rakharo replies using her Dothraki title, “your Khalasar is ready ride wooden horses across the poisoned waters to kill the men in the iron suits and tear down their stone houses!”  He went on with pride, “Forty thousand warriors, 44,000 horses, 2000 healers and helpers are approaching the docks now.  I would rather have 2000 more fighters than healers and helpers, but I follow your command.  Bedding straw, hay, grasses, and water casks line the streets along the docks for loading”

Tyrion set down his goblet.  After a deep breath he again explained, “Dothraki healers are among the best in treating battle injuries.  The fearless Dothraki expect to fight on wounded, as do the Unsullied.  However, the queen’s destiny to take King’s Landing will come easier and with less blood if we quickly treat the wounded.”

Daenerys smiled, slightly raising silver eyebrows, her first show of emotion at the meeting.

Rakharo grunted.  He agreed with taking healers and helpers, but was too proud to admit it to the council.  The Master of Ships sat next to him, “Tell me, Yara, how shall we disembark the horses?  They cannot ride on skiffs or would starve before all came ashore.  We’ve agreed on loading for the voyage, but have said little about docks in Westeros.”

“They will swim ashore,” Yara said with a slight laugh. 

Rakharo looked at Yara, stunned.  Aggo and Jhogo at the doors stared at her in disbelief.  “Our horses cannot swim the poisoned waters!” Rakharo pleaded to the giggling Ironborn. 

“Of course, they can swim!”  Yara answered, now with a heartier laugh.  All horses can swim!  Have you not crossed rivers on horseback?  The distance will not be great.  If you fear riding a swimming horse, I will ferry the Dothraki to meet their clean and happy beasts!”

Leaning into Yara, Rakharo spoke in a low voice, “We have crossed and forded many rivers, we ride around lakes and seas.  I will take your word that all horses can swim, and I will speak more of this with you during our voyage.”

Varys sighed.  This talk of swimming horses bored him.  He would come ashore at Dragonstone on an Ironborn boat with the queen.  Yet, he knew how vital horses are to the conquest, he began, “Your Grace.  My little birds in eastern Westeros have confirmed our suspicions.  Dragonstone cannot support 1,000 horses, never mind 44,000.  The Dothraki must land on Driftmark.”

Daenerys pursed her lips, “And, what does House Velaryon think of this?”

Varys confirmed what the council knew, “Lord Monford is dead, killed at the Battle of the Blackwater.  His heir, young Monterys is whereabouts unknown.  Monford’s half-brother, Aurane Waters, serves Cersei Lannister in King’s Landing.  Castle Driftmark stands empty, falling to ruin.  Hull is abandoned.  Spicetown is merely a fishing village.  We will face no opposition on Driftmark.  The grasses grow strongly, game is flourishing, fish are in abundance.”

Grey Worm, stoic as always, took his turn, “Most Unsullied will be on Driftmark.  Ten Unsullied centuries will protect Dragonstone.  On Driftmark, the young Unsullied will complete their training.  The Unsullied on Driftmark will hunt and fish to help feed those on Dragonstone.  Unsullied do not eschew food from the sea, as some do,” he finished, sending a rare smile at Rakharo. 

“And what of Dragonstone, Lord Varys?  Are you certain the castle has been abandoned?”  Daenerys asked, wanting a peaceful landing at her ancestral home, not having to fight for it. 

“Indeed, it is your Grace,” Varys answered while nodding.  “Stannis Baratheon took his forces north, to the Wall actually.  He may be dead, killed in battle with the Boltons, but of this I am not certain.” 

Ser Barristan turned to his queen.  She smiled broadly, with genuine concern showing in her eyes, asking, “How is your arm healing?  I am forever grateful for your leadership in putting down the Sons of Harpy.  May they suffer eternally in the hells below us.” 

“Your Grace, the flesh wounds are well, the healers believe the bone is nearly mended.  I shall be free of this sling before we reach Westeros.  If need be, I can go without in a fight.” 

“I do not expect you to fight so soon,” the queen spoke still smiling with her violet eyes and ruby lips, “Do tell, how do our lead ships fare?” 

Slipping off his arm sling, Ser Barristan straightened, placing both hands on the table; he explained, “Your Grace, three carracks, gifts from the Sealord who himself supervised their construction, are ready and provisioned.  We followed your wishes naming them for the ships you sailed with from Qarth -- Vhagar, Meraxes, and Balerion.  Balerion is your Grace’s flagship.   Each ship is fitted with a carved dragon’s head on the bow.  The sails are black with House Targaryen’s sigil in red. This council will sail among the three ships to reduce chances for disaster.  Your stateroom is finished as directed by Missandei.  Our personal belongings other than what we will carry are on board.  Your Grace will board at will and be the first to touch dry land on Dragonstone.” 

“Thank you, Ser Barristan,” Daenerys said turning to Missandei.  “Missandei, you have yet to speak.  Please do.” 

Missandei held her head high.  She relished in her service to the Daenerys. “Your Grace, it is as we planned.   Dragons will fly over Westeros again.  I am grateful to have this last . . . .” 

An urgent knock on the doors interrupted her.  “Open the doors,” the queen commanded. 

The bloodriders opened one of the doors, recognizing and admitting Theon Greyjoy.  Theon bowed to the queen saying “Your Grace,” walked to Tyrion and whispered to him, then took his place standing behind Yara. 

Tyrion took a deep drink from his goblet.  He set it down, stretching his arms out onto the table.  Slowly closing then opening his eyes, he spoke to the queen, “My Grace, we seem to have an unexpected visitor on a ship from Dorne.  Darkstar, Ser Gerold Dayne, Knight of High Hermitage.  He is on the docks.  He wishes to swear fealty.” 

Having no idea who or what “Darkstar” is, the Essosi on the council were nonplussed.   The others dumbfounded.  Daenerys nodded to her Hand answering, “This is great news.  I suppose we have Ellaria Sand to thank.  For those of you not knowing, Ser Gerold is of a cadet branch to House Dayne, sworn to House Martell of Dorne.”  Daenerys beamed her happiness, “Missandei, please arrange for him to come to the Throne Room.  I did not expect to sit upon the Meereenese throne again, so please keep this to those in this room and my Queensguard. 

“As you command, your Grace.  I shall fetch him from the docks now.  Tyrion, will you go with me?  I do not know him.” 

“I will,” Tyrion replied.  “I think this meeting has concluded.  Unless our queen has anything else, we shall meet in twelve hours on the docks.  Get some sleep if you can.   If you are inexperienced travelling by ship, eat lightly.”

Daenerys ended the meeting, “Thank you, Tyrion.  The council is dismissed.  I will be in the throne room, shortly.  Daario, please stay after the others leave.”Daenerys had dreaded this moment.  Although she and her Hand reached their decision weeks earlier, she had put off meeting privately with Daario until her last full day in Meereen.   She partly felt guilty for not telling him earlier, partly satisfied that she left herself time to change her mind, yet did not.  She so wished Jorah was here, cured of greyscale or not.  Daenerys discretely reached down to her right calf.  The dagger Jorah left with her was still there.  Daario began to rise up from his seat, presumably to sit closer to his queen.“Remain in your seat,” the queen commanded with a neutral voice.  Daario sat.

____________________

“Daario Naharis, I name you Lord Regent, to rule over Meereen and Dragon Bay in my absence.  You will not be crossing to Westeros.  You are free to name a Hand, chose advisors, form and hold councils.  I believe my intent for Meereen, Astapor, and Yunkai is clear.  You will govern guided by that intent.” 

Daario’s face fell to the table.  Daenerys noted sadness in his eyes, mixing with anger. 

“I am Commander of the Second Sons!” Daario shouted his first response.  “I am to lead three companies of Seconds Sons Westerosi who will sail with you!  I cannot be Lord or Regent!” 

Daenerys silently excused his outburst and forgetfulness in addressing her.  “You shall name a new commander of your choosing.   You will rule over the Stalwart Shields and other organized freedmen fighting companies.  You have twelve hours to choose a commander for the Westerosi Second Sons.  If not, they will choose from among themselves.  If you choose not to be Lord Regent, I will name another.” 

“What about us?”  Daario began to plead.  It was not becoming of a Lord Regent. 

“There is no us.  I took you.  You did not take me.  That is over,” said Daenerys, beginning to raise her voice, violet eyes turning darker.  “I retained you because you are a leader, a thinker, a planner, and a fighter.  Not as a sometime lover.  You are right for Meereen.  You are the right man to be Lord Regent.” 

Daario glanced up at the ceiling, then at the table.  “I will do as my queen commands.  I will await your return, if only a visit, as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Meereen.  I will keep your chambers as they are.  For you.”  Defeat and surrender laid heavily across his face. 

“Thank you, Daario for your past and future service.  I must now take my leave of you.  Good fortunes and may the Gods look kindly upon you.”   Daenerys left the room and headed to the throne, leaving Daario sitting alone, crestfallen.

____________________

 “You are in the presence of Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons,” Missandei announced, with only herself, the queen, Tyrion, Ser Barristan, several members of the Queensguard, and Ser Gerold Dayne in the throne room.  She quietly wondered what new titles the queen will add.  The Seven Kingdoms?  The Andals?  The Rhoynar?   

“What brings you to Meereen, Ser Gerold?” Daenerys, not letting on she knew. 

“Your Grace, I come to swear allegiance and bend the knee, to my Queen, Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name.” Ser Gerold bowed and then kneeled. 

“Rise and step forward, Ser Gerold.  Or should I call you Darkstar?”  Daenerys leaned forward to take a closer look at his face.  “Purple eyes, silver hair streaked with black, you must have Valyrian blood in your veins.  Can you ride a dragon?”  She chuckled at her own question. 

“I have never seen a dragon until yesterday, my Grace. I don’t know if I can ride one or not.  But if you command me, I shall try,” Gerold said without a smile. 

Daenerys clasped her hands and laughed.  “Oh, no I shall not ask that of you!  You have just arrived and I have yet to have your acquaintance.” 

Ser Gerold had been stripped of weapons before entering the throne room, not unlike any other visitor.  The queen needed to get on with her day and commanded Ser Barristan to fetch the handsome knight’s sword.  Barristan soon returned with it, holding the blade in both hands, admiring its paleness, white tint, and sharpness.  He was not quite accepting of what rested in his hands. 

“Ser Gerold, by chance is this sword the ancient Dawn?” 

Gerold took the sword from Ser Barristan holding it low in one hand, “Indeed it is.” 

“Does this mean you are the Sword of the Morning?”  If so, Ser Barristan thought he surely would have known, as would have all Westeros. 

Ser Gerold’s response came as a surprise, “I am not, his eyes growing angry for a moment.  The sword went missing soon after Eddard Stark returned it to Ashra in Starfall.  Dawn was thought to be lost until I recovered it from the sea below Palestone.  I chose to carry Dawn in service to Queen Daenerys.  I must prove myself worthy in her service so to carry it until death.” 

The queen pursed her lips, lowering her brows and sighed with exasperation.  “Pardon me Sers, I am familiar with ancestral swords borne by the Targaryen’s – Queen Visenya’s Dark Sister and King Aegon’s Blackfyre.  Viserys spoke of old Valyrian steel swords passed down in the great houses of Westeros.  But Dawn?  Sword of the Morning?  And how does a Stark fit in?” 

Tyrion, coughed.  He was getting bored with this ceremony and desperately wanted a goblet of wine.  “Ahem, Your Grace, having studied ancient Westeros history, let me explain.”  Daenerys nodded her consent.  “Long ago, in the time of the Rhoynar, the founder of House Dayne watched a star fall to ground.  He searched for it, found it, and built Starfall on that spot.”  Tyrion stopped to be sure the queen was following along.  “He then forged a sword from the stone’s metal heart, naming it Dawn.  He from House Dayne who carries the sword is hailed as Sword of the Morning.  The last to bear that title was Ser Arthur Dayne, a knight in your father’s Kingsguard.  Ser Arthur perished at the hands of Eddard Stark at the Tower of Joy in Dorne.  History does not speak to why the young Eddard Stark came to the tower, or why Ser Arthur stood guard with one other.  Nonetheless, Lord Stark took the Sword to Starfall, returning it to House Dayne.” 

Daenerys sat back in her throne, not expecting a history lesson.  Not surprised, she became accustomed to her Hand’s long windedness.  Anxious to end this, she motioned to her visitor.  “Ser Gerold, shall we continue?” 

Ser Gerold lowers himself to one knee, laying Dawn on the floor before him, “I am yours my Queen, I pledge my unending allegiance to you and House Targaryen.  I will shield you and give my life for yours.  I swear it by the Old Gods and New.” 

The queen responded with her own oath, “I vow that you shall always have a place in my home and at my table, and that I shall ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

____________________

Daenerys and Missandei remained in the throne room while the others departed, two guards standing at a discrete distance. 

“I suppose we take one last pass through our chambers.  I will miss the dresses left behind, but Westeros is reported more modest in dress and much colder.” 

Missandei answered as they walked from the room, “I have no need to revisit my chambers, all is packed on the Balerion.  I did pack away some of your lighter clothes, I hope you are not offended.” 

“Not at all,” Daenerys responded with a smile.  “The Dornish have different customs and warmer weather than the rest of Westeros, perhaps I’ll visit and have need of those garments.  My ancestors travelled in royal progress to visit their Lords.  As Queen, I expect to do the same.” 

They spent little time in the queen’s chambers.  Anything left behind, she would not need for the crossing or in Westeros.  Daenerys had allowed herself a few personal trinkets.  Lavish gifts that decorated her rooms had no place aboard her ship or at Dragonstone.  Daenerys was not surprised to find a note from Daario on her writing table.  Annoyed that he had violated her chambers, she read it and placed the note back on the table.  The note said nothing new and would soon be forgotten.  Leaving it on the table would make Daario wonder if she ever read it.  That point, she would not forget. 

“Missandei, we will board the Balerion now and rest there until we break fast.   There’s no point in us lingering here any longer.”  Daenerys took a red candle that had been burning on the table.  As they left, she playfully poured wax onto the door and frame, pressing the seal with her ring.  “That will give Daario pause, don’t you think?” 

“I enjoy your lighter side, your Grace.”  Missandei said with a giggle as they walked their way out of the pyramid, not looking back, followed closely by two bloodriders.

____________________

Darkness was falling as the two women approached the docks.  The Queen’s bloodriders had sent an Unsullied soldier running ahead to inform of her intentions for the night.  Grey Worm and Ser Barristan met them at the gangway.   The Vhagar, Meraxes, and Balerion were alit.  Soldiers and workers busily moving about, making final preparations.  Daenerys could see Yara on the Meraxes, arguing with whom she assumed was the chief harbor pilot.  Unsullied and Dothraki who were to sail on the three lead ships had already settled into their cabins.  Grey Worm would occupy a small cabin closest to the queen’s.  Closer than the Hand’s cabin, which would annoy him to no end.  Missandei’s cabin was near Tyrion’s, not far from Grey Worm.   The crew, mate, and ship’s captain were onboard, those who would sail from the harbor asleep or resting. 

____________________

The queen’s cabin, one usually set aside for a ship’s captain or fleet admiral, was at the stern, separated from the rest by a thick bulkhead. Windows on three sides and a large bed among the windows; a privacy screen with each panel bearing the Targaryen sigil separated the sleeping area from the rest of the cabin.  The Sealord included a private bath and dressing room, each with two portholes.  Vents leading to the top deck admitted fresh air, yet could be sealed to prevent eavesdropping.  Near the center, a large table surrounded by eight chairs, for dining or meeting with her council.  As the council was spread out among three ships – Ser Barristan was on the Vhagar, launches would bring them together to meet.  On the wall overlooking the table was a map of Essos west of Meereen and Westeros.  Small pins topped with dragon heads were on a small shelf so that the Queen could track the voyage.  Three larger pins were preplaced on the map at Meereen, at Dragonstone, and – at Volantis.

Drogon, Rhaegel, and Viserion circled high above the harbor; letting out occasional screeches or roars.  They too were ready for the voyage. 

Daenerys entered her cabin, big enough to be called quarters, and looked about in awe.  Grey Worm stood with her while Missandei placed a platter of fruits and cheeses she brought from the pyramid on the table.  A polished teak box was set in the center.  “I think this is for you, your Grace,” said Missandei as she stepped away from the table.  Grey Worm checked the sleeping area, bath, and dressing room before taking position at the door, remaining inside. 

Daenerys picked up the box, heavy for its size.  She released the latch, opened it, and gasped.  Inside was a crown, her mother’s crown, the crown Viserys sold for him and Daenerys to survive.   Inside the lid was a note with the Sealord’s seal.  “I came across this crown in Braavos and learned of its bearer – your mother Queen Rhaella.  I wish you to have it and if you choose, wear at your coronation.   My artists took liberty with the brooch and sigil, I do hope you do not take offense.”  Signed, Tormo Fregar, Sealord of Braavos.   Daenerys looked below the crown and found the brooch.  The Targaryen sigil, made of gold, ruby eyes in each dragon’s head.  Emeralds for claws.  Accented in fine lacquer.  The “liberty” was that each dragon’s head bore a crown, accented with gems. 

Missandei looked over the Queen’s shoulder.  “The Sealord seems quite impressed with you.  These gifts show he expects you to sit on the Iron Throne.”  

Daenerys remained quiet for a moment, not yet ready to speak.  Taking a deep breath, she let her handmaid understand the significance.  “This crown belonged to my mother, Queen Rhaella.  My brother Viserys brought it with us to Essos.  He had to sell it so that we would not starve.  I never expected to see it again, nor did I expect it to survive whole, to be sold again.” 

“What do the crowns on the sigil mean, other than the obvious?  I have never seen this form of your family’s sigil,” Missandei inquired while Daenerys held the brooch up for her to see. 

“Nothing, other than to express the Sealord’s expectations.  No Targaryen sigil had ever borne crowns.  I do like it though.”  Daenerys placed the brooch, crown, and note back into the box.  Closing it, she placed it on a shelf over her bed.  “I will not be needing these until Kings Landing, I suppose.” 

Missandei and the Queen stepped over to the map.  Grey Worm joined them.  “Your Grace, I will have the ship’s captain update this chart with our progress, a pin for each day at sea.  May I ask what the meaning of the large pin at Volantis is?” 

“I presume it has to do with the message delivered by the Sealord’s envoy, when their gifted ships arrived.  The Sealord advised that one could never have enough ships, provided there are crew to sail them.  He informed that ships could be had in Volantis, if I wished to have them.” 

“Will your Grace’s fleet stop at Volantis?”  Grey Worm asked with a worried look. 

Daenerys turned to Grey Worm, giving him a sly look. “We’ll discuss Volantis at our first War Council, once we are under way.” 

“War Council.  Already,” Grey Worm thought to himself as he left the cabin to return to his work.

____________________

The departure of nearly 1000 ships could hardly be better than organized chaos.   The pilot’s guild could only muster about 150 pilots.  As each ship cleared the harbor, the pilot would row or sail back to board the next ship.  Theon stood next to the pilot aboard the Ironborn flagship.  “Just hold the wheel if you must, but control is with the oarsmen.”  The Ironborn captains had the oarsmen on double time and could confound the pilot’s helm control by rowing faster or slower on port or starboard.”  The pilot grew frustrated. “You’ve cleared the harbor, the helm is yours!”  He climbed down into his launch as the Ironborn ships raised sail, the oarsmen slowing their pace as the sails caught the wind. 

Daenerys stood near the Balerion’s bow, Missandei and Tyrion by her side.  Tyrion had been the last to board, reeking of wine.  No doubt he spent his last night in Meereen at a brothel.  They could see, and hear Yara berating the pilot on the Meraxes.  Something about leaving his launch behind and having him swim back to shore.  The pilots and ship’s captains on the three lead ships knew each other.  Yara didn’t care, nor did she care to be beholden to a Meereenese captain.  For that reason alone, Tyrion was glad Yara was on another ship.  Lines from the ships were cast off and the three ships made their way from the docks.  They would not be the last to set out.  The sailing order was set more or less by the pilots.  As it would take all day for the fleet to set sail, the guild masters wanted the Queen safely beyond the harbor with plenty of light.  The sun was low in the western sky when the last ships raised their sails.  The pilots returned to their guild hall to be paid and partake heavily in wine, sharing tales of the day just past.   The fleet was on its way westward, into what was once known as Slaver’s Bay.

The fleet sailed east of Isle of Cedars, staying clear of enemies in Tolos and Elyria.  Had Daenerys chosen to remain in Meereen, those cities, along with Mantarys, would have been reckoned with.  Perhaps with fire and blood.  As they sail south into the Gulf of Grief, the Balerion’s mate raises signal flags calling for a council meeting.  Mates on the Meraxes and Vhagar raise flags in acknowledgement.  Within an hour, launches carrying the small council and Ser Gerold approached the Balerion.  Daenerys looked down at Ser Barristan, arm in sling, facing the climbing ropes to board the ship.  Ser Barristan groaned, then climbed using one arm and his teeth.  Varys was slow in climbing, the Queen thinking this was the first time she’d seen his hands.  They gathered in the Queen’s chambers, wine, some cheese, and biscuits on the table.  Meager offerings when compared to their last meeting in Meereen. 

The Queen acknowledge all and let Grey Worm speak first.  “Ser Barristan, I apologize for failing to consider your arm when placing you on the Vhagar.  If you wish, I could accommodate you here in my cabin.”  Ser Barristan shook his head, “Thank you Grey Worm for your kind offer, but no.  You must not leave the queen’s side and I will be rid of this sling before our next meeting.”  Daenerys continued with pleasantries, “Are everyone’s cabins to their satisfaction?  I was amiss in not inspecting all three ship’s cabins before leaving.”  Each member said yes, mentioning the astounding accommodations provided through the Sealord’s gift.  Yara snorted, “I must not let any Ironborn see my cabin or they will depose me as weak.  Not even my brother, Theon!”  The group had a good laugh before Tyrion put on a serious face. 

“Your Grace, I’ve seen the wall chart with dragon pins showing what appear to be our daily positions each day.  I haven’t mentioned it, but there is a large pin over Volantis.  Is it your intent to stop there?”  Grey Worm nods his head.  The remaining council members, not having been in the Queen’s quarters before, look first to the chart and then to the queen. 

“Tyrion,” Daenerys began by addressing his question, “the Sealord provided the chart and pins.  It’s more than a decoration.  It’s him repeating the message first brought to me by his envoy when delivering the ships.   The message is that provided we have crew and provisions, we cannot have too many ships.  I’ve casually asked my ship’s captain if the fleet has sufficient crew to man additional ships.  He says we could double the fleet if the soldiers take on additional ship’s duties.  I have left a sizable force in Meereen, larger than needed to defend the city and maintain order in Yunkai and Astapor.  Our war plans have not gone into detail on reinforcements.  We have not discussed transportation for those that wish to return after the upcoming battles.” 

“The Unsullied will never leave their Queen!”  Grey Worm respectively rejects the queen’s last point.   Rakharo agrees, “The Dothraki will ride with their Khalessi to the ends of the world!” 

“How will you pay for these ships?” Asked Tyrion, fearing the answer.  “The Triarchs control many ships, but most belong to traders.  I don’t expect them to extend credit, give, or loan you the ships” 

“Slaver’s ships.  I will take them,” Daenerys replied with a Queen’s confidence.   Their payment will be in kind; I will not stay and rule over them.” 

“And if they resist?”  Asked Ser Gerold, speaking for the first time while fascinated by the queen’s resolve. 

“I have dragons” was her response, “and I know how to use them.” 

“Varys, what think you of this plan?” Tyrion wanted to bring the Master of Whispers into the conversation, one sided as it was. 

“Your Graces’ realm will need strong Naval forces and ships for trade.  We have not discussed losses during the war for the throne.  Obtaining reserves is strong leadership on the queen’s part.  Unfortunately, I do not have little birds in Volantis.  If I did, no way to communicate with them while at sea.  I do have birds in Braavos.  I am curious to understand the Sealord’s interest and support in our mission.  Perhaps it’s just trade, or a spat with the Iron Bank – they are independent of him.  Before anyone asks, the Sealord is married.” 

Daenerys rolls her eyes, knowing that Varys is always thinking about strengthening “the realm” or whatever he means by that.  Marriage alliances have their place.  But she is leaving Essos, not planning to join it with Westeros.  Not yet, at least. 

The queen didn’t want the meeting to roll into discussing the Sealord’s intent.  Having disclosed her intent to take Volantene ships, she’s ready to close the meeting.  One request of Varys then the end, “Varys, please apprise me of anybody among the Tyrell and Dornish ships that could serve as envoys during our voyage.  I expect to meet with Olenna and Ellaria at Dragonstone, but I think it wise to have one of theirs at our meetings to at least listen.  We should meet again as a council before passing the remains of Valyria.  Agreed?” 

“Agreed,” the group nods and begins to shuffle out of the room.  Tyrion holds back, wanting to ask Daenerys a question alone. 

“I suppose my Hand wishes to speak in private?” Daenerys hands Tyrion a cup of wine, knowing that will help his mood if foul. 

Tyrion gets to the point, “Yes, your Grace.  How long have you planned to take ships from Volantis?  Since meeting with the envoy?  You are Queen, but a matter of this gravity is something I think your Hand should know.” 

“I am sorry, Tyrion” Daenerys says with a saddened face, “but I hadn’t given it much thought before coming into these quarters.  A thousand ships boggle my mind.  When I saw the chart on the wall, and read a note from the Sealord, I recalled the message brought by the envoy.” 

“Note?  What note, your Grace?”  Tyrion, like Varys, now wondered about the Sealord’s intentions. 

Daenerys pulled down the teak box, placed it on the table, and opened it.  “This note, with these gifts” handing the note to Tyrion.  “Grey Worm was here when I opened the box, he noticed the pin over Volantis.  I called a council meeting soon afterwards.” 

“A crown?  And a brooch with crowned dragons?  The Sealord is quite generous!”  Tyrion expressed his surprise, then read the note. 

“My mother’s crown.  My brother sold it to provide coin for our food and shelter.  I cannot imagine how the Sealord came across it.” 

“Very well, I will think of how to advise you on Volantis.  I may need to visit other ships in the fleet to speak with those familiar with the Volantenes.”  Tyrion said as he left the chambers. 

“Thank you, Tyrion for understanding and accepting this.  Of course, do what you have to learn more of Volantis.  Our resources at sea are limited.  We’ll speak again shortly.”  She said, relieved, while closing the door.

Daenerys didn’t know where her children flew to feed and sleep. Dragons can’t float, they need land to sleep. They’ll take large fish and sea mammals, tossing prey into to air to roast, then catching the meal before it strikes the water. Sleeping is another matter. They can go days without sleep, but not aloft. They prefer to rest on slopes or ledges, but for her dragons, any spot will do. The queen was certain the three had hunted and slept on the Isle of Cedars. The wild boar and monkeys thriving there had no peace.

She felt uneasy watching her three loved ones fly north towards Valyria. They could be hunting the islands in the Smoking Sea. Or they were drawn to their ancestral home. Three days they’ve been away, the longest on the voyage. Daenerys stepped away from the rail to see her council come aboard for the day’s meeting. Varys struggled again, his hands usually tucked inside the cloaks he wore. Ser Barristan was free of his sling, favoring his injured arm.

The ship’s crew had been fishing; examples of their catch were laid out on the meeting table. Brined herring cut into raw fillets and served with sliced onions, smoked whitefish, roasted sardines. As they ate their late morning meal, the queen turned to Yara, asking “How many more days to Volantis?”

“No more than three, your Grace. I have sent an Ironborn longboat forward, rowing double time while under sail, to scout suitable landing spots for your visit.” Yara took a drink of ale the ship’s captain brought out for the council meeting, then continued. “We will have a report from the longboat before our ships appear on the horizon. You will be able to approach the shore without being seen, unless they have lookouts posted above the beaches. My crewmen don’t believe there are lookouts, and are familiar with several beaches with high banks blocking the coastline from view.”

“Very good, Yara.” Daenerys was pleased with this part of their plan. Drogon was an essential element, she worried about his extended absence. The meeting continued with discussions on how to use ships taken at Volantis. The fleet had already captured several slavers at sea, turning them back at spearpoint to Meereen. Upon arrival, the guards placed on the slaver ships would inform Daario to hold trials and imprison the slavers, offering safe passage home to the unfortunate captives on board, or a place to live in Meereen. The slavers and ships from Volantis were to be cleaned, repaired, and refitted where needed. A second wave would later set sail from Meereen to Westeros carrying mostly Dothraki, horses, and provisions.

It was too soon to decide on what to do with the fleet after the invading forces disembarked. Many would be needed, but most crew members intended to return home. The rest pledged to stay with their Queen. Tyrion advised to return most Volantene ships, “a loan” he called it. Varys agreed; Yara objected, wanting ships to increase her fleet.

Daenerys was about to end the meeting when Missandei interrupted, obviously embarrassed. “Your Grace, I apologize for forgetting to introduce our observers from the Reach and Dorne. Sers, please forgive me.” The two men rose, the younger one saying, “No need to apologize my Lady, we came on separate launches. I am Daemon Sand, son of Ser Ryon Allyrion, the heir of House Allyrion.” The other took his turn. “Erren Florent knight of House Florent, son of Ser Ryam, at your service, your Grace.”

Tyrion turned to Daenerys and whispered, “Erren is brother-in-law to Stannis Baratheon, who thinks himself as heir to the throne.” The Queen was about to respond when a loud thud came from the deck above. The ceiling creaked shook, dust falling to the table. The council, scrambled out the door, the queen’s guards holding her back. An Unsullied came to the door saying, “It is safe, come to the deck!”

Grey Worm led the Queen to the deck, followed by Missandei, Tyrion, and Varys. Viserion was circling the ship, without his siblings. The council members, ship’s captain, and others stood around what appeared to be a young leviathan, dropped from the sky by the dragon. It spanned the deck, its tail smashing the port rail, hanging over the side. Lines laid around and under the beast; fortunately, the sails, spars, and masts seemed undamaged. “Your dragon has brought you a gift,” the captain says to Daenerys. “Fresh meat, unless he intends on eating it himself.”

“He would burn it before eating,” Daenerys said with a smirk. The captain looked horrified, thinking of his ship ablaze. “Butcher it, pass the meat and fat among your crew and as many other ships’ crews you can. Save some fat to fry or render into oil.”

“You are impossibly generous, your Grace. Leviathans come to warm waters to calve, this is a young one.” The captain continued his praise, “I and the crew will never forget the Queen that fed us well at sea.” As the group broke up, crewmen approached with sharp knives to flay and butcher the beast. They worked quickly and eagerly, anticipating roast meat that night. Blood spread across the deck, a reminder of what laid ahead.

Two days later, the council met again. Biscuits soaked with fried fat topped with cracklings made the morning’s offering. Yara moaned with pleasure as she ate the savory and filling fare. The Ironborn longboat had returned, Yara rose to report, wiping grease from her mouth.

“Our scouts have found an excellent landing. A wide beach, shallow approach, and a high bank. The bank is not steep and is easy to climb. The top is lined with trees, beyond which is a field with a view of the city, about a half day’s march or a few hours ride away. We could not have wished for a better location to pitch the Queen’s tent.” Yara looked towards the biscuits, but did not sit down.

“This is good news!” Daenerys looked to Sers Erren and Daemon. “We will need envoys to summon the Triarchs to a parley.” The two men stood immediately.

“I am honored to serve and be your envoy”, the two men said in unison, as if rehearsed beforehand. They remained standing until the Queen motioned for them to sit.

Yara had sat down and was relishing another biscuit. She paused to suggest that they bring two Dothraki mares to shore. Rakharo agreed, “Khalessi, we will load two agreeable mares on an Ironborn longboat. This will be a trial for landing at Driftmark.” Yara smirked, she and the bloodrider had argued about horses swimming. She continued to grin, keeping an idea for the landing at Volantis to herself.

“Now for the landing party,” Daenerys, obviously excited stood before continuing. “There will be Yara and I believe eight Ironborn oarsmen.” Yara nodded in agreement, they had gone over this earlier. “Myself, Missandei, Tyrion, and Varys. Grey Worm and two squads of Unsullied. Rakharo and one other Dothraki. Sers Barristan and Dayne, Aggo and Jhogo will remain with the fleet.” Ser Barristan frowned, but said nothing. “If my count is correct, that makes 24 souls.”

“Correct, your Grace,” Tyrion answered. “The Triarchs are proud, chosen from amongst the noble families, after proving unbroken decent from old Valyria. Their feet never touch the ground, they will arrive atop elephants and speak with you from a raised platform. Two are of the Elephant Party, merchants and moneylenders. The other is from the Tiger Party, composed of the aristocracy and warrior class.” Daenerys rolled her eyes at the thought of men arriving on elephants while Tyrion continued. “Since you intend on taking, or forcibly borrowing ships, the two Elephants have the most to lose. Give them an opportunity to save face.”

“Thank you for your wise counsel, Tyrion.” Daenerys wondered about how to allow the Triarchs to save face, but said nothing of it. “I can feel that the fleet has slowed,” Yara nods in agreement, “we will depart on the morning, is that correct, Yara?”

“Yes, your Grace,” Yara answers. “The longboat will collect the horses, Dothraki, and your tent before night fall. “The others will board from launches before we come aside the Balerion for you and the rest.”

“Good, then we’ll see each other in the morning.” The queen picks another biscuit for herself, the guards hold open the door while the council shuffles out.

Missandei brushed out and braided the Queen’s hair in the light cast by leviathan oil burning in a lantern. Blubber from Viserion’s gift tried out to make oil. The lantern burned brighter than candles, pleasing Daenerys. Six braids, likely for the last time. Missandei thought of where to add the seventh braid she expected to be weaving in soon.

“You may stay on board if you feel so,” the queen offered as the pair left the chambers. “This trip is not without risk.”

“I feel safe when around you and Grey Worm,” Missandei answerd. “I go where you go, unless commanded otherwise, your Grace.”

“You like him, Grey Worm that is. I’ve watched the two of you making eyes at one another. After Volantis, I’ll see to it that you have time with him, if you so choose.”

“Yes, your Grace. You are quite observant as always. Seeing him brings me an inner peace that I cannot explain. I’ve seen his features soften when looking to me.” Missandei smiles as they walk across the deck, to where Grey Worm is waiting.”

Daenerys suddenly stops, turning to Missandei. “I wonder how much they took. Did they leave anything behind?”

“Your Grace?” Missandei clearly not understanding the Queen’s meaning.

“The Unsullied are enuchs, you know. I wonder how much is cut away and what is left behind?” Daenerys deadpans, wanting to giggle at this girl talk.

“I don’t know,” clearly embarrassed, Missandei answers with raised brows. “If I find out, shall I let you know?”

Grey Worm approached before Daenerys could answer. “The longboat is ready for you. Your landing party is aboard save us. We may depart now, your Grace.”

“Then we shall.” Daenerys stepped to the rail, looked down to the longboat and climbing net. She turned around and placed one foot on the net as Grey Worm held her hands. He second foot caught the net as she descended gracefully as possible onto the boat. She wore breeches and boots under her light cloak, yet nobody dared look as she climbed down. Rakharo took her hand and led to a seat between Tyrion and Varys. Missandei sat behind her. She looked back to see Grey Worm standing with his hands on her handmaid’s shoulders. “How sweet,” Daenerys thought to herself.

Ironborn oarsmen pushed off. Two Dothraki took the fifth row of oars. Unsullied filled the final two positions. The fleet was gently tacking away from shore, performing a circling maneuver to hold their place, give or take. Drogon flew low overhead. “Stay close, my child.” Daenerys whispered in High Valyrian. Viserion and Rhaegal flew east towards the Orange Shore, knowing their service was not needed today. The two mares were calm, munching from their feedbags, an innovation the Dothraki learned of in Meereen. Yara called out the rowing pace, they’d be ashore by midday.

The Unsullied passed out biscuits, water, and wine. The Queen took some water, but did not eat. Yara happily munched on a slab of fried fat. The oarsmen kept their own pace now, passing a water sack among themselves. Tyrion produced a goblet, then his own wine sack. “Do you ever not drink?” Her Grace asked with a frown. “Only under the worst circumstances. It helps me think. When Ser Jorah captured me as a gift to you, he failed to provide proper drink. I was most dismayed at his improper treatment.” Tyrion explained in complete seriousness, then taking a drink from his goblet.

“Land ahead!” Shouted Yara. Daenerys rose and saw the shoreline rising ahead, the trees and bank as described by the scouts. She looked around to see Drogon coming up from behind. “Fly low and wait for us.” Her connection with the Dragon only required thought, not the spoken word. Drogon roared in acknowledgement and flew forward, wing tips touching the water.

They were near enough to see bottom, waves helping the oarsmen close in with shore. Yara had waited for this moment. Drawing her short sword, she slapped each horse in the rear, causing them to jump into the sea. “What are you doing?” Rakharo shouted in the common tongue after cursing in Dothraki. “Showing you that horses swim!” Yara laughed back at him while the horses turned to follow the boat, heads held above the water. The mares reached shore first, not noticing Drogon sleeping against the bank. The waves helped beach the boat, the passengers quickly bringing provisions, the tent, and tanned hides ashore.

Rakharo and Grey Worm helped Deanerys and Missandei up the bank. Tyrion stumbled, taking a sandy route to the top. The Dothraki gave commands as the other men raised the tent, then spread the hides on the ground for them all to sleep on. Missandei picked some wildflowers and laid them about where she and Daenerys would sleep. The Queen smiled at the handmaid’s thoughtfulness, not having fresh flowers since leaving Meereen. Tyrion and Varys busied themselves giving final instructions to Sers Erren and Daemon, who soon rode off to Volantis. Daenerys walked back to see Drogon. “Stay here and rest, my child. Tomorrow I may need to call on you.” She walked back up the hill escorted by Grey Worm. All they could do now was wait.

____________________

Daenerys drifted off to sleep and dreams. She was standing on a ledge, looking out over Valyria. The ruins still smoked, the air smelled foul and tasted of bitters. Beside her stood her brothers, Rhaegar and Viserys. Rhaegar wore Aegon’s crown, Viserys wore one adorned with dragons. She reached up an felt a crown on her head too. Removing it, she saw that it was her mother’s. Rhaegar turned to her and returned the crown to her head. Three dragons emerged from the smokey ruins. Much larger than her children, the dragons bore the same coloring. Rhaeger climbed onto the one with green and bronze colored scales, Viserys took the one with cream and gold coloring. The black and red dragon came to her, lowering its shoulder for her. They soared through the clouds, each dragon chattering with the others. Viserys flew ahead, nearly disappearing from sight. She looked over to Rhaegar and instead saw a stranger riding the dragon. A man with black hair mixed with silver, seemingly shorter than her brother. He looked to her and smiled. He wore Rhaegar’s crown. The dragon bearing Viserys returned, riderless. The cream and gold beast disappeared, only to return with a young man riding. Silver hair like her brother’s, but the same age as her. He wore no crown. He too vanished as the dragon dove towards Valyria only to return. A boy, no older than ten and four appeared as the rider. He wore Viserys’ crown. Daenerys’ dragon took her back to the ledge where she climbed down. The others were not to be seen. She reached up to remove her crown, only to find that it too had disappeared.

____________________

Despite the dream, Daenerys slept well, being on land again. Grey Worm woke her not long after the sun rose. “Three elephants are approaching.” The Queen rose, rubbing sleep from her violet eyes. After straitening her blouse, Missandei helped her into her coat. Sers Erren and Daemon had succeeded in bringing the Triarchs to parley. The elephants stopped while slave soldiers, the Tiger Cloaks, erected a platform with an opulent chair for each of the triarchy. A set of stairs was attached to the front, an invitation for Daenerys to join them above the others. This was welcome, as Volantis had long longed for war with the Breaker of Chains. Less happily, the platform was backed by at least three companies of Cloaks, with archers. The Triarchs were helped down from their mounts and took their seats. The Tiger Party triarch, obvious by his aristocratic dress, sat to the right of the others.

Daenerys, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tyrion, and Varys approached the platform. Grey Worm looked over the soldiers, their faces tattooed with tiger stripes. Tyrion whispered in the Queen’s ear, reminding her of face saving. Missandei began with the recital of titles, “You are in the presence of Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, and rightful heir to the Iron Throne of Westeros.”

“Greetings, Queen Daenerys,” began the Tiger Party Triarch. “I am Belicho Staegone. To my left are Alios Qhaedar, and Parquello Vaelaros.” Each man nodding to Daenerys. “We received your envoys and have come to this place to meet as you requested. As you can see, they have been treated well. We understand you are sailing with a great host to Westeros, to claim your crown. To what do we owe this visit, this pause in your voyage?”

Daenerys could see her knights on horseback behind the platform. Each nodded to her acknowledging their well being. They did not ride forward, which worried the Queen. “I am in need of ships, my Lords. I know that the triarchy has a sizable fleet and that many others belonging to merchants lay in port. It is my need to send ships to Meereen, to bring more soldiers and horses to Westeros.”

Alios looked to the Queen quizzically, “Our fleet is somewhat diminished, but I am sure we can work out an agreement that includes reopening trade with Slaver’s Bay. Your rule from Meereen has reduced trade, a trade we relied on since the Century of Blood. You are free to negotiate with our traders, hiring their ships and crews. What means of payment are you offering? Gold is best!”

Tyrion had advised the Queen to expect this, still she laid down her offering. “I have in mind payment in kind. If you provide me ships, I will sail on to Westeros. Volantis will continue as it is.”

“And if we do not?” Parquello showing annoyance with the petite and impolite monarch.

“Then I will stay, conquer Volantis, free the slaves, punish the masters, and rule over the city and its vassals.” Daenerys replied with determination, not smiling, not frowning, but with fire in her eyes.

Belicho stood, glaring angerly. “We made no threats to Meereen and here you are threatening us with conquest? Is this how the Dragon Queen conducts business? We’ll have none of it!” The Tiger Triarch raised his right arm before forcefully dropping it. On that signal, arrows pierced Sers Erren and Daemon from behind, fountains of blood staining their tunics, each falling from his mount, dead. The horses splattered with blood, bolted to the shoreline.

“On the contrary!” The Queen shouted with anger as she stepped backwards to the stairs. The Unsullied stood ready, spears at their sides. “Your predecessors sent a great fleet to make war on Meereen when the seasons last turned. My allied Ironborn spotted your fleet before it was scattered by storms. Not wise at all. Volantis is lucky to have a fleet for me to take!”

The Unsullied stepped forward as Grey Worm led his Queen away from the platform. The others walked back behind her, Tyrion and Varys looking stunned at this turn. Belicho shouted with arrogance, “What good are three squads of Unsullied against three companies of Tiger Cloaks? Die if you want to, but its best for you to leave before any more blood is shed!”

Daenerys continued, walking through her tent, and disappeared over the bank. The Triarchs, now all sitting again, grinned at each other, having put the young Queen to shame. Their good spirts were soon broken.

With a loud roar the black beast soared up and over the bank. Drogon slowly rose into the sky, flying over the tent and Triarchs. They looked up in fright to see Daenerys riding the dragon. Arrows launched by two lines of archers flew past Drogon or bounced harmlessly off his chest and neck; body protecting his mother. She banked Drogon to the right and came around lined up with the archers. “Dracarys!” she commanded and her child complied, raining fire down on the hapless archers, burning them all along with two lines of infantry. One hundred twenty Tiger Cloaks dead or screaming from burns, soon to be. The remaining Cloaks broke lines and ranks, some badly burned, ran back towards the city. Others charged over the platform, at the Unsullied who made quick work of them. The slave soldiers’ blood soaked the ground where the Unsullied had first stood.

Daenerys did not pursue the fleeing soldiers. Recalling Tyrion’s advice, she landed Drogon behind the platform. Dead and burned Tiger Cloaks lay around her two slain envoys. Drogon snatched the portly Belicho by his shoulders, tossing him in the air, then burning him. The two Elephant Party triarchs looked on in horror as Belicho’s burnt corpse hit the platform only to be swallowed whole by the dragon. Four Unsullied came forward to recover Erren and Daemon’s bodies.

“Provide me with ships or I will bring fire and blood to your black walls!” Daenerys demanded. The two living Triarchs fell to their knees, answering together “Yes, your Grace.” She had won. Four Ironborn ships were already making way to the port to select suitable ships. The two defeated Triarchs mounted their elephants without help, but had saved face because they still ruled over Volantis, trading ships for the privilege.

Rakharo had noticed a woman dressed in red emerging from the woods which stood to their left. He and the other Dothraki brought her to Grey Worm, who was helping Missandei and his Queen mount Belicho’s elephant to ride into Volantis. The red woman bowed before speaking. “I am Kinvara, Red Priestess, in the faith of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. I have seen your coming in the flames.” Daenerys took her aside to talk in private.

“Why are you here? What do you want from me?” Daenerys asked with barely hidden suspicion.

“You are sailing to Westeros, to claim your rightful crown. To sit on the Iron Throne as Queen. The flames have so shown me.” Kinvara continued, “In Westeros you will meet Melisandre, known as the Red Woman. She too is a Red Priestess serving the Lord of Light. Listen to her counsel. You will also meet a man from the North. He will bring warnings of a dark threat from the Lands of Always Winter. Believe him. Help him and you will be forever remembered for your greatness.”

“I thank you for these prophecies. How will I recognize this man from the North?” Daenerys had her interest piqued, and wanted to press for more.

“These are not prophecies, I have seen them in the flames. You will know the man for he will come soon after Melisandre and will not bend his knee, but bear an important gift.” Kinvara remained unsettlingly vague.

“Will I see you again, Kinvara?” Daenerys needed to leave for Volantis, but wanted to spend more time with this priestess.

“If the Lord of Light wills it,” Kinvara answered before bowing and returning to the woods.

Daenerys and her council members rode by elephant to the port in Volantis, following the two surviving Triarchs. Varys mentioned that a special election will soon be held to fill the suddenly vacant third position. He doubted that a Tiger Party candidate would win. The two Dothraki followed on horseback, while the Unsullied marched. Viserion and Rhaegal rejoined their brother flying low enough around the city to cause people to seek shelter. Word of what happened at the shore spread like wild fire through the city. The Elephant Party was receiving praise for saving the city from destruction.

Alios and Parquello held an impromptu feast for the Queen and her party. Daenerys wished to spend little time in Volantis, anxious to resume the Voyage to Westeros. The sight of ships bearing the Greyjoy sigil entering the port filled her with relief. Her party was hungry and ate heartily of breads, rare fruits, cheeses, and meats. Tyrion complemented their hosts on their wine.

Within two hours, it was clear that the slavers ships were unacceptable. They stunk with human filth, leaked, and needed refitting before sailing to Meereen. Fortunately, many Volantene captains and their slave crews were all to happy to bend the knee and serve Daenerys. The slaves expected freedom, the captains and mates a better life. Some had family. The queen graciously offered them passage to Meereen. The two Triarchs did not like this arrangement, but said nothing simply to get this Targaryen warrior away.

The Queen’s parting words to Alios and Parquello were “Pray that I do not return.”

Her fleet would gain about half the Volantene fleet for the second wave. Two hundred fifty ships, give or take. Perhaps another 10,000 Dothraki with their horses to reinforce her host. Nearly 1000 Tiger Cloaks wished to come along. Grey Wormed advised against this. Daenerys in turn replied that Volantene soldiers seeking freedom would have an opportunity later.

After a night’s well-earned rest, the party sailed back to the fleet on an Ironborn ship. The Voyage to Westeros continued, but with additional forces soon to follow. The Volantene ships would join up with the fleet to pick up Ironborn passengers and some Unsullied soldiers to assure no change in heart. The additions then would sail back to Meereen where the Dothraki waited. The Voyage to Westeros continued.

Fair winds and gentle seas greeted the fleet as it sailed west from Volantis. The dragons flew off south to hunt and feed, leaving Daenerys in motherly worry. She could not help herself from wondering where they were and if safe. Other than the excitement in Volantis, the voyage was largely uneventful. No strong storms had threatened the fleet. Enough rainwater was collected to replenish their stores. Food, supplemented by the crewmens’ daily catch was not a concern.

Still, she felt a foreboding of disagreement and difficult decisions. Tyrion and Varys preferred a slow approach to taking King’s Landing and the Iron Throne. “You don’t want to be Queen of the ashes,” they warned. They counseled a siege, carried out by the Dornish and Tyrells, while her foreign forces engaged the Westerosi elsewhere, perhaps beginning with Casterly Rock or landing in the Stormlands. Her pair of advisors believed this to be the surest way to protect the innocent smallfolk living in King’s Landing and throughout Westeros. Yara and Ser Barristan preferred quick and direct attack on King’s Landing. “The best way to save lives is to win decisively and quickly,” Ser Barristan repeated when asked. Although the Unsullied and Dothraki would carry out either strategy without question, the queen saw in Grey Worm’s expression that he agreed with the aggressive approach.

The fleet would sail well clear of Lys, leaving it far to starboard before turning north towards the Stepstones to pass west of Bloodstone. The ships’ captains expected to see pirates and slavers in these waters; Lys maintaining a strong slave trade and the Stepstones a favorite haunt for pirates. There was no way to hide the fleet, the captains advised to not take pirate or slaver ships in these waters, lest one escape and sail north to alert others. Mostly, the captains and Yara feared her uncle Euron Greyjoy learning of their whereabouts. Although the fleet outsized anything Euron could put to sea, he was quite capable of harassing attacks and interfering with their landings on Dragonstone and Driftmark. They would soon be closer to Westeros than at any point in the voyage before landing. Daenerys hoped to see Dornish ships, bringing news that Varys could not while at sea.

A day before turning north, the watchman called out ships on the horizon and dragons closing with the fleet. The scaled trio made straight for the Balerion before banking right to circle the ship. Daenerys looked up at her children. Something was wrong with Viserion.

“Viserion is hurt!” Daenerys cried out when seeing the curved bloody wound on her child’s neck. The wound no longer bled, she could see deep puncture wounds along the curve with the largest in the middle. “What could have done this to him?” She asked nobody in particular, as Viserion continued to slowly fly circles around the ship.

“Looks like your fishing dragon met with a megalodonis,” the ship’s captain guessed. All eyes were on the captain, awaiting an explanation. “The megalodonis is the largest fish in the seas. A killer that grows longer than this ship. Teeth longer than daggers. Judging from that wound your dragon seems to have found a young one. Lucky for him, an adult could have bitten his head off. He does appear to have some teeth stuck between his scales, they are valuable in trade.”

The information didn’t relieve Daenerys of her angst. She looked to Missandei who added, “Years ago a megalodonis washed up on the shore at Naath. The jaws are standing near the beach, wide enough for this ship to sail through were it not for the masts.”

“I don’t care about valuable teeth or huge jaws on Naath. My child is hurt and I cannot help him at sea.” She continued, “You can have the damn teeth when we land, I’ll pull them out myself.”

“Thank you, your Grace. The approaching ships fly a Dornish sigil. House Martell, if my memory serves me right. If it pleases the Queen, I’ll signal the fleet to make way for the Dornish to pull up alongside us.”

“Make it so, Captain. Missandei, if Ellaria is on board, I need to call a war council. Hopefully we’ll get good news from Westeros.

“Yes, your Grace. Nonetheless a meeting aboard the Balerion is warranted. Varys will want to hear of happenings at our destination. Tyrion will present his plan for taking King’s Landing.”

The three Dornish ships maneuvered through the great fleet and were soon near the Balerion. Ellaria Sand stood on the foredeck, gazing at Daenerys for the first time. She wore a long dark dress that would not be unusual in Meereen, but would stand out for its elegance. As her ship came along side, the crews installed a gangway between the two. Daenerys saw that Ellaria’s ship was named after her paramour, Oberyn.

The Oberyn’s mate was first to cross the gangway, “Permission to come aboard, Captain!” the mate shouted in old naval tradition. “Permission granted,” was the captain’s response. The mate, followed by three unarmed men, Ellaria, and then three young beautiful women filed aboard. Ellaria stepped forward and knelt before Daenerys, “My Queen, it is my honor to meet you at last.” Ellaria rose, “These are my advisors; Arron, Ulrick, and Garin; and these are my daughters; Obella, Dorea, and Loreza. Oberyn Martell was their father.” Each knelt before the Queen; the three Sand Snakes were slowest to do so.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you Ellaria, your daughters, and fine men,” Daenerys answered with a wide smile on her face and in her eyes. “I hope you are well rested and available for a war council within the hour. Ser Gerold Dayne will be amongst us. Your advisors are welcome to attend, your daughters may come along to listen.”

“Of course, your Grace, I am anxious to do so. Surely you have some early plans for taking King’s Landing and allowing Dorne to avenge Olberyn’s and Elia’s deaths as you take blood for Rhaegar and the children.” Ellaria went on, “I have exchanged ravens with Olenna Tyrell, you’ll soon hear from me how Olenna and I are of the same mind in taking King’s Landing. Olenna is now making her way to Dragonstone to meet you.”

Daenerys expected that Ellaria and Olenna would agree on an approach, one rooted in revenge. She saw revenge in Ellaria’s eyes, hatred for Cersei and the dead King Robert. She imagined Olenna wanted blood for what happened to her daughter the former Queen and family when Cersei obliterated the Great Sept of Baelor; such evil. “I see launches carrying my war council are approaching,” the Queen spoke while looking out onto the water. It’s good you are here before we land on Dragonstone and that you and Olenna have come to agreement. I confess that the council has differing opinions on how to proceed. You’ll hear them both and add your voice. While we have time, you may use my quarters with your daughters to freshen up. Missandei will show you the way. I will soon meet you there.”

The War council settled in around the table. Extra chairs were brought in for the Dornish. Only Arron took a seat at the table with Ellaria, the other two advisors sat with the Sand Snakes along the wall. Ellaria looked at Ser Gerold and smiled suggestively, bordering on salacious. She knew Ser Gerold had sailed to Meereen, but was unaware that he was with the fleet. She recognized Ser Barristan and nodded. Tyrion, the Imp, was obvious as was Varys. She looked at Grey Worm and Rakharo, figuring which was an Unsullied and which was a Dothraki. Yara was looking directly at Ellaria with wide eyes. Ellaria recognized the Greyjoy sigil on her leather armor. She poured herself some wine and took a piece of fruit her ship’s mate had carried over to the Balerion. The wine was good, but not Dornish Red good. After the Queen did the same, the fruit quickly disappeared among the others.

Daenerys rose and started the meeting, making formal introductions for the new arrivals. “Today we have among us three of four Westerosi kingdoms pledged to House Targaryen. Ellaria informs that Dorne and the Reach agree on our great venture. She also understands that we have two opinions open to us on how to proceed. Ellaria, what news of Westeros do you bring?”

Ellaria rose and glanced first at Tyrion and then at Yara. She sensed they differed on how to take King’s Landing. Yara would be bold, Tyrion cautious. She began with some news, “I have called the Dornish banners to prepare for a march north to the Crownlands. Olenna is gathering her forces in the Reach, but has yet to hear from House Tarly. Dornish sailors trading with White Harbor in the North report that Euron Greyjoy’s fleet is in the Blackwater Bay, sailing between King’s Landing and Gullet, not loitering in any one place.”

Tyrion rubbed his beard and took a deep drink of wine, “Lord Randyll may side with Cersei. He was considered for Hand to King Robert, recommended by Kevan Lannister. He defeated Robb Stark’s northern army at Duskendale. Olenna should be wary of him. What of the Lannister forces?”

“We know they have a sizable force with their allied banners in the Westerlands, perhaps 30,000 strong, not counting the Tarlys. Our spies in King’s Landing say that 10,000 Lannister soldiers are in and around the Crownlands. Cersei knows that the Queen’s fleet is at sea, but does not know where it is, its size, nor believes that it can land without defeat on Westeros.”

“And the North, the Stormlands, the Vale, and Riverlands?” Asked Varys.

“The North is preparing for winter, they expect a hard one. As for the Stormlands, I do not know. They have no love for Cersei, but show none for us either. The Vale is ruled by child Lord and his overbearing mother. The Rivermen are quarreling amongst themselves, as is their way. House Tully is weak and House Frey, allied with the Lannisters, extinct. Ellaria sat down, finished with her report, and took a long draw of wine. Arron looked at her and nodded his approval.

“Extinct?” Daenerys asked. “How did that come about.”

“It’s known that all male heirs were killed at a banquet held by Lord Frey. I do not know how they died or who was responsible. There are rumors it was the doing of Northmen. The Boltons in the north may also be extinct. Killed in battle and by treachery it seems.” Ellaria explained what she knew. Daenerys simply nodded, glad that an enemy house was already gone.

It was Varys’ turn, to lay out his and Tyrion’s general plan for battles to come. “Ellaria’s news supports our plan. Dornish and Tyrell forces moving north will be threatened by the Lannisters and it seems, the Tarlys. We don’t know what the Stormlanders will do as the armies maneuver for battle. At best, they will remain in their keeps. Hitting the Lannisters from their rear and Tarlys in their right flank with Essosi warriors will open the Roseroad and Gold Road to lay siege on King’s Landing. The city cannot last without resupply, which would depend on Euron’s fleet, taking them away from battle. The city will open its gates rather than starve, regardless of what Cersei orders.”

Arron spoke up, “Which Essosi forces, and where will they land? How do you know Euron’s fleet will take on resupply, rather than attack Dragonstone?”

“Yara’s fleet will bring the Unsullied to the Westerlands, near Casterly Rock,” Tyrion taking back his turn to sell this plan. “Unsullied will take Lannisport and the Rock. I know how to enter the fortress through tunnels known by few.” Tyrion began pointing at a map with a wooden rod. “From there, the Unsullied will harass then crush the Lannisters along the Gold Road from the rear. The Ironborn will hold Casterly Rock and Lannisport; raid Tarbeck Hall and Crakehall to the south. Meanwhile, our Meereenese seamen will shuttle the Dothraki and Essosi freedmen, and the Second Sons companies, all on horses, to the Stormlands. They will ride east of Haystack Hall and Bronzegate, around Felwood and ride to the Roseroad at Bitterbridge. If the Tyrells are on the march north along the Roseroad, Lord Randyll will want to attack their rear, leaving his right flank open to the Dothraki.” Tyrion didn’t mention ferrying Ellaria to Dorne for her to call her banners. Today’s news made that unnecessary; her ships would return with orders.

Rakharo liked the idea of smashing an army in a flanking attack. But getting there would not be easy. He had also taken time to study maps of Westeros. “Lord Tyrion, the Dothraki relish destroying Tarly betrayers on the open Reach. But your proposed route for us is fraught with difficulty. Horse do not do well in thick woodlands like those around Fellwood. A single line has no problems, but we are thousands. Although we can ride hard and fast past Haystack Hall and Bronzegate, the Stormlanders will know of our arrival. Rather than being on the attack in the Reach, we may waste time defending ourselves along the way. Defensive fighting is not the Dothraki way.”

Tyrion nodded and looked towards Varys, who raised his eyes. “Yara stood, and all knew what was coming. “Sailing around Westeros to attack Casterly Rock is a fool’s quest. My Ironborn will keep Euron bottled up near King’s Landing so that he cannot harass the landings. Where the Queen choses to land on the mainland matters not to us. What matters is keeping Euron away. Euron will not run supplies to King’s Landing. He will fight. He may decide to take the Red Keep and declare himself King. Or while the Queen’s forces are tied up in the Reach and Westerlands, Euron reaves King’s landing and sails away! A quick and direct attack on King’s Landing is best!”

Ellaria smiled at the feisty Yara, thinking things other than the meeting and war. Daenerys rose, hoping to calm Yara down. “Yara, I have dragons. Euron’s fleet will never leave the Blackwater, whether to get supplies or after reaving King’s Landing. The dragons destroyed a fleet at Meereen; they will destroy Euron’s too.”

“Your Grace!” Ser Barristan rose to his feet, frightened. Do not put yourself at risk burning a fleet that should play no role in the battle. I agree with Yara that a direct attack is best. Starvation is horrible. You know hunger. I know hunger. Starving the smallfolk in King’s Landing through siege would be brutal.”

“How can I claim to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms if all risk is taken by others?” Daenerys asked. “If my children need to fight, I will ride Drogon and fight – with fire and blood! I will not be queen of the ashes, nor will I be queen of skeletons. I will not starve out King’s Landing, no matter what approach we take.”

Ellaria recalled some news she had not mentioned, “Your Grace, my sailors also reported that Euron has equipped some of his ships with ballistae, which they call ‘scorpions.’” The scorpions shoot giant bolts with great force. Dorne used one to kill the dragon Meraxes and its rider, Queen Rhaenys Targaryen. My spies in King’s Landing say that Cersei is building her own scorpions, but none have been installed.”

Daenerys sat down, not expecting to be reminded how her ancestor was killed in the first Dornish War. She was glad to have this piece of information and let Ser Barristan continue, “Lady, I mean Ellaria, thank you for this information. It makes a direct attack on King’s Landing the most likely to succeed without unnecessary death. Rakharo, given a choice, where would you land on the mainland?”

“There,” Rakharo pointed to the map, “north of Duskendale. We take Duskendale, then Rosby, and ride to King’s Landing on the Rosby Road. Is there a gate there?”

“Yes, the Iron Gate,” Ser Barristan answered. Turning to Grey Worm, the elder knight asked, “And you, Grey Worm? Where would you land the Unsullied?”

“The Unsullied have marched through forests, so here, at the mouth of this river,” Grey Worm pointed where the Wendwater flowed into Blackwater Bay. “We march west along the forest to the King’s Road. We proceed to King’s Landing or continue west overland to meet the Dornish and Tyrells along the Gold Road. It does not matter to Unsullied which.”

Yara took another turn, “To attack from the King’s Road, you would have to cross the Blackwater to reach the Mud Gate. Easy if not defended, but I would expect Euron to have ships blocking the way. We now know of scorpions on his ships, but some have always carried catapults that can rain down fireballs as you attempt to cross. Meeting our allies on the Gold Road is best. The combined forces can attack here, at the King’s Gate. I’m not sure how they or the Dothraki will penetrate the gates, unless we plant saboteurs within the city.”

“Dragons,” answered Daenerys. “We have two plans to consider, one quick and direct, the other longer. I’m certain that both will lead to taking King’s Landing. I will think these over as we complete our voyage to Westeros. I will continue to take your counsel, but will also meet with Olenna on Dragonstone before deciding. Don’t look so forlorn, Tyrion. You have done well, but we have options. There’s an old Valyrian saying my brother passed on to me that no plan survives first contact with the enemy. The Valyrians always planned for a quick strike, but at times moved slowly. As you know, they had dragons.”

The meeting broke up with Tyrion and Varys whispering to each other. They felt the Queen would settle on the direct attack plan and not theirs. Ser Barristan seemed pleased Rakharo thought of crushing two towns on the way to King’s Landing. Ellaria thought of blood revenge, and of Yara.

____________________

The remaining Voyage proved uneventful. After the stressful war council held upon Ellaria’s arrival, nobody wanted to interfere with the Queen’s contemplation. Daenerys sought out Missandei’s advice. “I am not a warrior nor a planner. Naath is peaceful. Starvation is horrible,” was all she offered, emphasizing starvation. Viserion seemed no worse for his wound and continued fishing. The Queen wondered what he’d eat if away from the sea. Anything he wanted, she guessed. Finally, the captain announced they were a day out from Dragonstone. They were approaching from the east so that part of the fleet would arrive at Dragonstone while the remainder sailed on to Driftmark with Theon having a try at commanding a fleet with Yara standing by. Daenerys could not sleep. As the sun rose the next morning, her dragons flew west.

Ellaria chose to remain with the fleet with one ship. The others sailed for Sunspear, each carrying a sealed scroll ordering the Dornishmen to begin marching north; avoiding castles, settlements, and most importantly, the Tarlys. Her advisors Ulrick and Garin would personally describe the general plan to rally on the Gold Road when they arrived on Dorne. Yara was later seen making several visits to the Oberlyn, discretion be damned.

At about noon, the watchman cried out “Land ahead.” The ships sailing to Dragonstone had repositioned so that the Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes were front and center, flanked on either side by a defensive ship screen. Daenerys and her landing party stood on the foredeck. Missandei, Grey Worm and Tyrion. Ser Barristan and Varys came over earlier by launch. The queen wished Ser Jorah was with her. Ellaria and Ser Gerold stayed behind for now. Yara and Theon continued to Driftmark to land the Dothraki and part of the Unsullied. Varys had heard again from his little birds. Dragonstone remained empty. Nonetheless, two launches of Unsullied would follow the landing party to secure the beach. It would take days to unload the army.

Unsullied manned the oars. As her launch approached the beach, Drogon landed on the highest tower at Dragonstone. Rhaegal and Viserion circled overhead, awaiting their mother. The oarsmen picked up speed as they rode the surf onto the beach. Daenerys refused Ser Barristan’s help in getting out and into the water. She strode up onto the beach and knelt on one knee, grabbing a handful of sand and letting it pour through her fingers. She looked up at Drogon, who seemed to be smiling at her. “Mother is home,” she said. Enormous black stone dragon heads extended from each tower, looking out over the sea. A large stone dragon rose up from what must be Aegon’s garden. Built with magic and dragon fire, the castle seemed to be of one black rock, carved or burned from the mountain. Her landing partly followed as Daenerys made her way to a fortified gate fronting long twisting stairs to the castle. As the Unsullied pulled open the doors, Daenerys smiled to herself thinking she could just call Drogon and fly up to the castle.

Tyrion suffered the climb up to the castle. They stopped on a landing and as the others looked out to see launches sailing and rowing to shore, Tyrion whispered to Varys, “The Valyrians must not have had dwarves or short people among them.” Varys added, “And none as heavy and rounded as I.” They reached the towering entrance leading to the Great Hall. The doors were set in a stone dragon’s mouth, surrounded with teeth. The Unsullied pulled open the doors and Daenerys entered into darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she saw several Baratheon banners hanging from dragon heads glaring down from the walls. She pulled one down as the Unsullied took care of the others. The cold black throne stood before her. Here she would sit before moving on to the Iron Throne. Steel braziers laid on their sides, the carpet leading to the throne was littered with debris. Not quite like her pyramid in Meereen, but much in the Valyrian style and abandoned by a departing lord.

Daenerys knew where to go. Behind and above the black throne lay The Chamber of the Painted Table; a round room with a large table made from an immense slab of wood. On it was carved the map Aegon the Conqueror used to plan his war against Westeros. She walked around the table, stopping where Aegon would have sat. Tyrion and the others followed. She looked at Tyrion and spoke, “This is where it begins – again.” Missandei approached with a large wooden box, saying “I believe you’ll need these” as she removed a dragon statuette placing it on the map over Dragonstone. She removed a lion piece and set it over King’s Landing.

Grey Worm made his way around the room, looking up, down, and all around for any threats. He heard a shuffling noise from behind the second door, then burst through it with spear in hands. He dragged back a slim young man, in a black robe, with a chain around his waist. “Who are you?” asked Daenerys, somewhat startled.

“I . . . , I . . . , I am Maester Pylos, serving at Dragonstone,” the man stuttered out with Grey Worm’s spear at his neck.

“Maester Cressen was serving Stannis Baratheon here at Dragonstone,” Tyrion challenged the young man, “why are you here?”

“I . . ., I was sent to eventually replace Maester Cressen, who has passed of old age. I remained here alone after Lord Baratheon set out for the North. The ravens needed tending, I stayed to care for them,” Pylos answered, still terrified although Grey Worm had lowered his spear.

“We have ravens?” Varys exclaimed with some glee, “where are they trained for?”

Pylos began to relax as he answered with pride, “We have ravens trained to fly to each of the kingdoms, major houses, and some lesser houses. We also have ravens trained to fly and return from each kingdom and several houses. Our most prized and rare ravens can fly among several kingdoms and houses before returning here to Dragonstone.”

“This is wonderful,” Varys responded. “Your Grace, most ravens only fly to the rookery where they were trained. Afterwards, these birds must be transported to another rookery to fly back again. Ravens that know how to fly out to a given rookery and return are rare. The rarest are those that know several rookeries, yet can return home.”

“I’m glad you are pleased, Varys” the Queen replied with a laugh. “I will have scrolls ready soon to send to each of the seven kingdoms. The kingdoms will learn that their rightful Queen has arrived to take what is hers.”

None could add to that, so they went about finding quarters. Daenerys sat in her chosen quarters, waiting for her things to be brought up. She was hungry, Dothraki and Meereenese cooks were busy getting the huge kitchens working again. She thought of Olenna, who was reportedly on Massey’s Hook preparing to sail to Dragonstone.

____________________

Olenna arrived at the small fishing village along the shores of Dragonstone. She would not have to climb, that is be carried, up the long stairs leading from the beach at the castle. The road, more like a trail, from the village to the castle mount was winding, rough, and poorly maintained. Along the way stood ruins of camps built by the Valyrians while raising and provisioning the castle. Later these were occupied by smallfolk and workers but fell into ruin after Aegon’s son Aenys began building the Red Keep. Olenna refused being carried on a litter, they had brought a small carriage and two strong but calm field horses. One to pull the carriage, the other a spare. Her men thinking that the carriage would break down, also brought along a covered litter. The carriage and horses made the climb. Yet along a severe stretch, Olenna was forced to leave her carriage and be taken by litter. She had no illusions of mounting a horse.

Olenna shifted to her carriage as they approached Dragonstone Castle. The road led not to a formal gate, but to what was a rather large sally port. Daenerys, her Hand Tyrion, and other council members stood outside the sally port to greet the Lady from Highgarden. A contingent of Unsullied stood by, as always. Olenna dismounted and approached the Queen, an escort holding her arm. Daenerys stood smiling, Tyrion stood by her side, the others taking a modest bow before the Lady. Drogon perched on the nearest tower, his head dwarfed by the massive black stone facsimile he sat upon.

“Welcome to Dragonstone, my Lady,” Daenerys gushed out beaming. “I am overjoyed to meet you! You know my Hand Tyrion Lannister and Ser Barristan, perhaps my advisor Varys as well.” Each bowed as the Queen mentioned their names. Daenerys introduced the others, with Missandei, “my closest and beloved advisor,” last.

“Thank you, your Grace,” Olenna said sincerely with a small smile. “I’m too old and stiff to kneel, but House Tyrell swears allegiance to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen.” Olenna gave the best curtsy her knees could manage while her escort and travel party kneeled. “I never expected to visit Dragonstone, nor did I expect to meet another Targaryen, never mind seeing a live dragon, yet here they are. I must say, the Gods have chosen she who will rule over Westeros wisely.”

“You are most gracious, my Lady,” Daenerys’ smile and eyes radiated in response. “Drogon likes to greet visitors. We have quarters prepared for you and your party. Rest and eat, the council will meet in the morning after breaking fast.”

Olenna nodded while rubbing dust from around her eyes, “After that ride, rest is what I need. A bath too. I will take a light meal in my chambers, if I may. But please favor me with a private visit before retiring for the night. I have a few things to discuss, woman to woman.”

Tyrion raised a brow while Varys turned his head, eyes remaining forward. They both wondered what the elder Lady had in mind. Formalities having ended, Daenerys took Olenna by the arm and led her into Dragonstone while the others followed.

____________________

Hunger sated and bathed, Daenerys was wearing what should pass as evening dress in Westeros. With two Unsullied following, she made her way through connecting passages to Olenna’s chambers. She knocked and heard “please come in” in response.

The Lady of Highgarden was wearing a lighter weight outfit and in warmer colors than earlier. She had her hair in a simple head scarf instead of the elaborate wrap she usually doffed. “Has everything been to your liking, my Lady?” Daenerys asked while looking around the room. Missandei chose these quarters because it seemed a woman had once lived there.

“Most excellent, your Grace,” Olenna said while rising from her chair. “Dinner was delicious although I could not make out some of the spices. The wine, Dornish Red, very good. Did Ellaria gift you with that?”

“My cooks are mostly Dothraki women,” the Queen explained. “They brought with them spices from Essos and the Great Grass Sea. The wine is indeed a gift from Dorne. Ellaria had three casks aboard her ship.”

“No wonder I did not recognized the spices. I’ve had plenty from the Free Cities but cannot recall any hailing from further east in Essos. They are quite good.” Olenna was finished with small talk and shifted topics. “While in the small village below this castle, I learned that you are facing conflicting opinions and plans on taking the Iron Throne. I long to see anybody but a Lannister on the throne – you are the best and rightful choice. Ellaria stopped by while I was eating. She mentioned that you know that Dorne and the Reach are of same mind, a quick and direct taking of King’s Landing.”

Daenerys was stunned that a person in the village knew that much. None of her council had been there, none of her men to escort Lady Tyrell up the castle mount. The village leader knew to direct Olenna’s party onto the trail road, but no more. Although not treasonous, mentioning the disagreement among the council was a crime worthy of banishment. “Who could it have been?” the Queen thought to herself while masking her worry.

“There are two competing plans,” Daenerys responded. “The first, backed by Tyrion and Varys, calls for caution. A siege of King’s Landing while my forces attack the Westerlands from the Sunset Sea and protect your and the Dornish flank moving north.” She waited for a reaction from Olenna, getting none, continued. “The other plan, favored by the others on the council is much along the lines that you and Ellaria support. The Dothraki will attack King’s Landing from Rosby after landing near Duskendale. Your men, the Unsullied, and Dorne from the West at the King’s Gate. Yara will control Euron Greyjoy’s fleet in the Blackwater Bay. I with my dragons, will fight where needed.”

“And which will you choose?” Olenna asked as she leaned back in her chair.

“The council knows that I will not chose until hearing from you, from your lips. I expected that tomorrow morning, not tonight. I’m glad we are meeting now, rather than later,” Daenerys replied, barely hiding her preference for the direct attack.”

“Well played, your Grace,” Olenna smiled, leaning forward in her seat, and went on. “You are a Targaryen. Valyrian blood runs through you. I’ve studied their history, Valyria was not known for laying siege upon cities. Sieges cause great suffering to those besieged. You do not wish to harm those people you plan to liberate, do you?”

“No!” Daenerys answered without hesitation. “I do not wish to starve them, nor do I wish to burn them. I know many will die, but am convinced now that taking King’s Landing quickly and with overwhelming force will save the most.”

Olenna answered “Good,” then continued. “You are being a dragon, as a Targaryen must. Your brother Rhaegar was a dragon. He died because he had to fight on too many fronts. He didn’t have real dragons, either. The fear and hatred for your father opened those fronts. The people will not hate you, but will not love you either. You must earn their love, as you did in Meereen if the stories are correct. Depose Cersei, that bloody usurper. Kill those that need killing and let the others be. The people will come to respect and love you. I only ask to see Cersei’s corpse before you dispose of it. In one piece or many.”

“Ellaria said the same about seeing Cersei dead!” Daenerys chuckled. The hate for Cersei was wide and far in Westeros. She imagined the North had no love for the Lannister Queen either. “I’m grateful for your wise counsel. It seems you know much more about the Targaryens than I had believed.”

Olenna rose to see Daenerys to the door, “It’s time for this old woman to sleep. I will see you in the morning. When we have time, I’ll tell you of my betrothal to your granduncle Daeron, and how that boy grew up to be a fighter and got himself killed so not to marry. Though a better way to die than my fool husband Luthor chose.”

“That would be grand, my Lady,” Daenerys finished their talk as she stepped back into the hallway.

____________________

Daenerys woke with the sun to the sound of her children screeching near the beach. She looked out a window, balconies not being amenable to construction by dragonfire, to see Drogon and Rhaegal on the beach with Viserion beyond the surf franticly flapping his wings. The water around Viserion was stained red with blood. His claws appeared embedded in some fleshy mass. He was struggling to move it to shore. Eventually a wave caught his prize and pulled both into the surf.

“Another leviathan, so it seems,” Missandei observed nonchalantly. “Your child is quite the fisher.”

Viserion hopped off the beast’s back and pulled it through the surf by its tail. The leviathan was much larger than the one he dropped on the Balerion at sea. It was longer than Drogon, meaning much larger than Viserion. Drogon and Rhaegal suddenly realized a feast was at hand and began belching fire at the leviathan’s head. Viserion did the same at its tail, stopping occasionally to screech at his brothers who were stealing his feast. There was plenty for all.

As Viserion began to eat from the tail, Drogon and Rhaegal found themselves surrounded by flame. Their flames had melted the leviathan’s blubber, which caught fire as it floated in the surf. Soon, the dragons too found themselves on fire. The pair hopped back onto the beach, letting out bursts of dragonfire to burn off the blubber. Soon, all three began pulling the charred and smoking carcass higher up on the beach. There the three brothers settled in to eat, with an occasional snarl or screech among themselves.

“Another day in dragon motherhood,” Daenerys said while rolling her eyes. “Let’s break our fast.”

____________________

After breaking fast in chambers with Missandei, Daenerys called for Grey Worm. He came immediately, and asked “what does my Queen require?”

Daenerys closed the door to her quarters, turned to Grey Worm and Missandei, answering in a low voice. “Have your men keep closer watch on the council, except Rakharo. Ser Gerold and Maester Pylos too. You too, Missandei. Have them keep count and the time ravens come and leave the rookery. None should leave that I do not know about. I wish to know of any that arrive, no exceptions.”

“Is there something wrong your Grace? Do you suspect treason?” Missandei asked while Grey Worm nodded.

The Queen answered, “Not treason, at least not yet. Perhaps just loose lips. A man in the fishing village seems to have some knowledge of our plans. Discretely find him, but don’t take him. Keep him under watch.”

“I walked the trail from Dragonstone to the village,” Grey Worm offered. “It is not secure. I will place men among ruins I saw to keep watch there too.”

“Thank you, Grey Worm. It’s time for our council meeting. It should prove interesting,” the Queen finished while leaving her chambers.

____________________

Daenerys, Missandei, and Grey Worm entered the Chamber together. The two guards that had escorted them took posts outside the door. The second door was already guarded, and bolted from the inside. They were the last to arrive; the council had been chatting about the spectacle occurring on the beach. Olenna and Ellaria sat at the opposite far ends of the Painted Table. Better to see each other and those in the room. Daenerys took her customary seat at the center, facing the door leading to the Great Hall. She was flanked by Tyrion and Missandei. Statuettes were in place all over the table. Varys’ little birds have been providing information on the enemy. The locations of her own forces were better known.

Daenerys began with questions that would shake up her council, “Tyrion, whom do you serve?”

Tyrion quickly turned to her with a confused look, “I serve you, Queen Daenerys, rightful heir to the Iron Throne?”

Who else? “Daenerys shot back.”

“None else,” Tyrion answered with conviction.

The Queen continued, “Very well. Varys, whom do you serve?”

Varys expected to be asked next and answered after a taking a deep breath, “Your Grace, I serve the Realm, the people of Westeros, and you, the rightful Queen of the seven kingdoms.”

“In that order, Varys?” Daenerys glared at her advisor. “Why do you not serve just the Queen and no others? Do you not believe serving me also serves the Realm and the people?”

Varys could see that his Queen was laying a trap, to make him stumble. For a moment he thought of her father, then answered, “My service to the Realm is why I serve you, your Grace. I have sworn to serve you as the best possible outcome for the Realm and its people. The Realm will go on after your reign, your reign will assure the Realm and its people continue to thrive through all that you will bring it.”

Olenna smirked knowing where this line of questioning came from. Their talk the night previous made the queen wonder how somebody in the village knew anything of the council’s deliberations. It was not her intent to have Daenerys do this, but she was pleased the Queen was being a dragon.

“Be sure of your priorities, Varys” Daenerys said sternly. “You are a valued advisor, but I will send you away or worse if you do not remain true.”

As if on cue, a dragon screeched outside. Everybody in the room knew what “or worse” meant.

“Olenna, what is your recommendation on how to retake the Iron Throne and all of Westeros?” the Queen asked as a formality.

Olenna remained seated and leaned forward on the Painted Table, picking up a piece in the north that was – perhaps a Wildling? She said what everybody expected, “House Tyrell is of the same heart and mind as Dorne. The faster you, take King’s Landing, reclaim the throne, and rule as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the better for all involved. Waiting is inaction. Inaction shows indecision. I believe you need a decisive victory.”

Tyrion sighed and looked down, then took a deep drink. Varys showed no expression. The others in the room nodding in agreement.

The Queen set their world in motion if not on fire: “I have made my decision, here now is your Queen’s intent. After our forces have rested, trained, and prepared for battle, they will proceed to take King’s Landing as their primary objective. Cersei will be dethroned and I will sit on the Iron Throne as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You will avoid killing or harming the innocent. You will crush all resistance where you may find it while letting those willing to bend the knee live. There will be no pillaging, raping, or reaving by my soldiers or the Ironborn on the pain of death by dragonfire.”

Having stated her intent, the Queen let others fill in high level details. Ser Barristan rose, holding a parchment with notes he had prepared and began speaking, “In consult with others in this room and leaders among our forces, our general plan is to take Kings Landing in a three-pronged attack with a pincer movement.” Rakharo didn’t know what a “pincer” was, but understood “prongs.” Ser Barristan continued, “Once the Unsullied, Freedmen, and returning Westerosi Second Sons have trained together to coordinate their forces, they will land at the mouth of the Wendwater, here.” Ser Barristan moved pieces representing these men from Dragonstone and Driftmark across the Blackwater Bay to shore. After landing, they will begin marching along the Kingswood to the King’s Road. They will proceed westward, paralleling the Blackwater until they reach the crossing on the Gold Road. There they will meet the Reach’s and Dorne’s forces or make camp to await them. Enemy resistance is expected from the Lannisters and their banners, plus the Tarlys. We do not know what the Stormlanders intend, but if they oppose us, we will destroy them.

Leaving the combined forces on the Gold Road for now, Ser Barristan let Rakharo speak for the Dothraki’s maneuvers. Rakharo had been practicing in the common tongue for just this moment.

“Khalessi,” Rakharo began with the Dothraki title for Daenerys, “once we are sure the Unsullied have reached the Gold Road, the Dothraki will land in the Crownlands here, above Duskendale.” Rakharo moved three calvary statuettes on the Painted Table. The Dothraki will take along some Westerosi riders to teach our way of war. This may be useful during your reign, long that it will be.”

Daenerys understood that some if not most Dothraki would return to Essos. There is no place for their way of life in Westeros. Yet, this was the first overt hint she had head from Rakharo or her other bloodriders.

“Aggo and Jhogo will lead, “Rakharo said moving two pieces westward. “I will control the rear and be ready for counter attack. We will take Duskendale then proceed on this road to here, Rosby. After taking Rosby, we will camp here, midway between Rosby and the Iron Gate.” Rakharo first pushed the two leading pieces to the camp, then brought up his to join them. He toppled pieces representing the enemy as his moved westward. “There we will wait until your orders to attack, Khalessi.”

“Excellent,” the Queen said. “Thank you for wishing me a long reign. As there is much work to do in Westeros, I indeed hope to.” She turned to Yara and asked, “Yara, you are the middle prong, I suppose. How will you contain Euron?”

Yara took her turn, leaning over the pieces representing her ships and Euron’s. “Most of the ships you brought from Meereen are not suitable for fighting. Some are and I will include those in my fleet. The greatest threat from Euron, as I see it, is his interfering with our landings on the Wendwater and Duskendale. As of now, he closer to King’s Landing than to Driftmark. Once your first forces are landed, I believe he will make a run at Dragonstone or Driftmark. We will block him. I have ordered to have catapults installed on the largest longships to attack without ramming and boarding. We do not have time nor materials to build ballistae as Euron has.”

“I have dragons to throw at Euron,” Daenerys said wishfully. Her advisors squirmed, having made plans to conquer Kings Landing without the Queen riding into battle. Yet they knew she would not be held back. “Once you have cleared the Blackwater Bay, what then?”

“I have spoken with Tyrion regarding the secret entrances into the Red Keep and tunnels under Kings Landing. Ironborn can exploit these to enter the Red Keep to open gates, harass the Lannisters, or kill whomever stands in the way.”

“If you survive a head to head fight with Euron,” Tyrion added while raising his glass. “Taking the tunnels is more important. Cersei has Wildfire cached in these tunnels. We should expect her to use it defending the city, or destroy it when facing death and defeat.”

Daenerys was shocked that Cersei had the means to destroy the city. Queen of Ashes indeed. Displeased that Tyrion hadn’t discussed this with her earlier, she had a few things to say and ask before closing the meeting. It had gone better than she expected, her council had done its work beforehand. “How long will it take the Dornish to march to the Gold Road? For the Unsullied?” Daenerys asked of no one in particular.

“Two moons from Dorne to the Gold Road,” Ser Gerold answered. “Provided they do not have to fight battles along the way.”

“One moon for the Unsullied, then another to the King’s Gate. We assume to fight the Lannisters and Tarlys along the way,” Grey Worm said with confidence.

“The Dothraki will be waiting on the others,” Rakharo added with a grin without being asked.

After splitting from the ships landing at Dragonstone, the remaining fleet sailed to Driftmark. Theon led a scouting trip on fast launches to pick landing sites, preferably beaches. He returned to report several suitable sites along the north shore, away from the Gullet. He described the bottom as thick with oysters leading up to coarse sand. Perfect for longships.

Yara reminded Theon that they cannot leave the south shore along the Gullet unwatched. Chastened, the apprentice fleet commander sent four longships to patrol the shore. He gave orders to stay out of sight, and to quickly bring word if Euron’s ships were seen. Other Ironborn men would later cross Driftmark to keep watch from shore.

The longships were packed with Unsullied as they made their turn to land. Theon was on the lead ship, shouting at the oarsmen “row faster or you’ll jump off into neck deep water!” The Unsullied helping to row the ship picked up the pace, the Ironborn did the same. The other captains repeated Theon’s commands as the line of ships raced to shore. As they cleared the oyster beds, some of which rose above the waterline, men lifted the rudders. Ships skidded to a halt on the sand as Unsullied jumped out carrying weapons and packs to rush up the beach. “Empty,” a centurion exclaimed, which was the best outcome.

Empty longships rowed back out to load Unsullied and some Dothraki on horseback from the larger ships that could not approach the shoreline. These Dothraki were happy not to swim their horses. Other horses were unceremoniously pushed out into the water, they instinctively began to swim to shore. Some Dothraki screamers went into the water on horseback, excited by the novelty of it all. The others chose to board longships for the short trip to shore.

The Unsullied second in command, Red Tongue, wasted no time on shore. As his men came ashore, he quickly had them organize in their assigned centuries. He had little time to finish training the young Unsullied. They would begin the next morning and train until sunset. He commanded the first assembled century to secure Castle Driftmark. Red Tongue expected it to be unoccupied; it would serve as his base on the island.

Meanwhile, arriving Dothraki organized in the way only Dothraki do. Meaning, not much at all. Aggo and Jhogo were among the first to land. They quickly sent riders out to find fresh water and locate the grazing grounds. They would move their horde to the edge of the grasslands and make their camp there.

The next day, Red Tongue, meeting with Aggo and Jhogo noted that the landing was moving faster than expected. Mostly because more and more Dothraki chose to mount their horses while the beasts swam to shore. Aggo had visions of a Dothraki horde screaming, as they came up on a shoreline to destroy a defending army. Certainly an idea for the future.

“The speed of our landing is fortunate,” Red Tongue observed. “We will have to do it again in about a moon’s turn.” Red Tongue had been confident that the Unsullied would later land at the Wendwater and the Dothraki to the north near Duskendale. He had not learned which battle plan was chosen, but the imp’s and round bald man’s ideas for attack were absurd.

Aggo agreed, “It will take longer for the Unsullied to reach King’s Landing than the Dothraki. We will linger longer here and leave after your men are gone.”

“This is better for the Dothraki,” Jahgo added. “If ships carrying the Unsullied are seen, the enemy will think they are the only invaders. The Dothraki will attack with complete surprise.”

Red Tongue thought about this. If his invading force were attacked while still in the Blackwater Bay, what would they do? He knew the Ironborn mostly fought by ramming each other’s ships, boarding, and fighting hand to hand. His men could do this and quickly feed the dead enemy to sea creatures. But what of their ships? Would enough survive to land his fighters? Surely Yara and her men would capture enemy ships for his men to continue to shore. Still, an unpleasant diversion he’d rather do without.

Aggo snapped Red Tongue out of his thoughts, “Tomorrow I will send riders to the fishing village named Spicetown and castle called Hide Tide. We will leave sentinels on fast horses to keep watch. They can ride hard to our camp if enemies are seen.”

“That is good,” Red Tongue replied. “Unsullied have taken watch on the south shore, perhaps you can send men on horses to carry messages back to camp.”

“I can, and I will,” Aggo said before mounting his horse to leave.

The Dothraki arrived at Spicetown soon after its inhabitants broke fast. Theon Greyjoy came along riding a borrowed horse. Another group rode to castle High Tide. There the riders found smallfolk working the castle grounds, but no obvious man in command or any other leadership. After convincing themselves the castle was safe, they rode on to Spicetown to join the others.

The smallfolk in Spicetown gave the strange men on horses a wide berth. Although the people did not back into their houses to hide, they stepped away from the Dothraki scouting the streets. Theon had regained most of his highborn demeanor that he lost to a creature named Reek while held captive by Ramsay Bolton. He had heard the bastard was dead. A man dared to ask Theon “What is this?” Theon simply answered, “A patrol.”

So far, the small fishing village seemed safe. As the first Dothraki riders neared the docks, they spotted a group of men with the bearing and dress unlike villagers. A rider turned to wave Theon over. Theon’s face grew grim as he gazed at the men. Ironborn men, apparently loyal to Euron. He rode down to the docks, “Who are you?” he asked with a firm voice.

“Who in hell are you?” an Ironborn responded. He appeared to be their leader.

“I am Theon Greyjoy, brother to Yara, Queen of the Iron Islands. Again, who are you?” Theon showed no respect to these unexpected men.

“That slut Yara is no Queen. I heard you lost your cock to a bastard. Is that true?” The man showed no respect either.

Theon dismounted and drew his sword. Striding up to the man, sword at the ready, he demanded, “You will not speak of my sister in that manner. You have one more chance, who are you?”

“I am Balon, son of Germund, of House Botley,” the highborn man answered. “Why are you here, Theon of House Greyjoy?”

Theon thought how to answer. These men were the enemy. He anticipated a fight, a fight his side would win easily. He told the truth, “I am here to scout this village for enemies of Queen Daenerys Targaryen. Thousands of these riders and other men are here to take the Iron Throne in her name. Thousands more are coming as we speak.”

“So, the dragon bitch is for real? She’s come to fuck her way to the crown? I’m available!” An Ironborn standing off to the side shouted insults.

A Dothraki rider, enraged by the insult, shouted, “You will not speak of our Khalessi in that manner! Die vulgar slime!” The rider charged the man, arakh drawn, in one swing slicing the man’s head through from crown to neck. The man collapsed, blood intended for his brain pulsing out onto the ground.

In the melee that followed, all but two of Euron’s men were slain. Balon was slow to parry as Theon ran his sword through the man’s chest. None of the Dothraki nor Theon were hurt. This time, the villagers ran back into their homes and shops, not wanting anything to do with slaughter in their streets. The two survivors were bound and dragged up to the village for questioning.

“Shall we start again?” Theon mocked with anger. “We have two demands, the first is to cooperate and tell us what we ask. The second, after the you’ve cooperated, is to bend the knee to Queen Daenerys.”

“And if we do not cooperate? If we do not choose to bend the knee?” The older of the two men asked.

Theon answered without hesitation, “If you do not cooperate, you will die right here. If you do cooperate and chose not to bend the knee, you will die by dragonfire, never to join the Drowned God. Let me not pressure you, it’s your choice.

“What do you want to know,” the younger captive spoke up. The older man said nothing, resigned to aiding his enemy.

“Why are you here? How did you get here, I see no boat or longship,” Theon asked, needing to know if these men were sent here by Euron or simply lost.

The older man spoke, “We sailed here on a smaller longship to raid and reave this village. On the way, we wrecked on rocks in fog. Half the men drowned, we are now the last two survivors.”

“Ironborn wrecking on rocks? I cannot believe it,” Theon said incredulously.

“We had a poor captain who was a worse navigator,” the older man placed blame squarely on his dead leader. “We shouldn’t have left the fleet in the first place.”

“What have you been doing here since? For how long? The village folk do not seem frightened of you,” Theon continued questioning the pair.

The same man answered, “We have been here for a moon’s turn, awaiting rescue, none coming. We lit fires atop the castle nearby, but no ships came for us. I doubt the fleet look outs could see our signal, too far away.”

Theon realized that Euron was keeping the fleet together. If some ships had been patrolling the Blackwater Bay, they would have seen the signal fires. Euron must know that a longship had gone missing. Keeping the fleet together, likely near King’s Landing, is more important than looking for strays.

Beginning to understand Euron’s motives, Theon continued, “How many ships are in Euron’s fleet? How many of what type and size? What weapons are on board?”

Both men now looked at each other. To answer would be pure treason. To not answer is death. They chose life, the younger man spoke again, “Euron has 300 ships, give or take. Of these, one third are galleys and converted carracks. Perhaps a dozen cogs. The rest are large and smaller longships. All the galleys and carracks carry catapults mounted amidships. About 50 galleys have scorpions mounted on the foredeck.

“Scorpions? What are scorpions? Theon asked, not familiar with the term.

The younger man continued, “Scorpions are a type of ballista or immense crossbow, they fire large bolts to great distance and at great speed. A single bolt will pass through two galleys if hit while aside each other. Flaming bolts can be fired to great height and distance to rain down on forts, towns, and the like. Much further than by catapult.”

This was not good news for Yara’s fleet. Catapults are inaccurate against ships while at sea. But these scorpions could stop a ship intending on ramming and boarding another. Theon wondered if they could hit a dragon. The next, and last question came to mind.

“Are these scorpions possessed only by Euron? Have you seen others, elsewhere?” Theon asked, now concerned for the battles to come.

“No,” the older man began, “Euron simply saw their utility and proceeded to build them for the fleet. More are being built at King’s Landing. They can be mounted on carts and towed into battle. That bitch of a queen Cersei is mounting them on the walls around King’s Landing. I do not know how many, but she will give none to Euron.”

“Bitch Queen?” Theon asked with a laugh. “No love for Cersei, I see.”

“I know of no one who loves Cersei. Not even Euron and he’s fucking her,” the old man replied, grinning broadly.

The captives would remain so until bending the knee to Daenerys. Theon had no idea when this could occur, so he kept them bound up. Both were placed on a horse the Dothraki found in the village. Theon wanted to pay the owner, but one could not be found. Theon and two Dothraki left the others behind, riding hard to Castle Driftmark, stopping only to water the horses.

At one of these stops, Theon thought out loud, “This news must reach the Queen and her council quickly. If only we had ravens!”

“What are ravens?” one of the Dothraki asked.

Theon never thought that ravens might be unknown in the Great Grass Sea. He answered, “Ravens are a large black bird. Very intelligent, if they hate you they will for life. They can be trained to carry scrolls, messages, between castles and manors with rookeries. Rookeries are where trained ravens live.”

“I told you not to shoot and eat that bird near camp!” one Dothraki said to the other.

“You killed and ate a raven?” Theon asked, surprised. “Was it carrying a scroll?”

The other Dothraki answered sheepishly, “I do not know. I did not know to look for one. I would not know what one would look like if I saw it. I will not shoot more ravens. The bird tasted awful.”

“I hope for your sake, it did not,” Theon scolded the rider. Dragonstone may have been sending us a message. A properly trained raven could return to its rookery with our news. Unless another is sent, I must sail to Dragonstone immediately.

Yara greeted Theon’s news with mixed feelings. She was glad that Euron’s fleet was staying together near King’s Landing. She did not have to worry about his ships attacking hers while transporting men and horses to shore. The scorpions terrified her. She had read that such a weapon was used by Dorne to kill a dragon and its rider. She did not expect that now they had the power to sink ships. Yara could lose half her fleet to scorpions before boarding a single enemy ship. “Damn,” she thought. As for this shooting high and far to bombard towns, then perhaps Euron could take aim at a dragon. She was sure Euron believed that Daenerys had dragons. It was his nature to believe in the unexpected.

Yara turned to Theon speaking of her next move, “Theon, you will stay here and prepare for the landings. I will sail to Dragonstone with this news. I should be with the council anyway. I will rejoin the Iron fleet when the invasion begins. Winds are favorable for fast sailing to Dragonstone, I must leave now.”

Yara would take the fastest longship, fitted with sails and oars. She carried a scroll prepared by Theon containing the details he learned. “Good luck and good sailing, may the Drowned God see to your safe passage!”

“Thank you, brother,” Yara said as they embraced. Soon we’ll need the Drowned God’s blessing more than ever. She turned away and waded out to her ship.

____________________

Yara had been away for nearly half a day. The sun was setting in the west while Theon enjoyed dinner with some Unsullied and Ironborn. They were eating oysters hacked from bars near shore and fish caught with nets the Ironborn brought along. The Ironborn roasted oysters over fire before eating the meats. The Unsullied split open the shells with daggers and took them raw. The smallish oily fish, about the length of a man’s hand, were roasted on sticks and eaten whole. All Theon needed was some good Northern ale.

Theon was looking east along the castle walls. In the fading light, he saw a large bird fly into a castle window. He dropped the fish he was eating, lit a torch, and ran inside. After a short search he found the bird, a raven, sitting on a wooden table near the window. It carried a scroll! He took the raven under his arm and pulled off the scroll. It bore the Hand’s seal, a message from Dragonstone. He went back to the fire to read the scroll, the Unsullied and other Ironborn huddled close to hear Theon read.

“The Queen commands Yara to return to Dragonstone immediately. Her presence is required on the War Council.” “That’s easy,” Theon thought, “she’s already left.” The Ironborn, Unsullied, Freedmen, and Westerosi fighters shall prepare to sail south in one moon’s turn. The Dothraki will sail north no later than two moons from now.” “The Iron Fleet will defend the transport ships, then remain in the Blackwater Bay awaiting further orders. Signed, Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen.” Thoughts passed through Theon’s head, “No locations for the landings yet, but we can guess about where.”

“That’s nice,” Theon uttered softly. “Awaiting further orders while floating in the bay.”

“I believe further orders will come quickly once Yara brings your news to the council,” said one of the Ironborn captains.

“No doubt,” Theon answered. “Wait, we now have a raven! Surely it knows how to return to Dragonstone, Varys would choose no other.” Theon carried some parchment and fashioned a quill. Now he just needed ink, Yara had taken the ink he used for the scroll she carried. He found some blackberries growing against the castle walls. Their juice would have to do. He returned to the room with the table, torch and raven in hand. There were candles on a shelf. He lit the candles and began crushing blackberries and writing.

The message began, “Hopefully this scroll arrives before Yara, she departed earlier in the day by fast longship under sail and oar. She brings important news.” Theon continued with the detail he previously wrote out on the scroll carried by his sister. Satisfied with his writing, Maester Luwin at Winterfell taught him well, he dripped wax from the candle. He pressed his ring bearing the Greyjoy sigil into the wax. Theon affixed the scroll to the raven’s leg. Taking it to the window, he cast the raven outward. “Fly fast and true, my friend,” Theon said as the raven flew off.

Yara landed on the beach at Dragonstone. She raced to the gate. The guards were told to expect her and let her pass. She ran up the long winding staircase, exhausted when she reached the dragon doors leading into the Great Hall. The guards there also expected her and opened the doors. Yara asked the guards, “I must see the council! Where do I go?” The guards called for an escort who happened to be waiting nearby. He took her up to the Chamber of the Painted Table. Inside, she saw Tyrion, Varys, Ser Barristan, and Ser Jorah. She had not expected to see Jorah, who she knew was sent away by Queen Daenerys because he had greyscale.

“I bring important news!” Yara explained breathlessly. She held out the scroll, handing it to Tyrion.

“We know the news,” Tyrion said. “We received a raven from Castle Driftmark bearing the Greyjoy seal. It was signed by Theon. He wrote of your departure, so we believed it is not some trick by Euron.”

“A raven?” Yara asked. We had no ravens on Driftmark. “Let me see the seal.” Tyrion handed her the scroll. “That is Theon’s signet, the scroll is true,” Yara said to everyone’s relief.

Tyrion explained the coincidence, “We had sent a raven to Castle Driftmark commanding you to Dragonstone. Apparently, it arrived a few hours after you had left. Theon sent it back with the news you bring. Sit, have something to drink, then let’s talk about these scorpions.”

Theon recovered a raven, it appeared to be the same one from before, with a scroll acknowledging his message and Yara’s arrival. “We are planning around the new threat,” the scroll ended. Theon took this as meaning scorpions. There was no mention of delaying the invasion. “Rest then go eat, my friend,” Theon said to the raven. The bird had made three crossings between Dragonstone and Driftmark and deserved some down time, he thought. The raven settled in on the shelf with candles, promptly tucking its head into a wing to sleep.

____________________

Red Tongue had called the Dothraki to council at the castle. Aggo and Jhogo arrived with a half dozen men. Theon recognized one of the riders as the Dothraki that defended the Queen’s honor at Spicetown. He nodded to the man, who returned the same. Their discussions were brief, mostly agreeing that no changes to their preparations were needed. The Unsullied should expect to sail in less than one moon, the Dothraki at the following moon turn. Red Tongue mentioned that training of the new Unsullied was going well. The training is brutal, but only a few dropped out. Meaning only a few died. Aggo had been eyeing a bucket partially filled with sea water. “What are those?” He asked.

“Oysters,” Red Tongue said curtly.

“What do you do with them?” Aggo seemed interested in the bucket of stony things called oysters.

“We eat them, like this.” Aggo deftly opened an oyster with his dagger. After cutting the meat from the shell, he ate it whole, chewing a bit before swallowing.”

Aggo seemed repulsed, “That looks like horse snot!”

“I prefer to roast mine before eating,” Theon added. “But many take them raw from the shell. Try one!”

Aggo nodded that he would try one. Red Tongue shucked the oyster and handed it to the Dothraki. Aggo pondered over the oyster, then ate it mimicking Red Tongue. His eyes opened wide and motioned to Red Tongue for another.

“This tastes like nectar from the Great Stallion!” Aggo exclaimed, the other Dothraki moving closer. “Show me how to open them!”

Aggo began shucking and eating oysters. His riders joined in with the same enthusiasm, groaning in pleasure and uttering praises. “Will you teach us how and where to harvest these?” Aggo wanted to know.

Red Tongue smiled while answering, “Come here tomorrow mid-morning, we will show you.”

It’s often said that when Dothraki gather, a death among them is not uncommon. So it was that one of the riders shouted out, “This must be what the Khalessi tastes like!”

The rider who had earlier defended the Queen’s honor, shoved the offender backwards. He drew his arakh, slicing his fellow rider’s head off before he could regain balance. “You will not dishonor the Khalessi!” the rider shouted while lifting the severed head by the braid, then throwing it into the sea.

“Tie a rope around his leg and that tree. Throw his corpse into the bay. Crabs will eat it before nightfall tomorrow!” one of the Unsullied suggested.

“Crabs, what are crabs?” the Khalessi’s defender asked.

“Sea creatures in a hard shell with claws,” Red Tongue answered.

“Do you eat those too?” Aggo asked, not really wanting to know.

“Yes, they are delicious roasted or boiled!” A laughing Red Tongue enjoyed spreading his culinary knowledge.

Aggo seemed aghast, “You eat creatures that eat men?”

“One never knows what a crab last ate, so yes we eat them,” Red Tongue had the last word as Aggo shook his head, showing disgust.

____________________

Daenerys Targaryen freed 8000 Unsullied and 1600 boys in training. Unlike the Dothraki hoard, the Unsullied were an organized force. The basic fighting unit was a century, comprised of 100 fighters, more or less, including their leader, the Centurion. Each century was further divided into decades of 10 men each, again including a leader. Ten centuries made a legion, therefore the Unsullied Army was made of eight legions. Each legion was commanded by one its Centurions, who would have a deputy to lead the century when needed. Grey Worm had been selected by these Centurions to be the Army commander.

Of these eight legions, one was left in Meereen, along with about 500 boys in training. Those boys were earlier in their training than the 1100 who sailed to Westeros with 7000 Unsullied soldiers. Training those boys could be brutal. Injuries and deaths were not uncommon. Although deaths were unfortunate, injuries taught the boys to fight with pain. Grey Worm never spoke to Daenerys about the training regimen. To her, each of her fighter’s lives was precious. She knew it to be harsh, and never asked other than in general terms.

Once soldiers, the young Unsullied would leave training field to join a century. A trainer would inform the man “you are ready” before sending him off. Grey Worm was building an eighth legion on Driftmark. Soldiers moved to the steadily forming legion, replaced and augmented with freshly trained Unsullied. Grey Worm wished he had more time for the newly comprised units to train together. Yet, he agreed with his Queen that an attack on Kings Landing must happen sooner, rather than later.

Yara had stayed on Dragonstone after her mad dash a fortnight earlier. She had met Ser Jorah, spending hours with a fellow islander talking about the seas and shores between her Iron Islands and his Bear Island. In another fortnight, her fleet would be bringing the Unsullied and other fighters to the Wendwater. A moon turn later, Ser Jorah would ride alongside Rakharo and the Dothraki. There would be no time for talk then.

____________________

So came the last full War Council meeting before invading. Lady Olenna did not take part, having had her say on the battle plans. Ellaria was there with her advisor Arron, she being happy to have Yara nearby again. The Sand Snakes were attending to their own business elsewhere on Dragonstone. Yara noticed that Tyrion seemed nervous. It may be because they were meeting for perhaps the last time before killing his sister, she thought. As usual, Varys had no expression that would give away his thoughts. The Queen walked into the room with a look of determination and confidence. A true Dragon. Grey Worm and Missandei accompanied her. Was there something between those two? Maester Pylos sat alone at a small high table, parchment, quill, and ink at the ready.

“Here we are again,” the Queen began. “Grey Worm, are the Unsullied ready to sail? Ser Gerold, are your men ready to join the Unsullied?”

Grey Worm responded first after receiving a nod from Ser Gerold, “My Queen, the Unsullied are ready. Seven legions will sail from Driftmark, the legion here on Dragonstone will follow. I will leave two hundred soldiers behind to protect you here.”

Ser Gerold filled the pause left by Grey Worm, “Your Grace, one company of Westerosi Second Sons will remain here with the Unsullied defenders. The two companies and freed Essosi will land at the Wendwater first to secure the site and begin scouting to the west.”

“Kingswood is the Crown’s private hunting ground,” Tyrion advised. “You shouldn’t run into any men, if you do they are poachers. You should kill them.”

“You will not kill hungry men looking for game in the woods!” Said an angered Daenerys. Explain to them that they will soon be hungry no more, take them along and treat them well.

Tyrion sighed. Poaching was a universal crime, punishable by any who came across it. Hungry or not, poachers have always been summarily executed on the spot. This queen was truly different.

Ser Gerold continued to explain how the Second Sons would continue to scout ahead after the force leaves the Kingswood. Unlike the Unsullied and Essosi fighters, Westerosi on horse or foot would not raise much alarm if seen plainly dressed without sellsword insignia or banners.

Daenerys turned to Rakharo, “I presume my Dothraki are ready today and still will be when their time arrives?”

“Yes, Khalessi. They are anxious for war, to kill your enemies, to take your city,” was the Dothraki’s candid answer. “I have listened to Grey Worm’s counsel. The Dothraki will fight as two Khalasars with Aggo and Jhogo commanding. I will ride with Jorah, he knows the Dothraki and Westerosi ways.”

“Very good!” the Queen exclaimed. “I am happy that this council is advising each other.”

Yara then stood to speak, “Your Grace, this morning a scout ship came in reporting that elements of the second wave from Meereen should now be less than two moons away. The scout captain says that nearly 10,000 Dothraki with horse are led by a man named “Torgo.”

Rakharo spoke again, “Torgo is a good man, fierce and brave. I am happy that he has taken the lead. Less than two moons puts them at Driftmark soon after we attack Duskendale. Perhaps they should sail straight to Duskendale and not stop earlier.”

“That is a splendid plan, Rakharo,” said Ser Jorah. “Your Grace, we have an excellent plan to take Kings Landing. But there is one weakness that I propose we resolve.”

“Go on, Ser Jorah,” Daenerys said encouragingly while being formal with a dear friend.

Jorah went on, “The weakness is that almost all horses are with the Dothraki on the northern prong. If our enemies from the south attack along the Gold Road with cavalry, we will prevail, but at great cost. With Torgo’s reinforcements landing at Duskendale sooner than expected, take 10,000 fresh fighters from Aggo and Jhago, to be replaced by Torgo’s. Have them ride around and wide of King’s Landing, to meet Grey Worm and Ser Gerold on the Gold Road.”

“How long is this ride you propose?” Rakharo appeared intrigued. He men would rather ride than camp outside King’s Landing.

“A fortnight or not much longer,” Jorah answered. “The timing is fortunate, we will have the forces we need, where we need them, when we need them.”

“I agree to this change, Khalessi,” Rakharo had turned to the Queen to speak. “The Great Stallion has favored you with timing. If Torgo does not arrive in time, then we proceed as before.”

Daenerys lifted her eyebrows, happy to have her men cooperate so readily. “If there are no objections among the council, so be it.” There were none.

Ironborn longships plied the misty waters of Blackwater Bay, approached the Wendwater mouth. Rowing for the last hour, the Second Sons scouts would arrive before sunrise, not that anybody could see them through the morning fog. The landing beach was narrow, on the mouth where the river scoured the bottom forming a channel and tides worked to fill it in twice a day. Floodwaters flowing from the Stormlands would completely open the channel, beginning the cycle anew. Northeasterly winds made for a quick sail from Dragonstone. No other ships were seen. If the weather held, the Unsullied following the scouts would have good sailing as well.

The scouts quickly disembarked, the beach made for dry feet when coming off over the bow. The scouts carried little other than their weapons. Two day’s water, some wine and ale to be consumed sparingly, a few food items, and not much else. They would live off the rich land. The only sizable cargo was a two wheeled cart with large wheels that could be pulled by one man. On the cart were cages housing a half dozen ravens. Maester Pylos promised that these ravens would only fly to Dragonstone. On the cart were quills, ink, and parchment. Not many believed that the maester also had several ravens that would fly from Dragonstone to this cart, then return. The scouts did not expect to be visited by ravens, but Pylos insisted they could be if needed.

As the landing beach filled with men, others began trekking into the forest. Any contacts or worthwhile sightings would be relayed back through teams of scouts to the rear, where the Unsullied would be. Lothar and Marlen walked forward, forming the spear’s point for now.

“I walked these woods as a boy, with my brother and father,” Lothar said in a low voice. The trees and leaf litter bringing back memories of a happier time.

Marlen was surpised, “Is that so? What was your father doing in the Kingswood?”

“Father was with Rhaegar Targaryen’s hunting party. Lord Rhaegar was not much for hunting, but he carried a harp and sang!” Lothar answered with a smile.

“A harp and singing on a hunting trip! The deer were safe that day, I’m sure,” Marlen said while imagining the silver haired knight strumming his harp and singing while moving through the forest. “Tell me, Lothar, are your brother and father still alive?”

Lothar sighed, “Father died during the rebellion, at the Trident not far from where Lord Rhaegar fell. My brother was sent to the wall for being a loyalist. Whether he lives or not, I do not know.”

“Isn’t that something?” Marlen said while shaking his head. “Your father died fighting for the Targaryens. Your brother was banished to the Wall. Now here you are sworn to Rhaegar’s sister, the last Targaryen. The gods move in mysterious ways.”

Lothar stopped and turned to Marlen saying, “I fight for Queen Daenerys because I believe in her. Her father was mad, but she is good. Rhaegar should have been King. Soon we will have a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Tywin Lannister betrayed his King. His son killed the King. His daughter usurped the Iron Throne. The gods choose to correct a wrong.”

“Aye,” said Marlen, his northern accent awakening with his return to Westeros.

____________________

A small number of Second Sons remained near the landing beach as the first longships carrying the Unsullied appeared in the distance. Yesterday’s fog did not return so they could see masts creeping over the horizon. The raven cart, as it was now named, was with them. They broke fast on oily fish the Ironborn netted the day before. Ronard, the scout commander, grabbed a fish, gibbed it, and began roasting it on a stick over their small and concealed fire.

“If we thought to bring salt and a cask, we could have taken fish along with us on the march,” Ronard said wistfully. “Fill your stomachs men, these fish must hold you all day.”

Ronard’s second in command, Mickon answered, “The fish are good but I’d rather come across a hog. Better yet poachers with a hog dead and quartered already. In this weather, the meat will keep for several days.”

“What would we do with the poachers? The Queen commanded we don’t kill them. I don’t see taking them along, so then what?” Ronard asked, the other men grunting in agreement.

One of the younger men spoke up, “Her Grace didn’t say we can’t gag them, bind them to a tree, and leave them. Let the Unsullied deal with them.”

Ronard replied, nodding in agreement, “Good idea, we’ll do that. I’ll let Grey Worm know our intent so that they don’t think we are failing on our mission.”

Mickon asked, “What do you think of these Unsullied? Are they as good as claimed?”

“As good or better,” was Ronard’s response, getting the attention of the entire group. “I’ve watched them train. I’ve watched them train their young. Intense, almost brutal. Their allegiance to the Queen is unshakable. They would die for her without question.”

“That’s much like what I have seen in Meereen,” said another man in the group. I saw one Unsullied throw himself against six Sons of the Harpy. He died, but took them all with him. I only worry that we are without horsemen. Enemy cavalry can hurt us bad once we clear the Kingswood.”

The scouts then sat in silence, eating their fish. If their lead scouts spotted cavalry, they would send a raven to Dragonstone and try to avoid contact. Ronard had spoken to Grey Worm about this, but the Unsullied commander did not seem too concerned. He knew that many Dothraki would ride around King’s Landing to meet them on the Gold Road. It was getting to the Gold Road over open terrain that worried him.

____________________

The longship skidded to a halt on the beach and Grey Worm was first to climb out over the bow. He walked straight to Ronard to get a report.

“Have your scouts made any sightings?” asked Grey Worm, not bothering with any greeting.

“None, Commander,” Ronard answered. He was a bit intimidated by Grey Worm for the man’s intensity and closeness to the Queen. Referring to him as “commander” was a sign of his respect. “I have sent scouts to fan out westward and to the southwest. Those to the southwest will scout along the King’s Road until meeting us when we cross the Roseroad. The westerly scouts should cross the Roseroad a day ahead of us.”

“Good,” Grey Worm answered without any emotion. “I expect they will stay in front of us. Unsullied march quickly.”

Ronard expected to be challenged. So, he continued to reassure, “They will. They move in small teams or pairs. If one falters, the next will pass them. I caution that we do not get too far in front of our healers and supply train.”

Grey Worm answered appearing annoyed, “If we need healers, they will catch up. The supply van will catch up when we camp. If your scouts do their job, the left flank will be secure.”

“Do not worry about the scouts. The healers and supply van flank will be secure,” Ronard replied, almost getting angry at his commander.

“Very well. Move out now. The Unsullied will form up and begin marching from the ships. Report back to me at least once each day. I will be with the lead century,” said Grey Worm, beginning the land phase of the invasion.

Ronard began barking orders at his team. The raven cart would head directly west with him. He realized he forgot to tell Grey Worm of his intent with poachers. Now is not the time to go back and interrupt his commander. The Unsullied would have to handle it.

More or less than eight thousand Unsullied came ashore that day and into the night. As each century formed, it set out westward. The Ironborn ships sailed back to Driftmark to hold for a moon’s turn before starting again with the Dothraki. As the Unsullied marched, the centuries loosely merged with others to form their respective legions. The terrain set their pace. Avoiding exposure along the Blackwater shoreline, the legions stayed in the forest. The front line of men would expand or contract depending on the land. The ranks behind the front would stretch out, or pull up in response. The rearrangement kept the legions together, but slowed them. The scouts had no trouble keeping ahead of the Unsullied. On the seventh day Ronard fell back to make his daily report, he had good reason to explain his plan for poachers.

“Commander,” Ronard began. “The scouts report no enemy sightings. The first team moving southwest had reached the King’s Road and reports the expected usual traffic. We also . . .”

Grey Worm interrupted, “What is the ‘usual traffic’ that you expected to find on the King’s Road?”

“Wagons carrying food heading to the Stormlands from the Reach. Wagons carrying goods to King’s Landing. A few carriages carrying passengers in either direction. The occasional hedge knight riding along. Smallfolk on foot,” Ronard said, giving his best explanation of Westerosi comings and goings.

Grey Worm appeared satisfied with the explanation. He then asked, “You were about to say something else before I spoke. What is it?”

“We captured two poachers. Your men will find them in less than a day’s march gagged and bound to trees,” said Ronard, finishing his report.

“You bound them to trees for the Unsullied to take care of?” Once again, Grey Worm did not appear to be pleased.

Ronard answered, “We had no choice, commander. They did not resist or fight, so following the Queen’s command, they live. We could not take them with us and expect to remain ahead of you. I could not spare men to stand watch over them. This was my plan all along but neglected to mention it to you on the landing beach.” Ronard immediately regretted saying that he forgot.

“Neglected means you forgot,” Grey Worm responded, his displeasure obvious and gaining the attention of others. “Forgetting gets men killed. Forgetting gets you killed. You do not forget. As for these poachers, what do you suggest we do with them?”

Ronard was relieved the subject moved back to the poachers. He answered, “Take them back through your legions to the supply van. They can be put into service there. If they attempt to flee, I believe the Queen would agree in killing them.”

“Agreed,” said Grey Worm. “In four days, we will reach the King’s Road. I expect your scouts along the road will be there. We must decide then where to emerge from this forest.”

“They will be, commander,” Ronard answered. With no response from Grey Worm, his report was over and he quickly headed west again.

____________________

The King’s Road was unusually quiet that afternoon as the Unsullied halted their march while remaining hidden in the forest. The scouts were waiting for them, pleasing Grey Worm. Ronard sent some teams across the King’s Road into the wood leading to the Roseroad. He would recommend that the Unsullied cross both roads rather than at their juncture to the northwest. It was the more direct route providing more cover in the forest, albeit slower.

At last light, the Unsullied began crossing the road. Each century, in groups of 10 forming a single line 100 men across, bolted across and into the forest. Grey Worm crossed with the last group. They did not stop in the woods between the King’s Road and Rosewood, marching quickly to repeat their crossing maneuver. Three days later, the Unsullied Army emerged from the Kingswood, not far from the Mander River’s headwaters.

Ronard, Mikon, Grey Worm, Red Tongue, and each legion commander huddled at the forest’s edge. “Send two ravens to Dragonstone, stating that the Unsullied have cleared the Kingswood,” Grey Worm commanded.

In the campfire light, Mikon scrawled the message and went off to send the ravens. Ronard began to speak to the Unsullied. “I am sending mounted scouts at first light, south, southwest and west. Those to the south will ride to Grassy Vale. Lord Meadows marches with the Tyrells, but the Stormlanders would pass nearby if joining with the Tarlys. Those to the southwest will stay west of the Mander, looking for the Tarlys. The westward riders will watch for the Lannisters and their loyal houses.”

“We must march fast, but doing so exposes the Unsullied to enemy cavalry,” Red Tongue said, the legion commanders nodding in agreement. “Can your scouts report enemy cavalry before it finds us?”

“The scouts will station men and horses along their path,” Ronard answered. “Fresh men and horses will quickly relay reports to us.”

“Unsullied have defeated cavalry before,” Grey Worm said with confidence, tinted by caution. “The Westerosi have never faced an Unsullied shield wall, nor Unsullied spears.”

“The ravens are off,” said a slightly winded Mikon returning to the group. The Dothraki should soon sail for Duskendale. The pincer will open.”

____________________

With most Unsullied on the mainland, Blue Rat had taken over watching the comings and goings of ravens to the rookery at Dragonstone. Few ravens came and went. None that could not be explained arrived or departed. This morning two arrived in rapid succession. Blue Rat could see Maester Pylos remove the scrolls and turn away. Through another window, he saw the maester hand the scrolls to Varys.

Varys entered the Chamber of the Painted Table to find Yara and Ellaria sitting close, chatting. “Find the Queen! Call the council! Ravens have arrived with news from Grey Worm!” Varys commanded. Yara gave him look that said “why haven’t you done so already.” Reading her thoughts, Varys shuffled out to find the Queen and Hand.

Daenerys had been in Aegon’s garden speaking with Olenna. Ser Jorah had been standing nearby, guarding the pair, joined the Queen and Varys. “What is it?” the Queen asked.

“The Unsullied and Second Sons have passed through the Kingswood,” Varys answered.

“To the Chamber, then,” Daenerys responded. “Sorry to cut our talk short, Olenna. We’ll resume when you feel up to it.” Varys trailed the Queen as she briskly made off for the castle.

Daenerys, Varys, and Jorah entered the Chamber. Tyrion and the others were already there. Yara and Ellaria were seated, albeit further apart. “The Unsullied army is through the Kingswood,” Daenerys spoke, “We should sail the Dothraki to Duskendale now.”

Tyrion began to say that it was too soon, but Rakharo interrupted, “I agree, Khalessi! Torgo’s fleet is waiting north of Dragonstone. The fleet arrived much sooner than we expected. They should land north of Duskendale and join with Aggo and Jhogo. Ten thousand Dothraki will ride immediately to the Gold Road.”

“This will leave the main Dothraki force outside the Iron gate for too long,” Tyrion countered. “They will be vulnerable to skirmishers there.”

“They should sail now, your Grace,” Ser Jorah said, responding to Tyrion’s caution. “The Dothraki can camp in Rosby if skirmish attacks threaten. Our scouts will alert the Khalassar.”

Ser Barristan ended the discussion, “I see no reason to delay. Torgo’s men and horses need to come ashore. Duskendale will fall sooner, rather than later.”

“Make it so, then,” Daenerys commanded. “Yara, sail the Dothraki to Duskendale now. After they have landed, block Euron’s fleet from leaving the top of Blackwater Bay. When Duskendale is secure, I wish to visit on Drogon.”

“As you command, your Grace,” Yara responded while rising; then mouthing a kiss to Ellaria as she left.

“Visit?” Tyrion asked, but Daenerys was already out the door.

____________________

The Unsullied army made its way west, resting from noon to last light, then resuming into the night. The sky was clear and moon turning full. Soon they would meet the Tyrell forces to camp and wait for the Dornish. He expected the Dothraki to meet them on the way to King’s Landing. The Army was again marching west, when in the dim morning light, a small cloud of dust appeared in the south. Riders were approaching. Fast.

Brendel Byrne jumped from his mount seeking Ronard. A sergeant in the Second Sons, he was among the relay riders the scouts had deployed. Finding Ronard with Grey Worm, Brendel says breathlessly, “The Tarlys are less than two day’s march south of us, there are Stormlander banners among them! Nearly 10,000 strong!”

“What is their composition?” Grey Worm asked.

“We saw nearly 1000 archers, followed by about 2000 cavalry, the rest are on foot, including the Stormlanders,” Brendel said, taking a well-earned drink.

“Outnumbered, but we will prevail by keeping the cavalry out of our rear. Archers and infantry do not worry the Unsullied,” Grey Worm said coldly. “Send ravens to Dragonstone now. Tell the Queen we will meet the enemy south of the Gold Road.”

“Immediately!” Ronard answered, running back a small tent where the ravens were held.

Grey Worm ordered his men to rest and eat until called by their centurions. They did as commanded. At first light the next day, they rose, took a meal, and began preparing defensive formations. Grey Worm arranged the 8000 men in a double shield wall, two lines of men in each layer. The forward wall would serve to break the cavalry charge, wounding and killing horse and men alike. The rearward wall stood ready to stop those that broke through from ravaging the rear. He deployed the Second Sons to protect his right flank, should part of opposing force attack there. Whatever mounted troops the Second Sons had would be in the rear, ready to charge the left flank or where needed.

Late in the day, dust rose in the south. As the Unsullied commander expected, the cavalry had stepped in front of the archers. When within range, the archers would fire one or two volleys over the charging cavalry, with the infantry surging forward. But the amount of dust coming at him could only mean the cavalry was charging, without the archer’s support. Grey Worm saw a dark shape forward and his to left. The enemy had seen it too.

Drogon swept across the plain, flying low between the charging cavalry and the Unsullied lines. As the black beast came around, Grey Worm could see a tiny figure, silver braids flowing out from under a helm, and a hint of brightly polished armor. “Where did she get that?” Grey Worm wondered. It must have been Tyrion’s idea.

“Dracarys!” Daenerys commanded, heard only by Drogon. The dragon belched forward a torrent of flame at the charging cavalry. Men and horses burst into flames. Men and horses alike screaming in agony. Grey Worm had never heard horses scream. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it again. Horses collapsed, men fell from their mounts. Melting steel armor burning flesh from bones. Leather armor burning and falling away as copper rivets melted, burning through cloth onto skin beneath. Nearly half of the cavalry was dead, or burned and soon dead from a single pass by the Dragon Queen. As the she brought Drogon around for a second pass, she saw burned and burning men and horses still on the charge. Black smoke from their armor and flesh streaming behind them. She was awed by their courage and tenacity.

Daenerys took Drogon on a wide turn, climbing so that the dragon’s deadly breath laid down a wider swath of flame. She came across the infantry right flank and through the archer’s center. Men fell in flames where they stood. Others ran in all directions, trailing fire while unburned men tried in vain to extinguish their flames. Screams rose from the burning grasses. The archers bravely but with no effect launched a volley of arrows at Drogon. Most fell short, onto terrified infantry. Others bounced harmlessly from Drogon’s scales or burned in flight from his incendiary breath.

About two hundred cavalry on the Unsullied left continued forward, untouched by the Queen’s first pass. Drogon came up from behind and to their right. His fire from greater heights was less intense, but deadly none the less. Armor did not melt but roasted the men wearing it. Horses burned from their tails, manes, and ears. Their eyes melted, bursting out with jelly. One by one they fell to the ground. As did the burning cavalry in the center. The field was littered with burnt men and beasts where they had fallen. Smoke rose and drifted over the Unsullied, leaving an acrid stench.

The surviving cavalry stopped. The men dismounting, then sat on the ground, many with head in hands. The archers dropped their bows, infantry dropped swords. They stood there, awaiting fate. A line of Unsullied moved forward, ending the misery of mortally burned man and beast.

Ronard and Mickon came forward on their mounts. Each stared in horror and awe at what laid before them. They heard moans from burned men, the Unsullied passing them by as wounded, but not mortally. This destruction, this death, by one dragon woman, in the time it takes a thirsty man to drink a tankard of ale.

Daenerys landed Drogon in the rear. The Queen climbed down with atypical difficulty as Drogon lowered his shoulder. She came forward to Grey Worm, embracing the surprised Unsullied.

“Grey Worm! I received your ravens! Ser Barristan said your position was dire! Blue Rat not so much, but I could see worry in his eyes,” the Queen gushed without breathing. Her violet eyes were wide open, burning like the hot sun.

“We would have prevailed, your Grace,” Grey Worm said while hinting at a smile. “I do appreciate your timely assistance, however. Catch your breath, my Queen, then tell me where you got this armor. It appears to be Valyrian steel!”

Daenerys had forgotten she still bore a helm. She removed it revealing a line of soot crossing her face and braids. She removed a glove and with her clean hand, drew it across her face. “I must look a mess,” Daenerys said, now laughing. “Jorah found the helm and armor in vaults below the Great Hall at Dragonstone. We had no idea there were vaults. This armor, this helm, seems to have belonged to my brother, Rhaegar. It’s sized for him as a boy. It fits me perfectly! Do you like it?”

“It’s befitting a Targaryen Queen, your Grace,” Grey Worm replied. The healers are coming forward to assist the wounded. I’ll have a woman help you out of your armor and tend to the soot.

____________________

Daenerys sat on a healer’s cot, in a tent hastily emptied for her. She ate freshly roasted venison from a kill in the Kingswood. Without utensils, she gnawed at it from her hands, reminding her of the stallion’s heart she ate long ago. Starting with water to wet her dry throat, she switched to the weak wine carried by her army. “Not Dornish Red,” Tyrion would say, but appreciated given the circumstances. She ran her finger across the Targaryen sigil embossed on her armor. A Second Son had cleaned it for her, for which she was grateful. She gazed at the rippled patterns in the steel, created by folding the metal over on itself innumerous times. Where did it come from, she wondered? Was it from swords reformed into sheet? Is it from metal brought from Valyria by her ancestors? How many times had Rhaegar worn it? She had never met her brother, dead before she was born. Still, she thought he’d be proud of his little sister. Viserys too, as bad he had been to her at the end.

Grey Worm, Red Tongue, and Ronard came over to her tent and sat on the ground in front of her cot. The Queen began recalling what she saw from the air before attacking. “I flew Drogon high over the Kingswood from Dragonstone. From the Painted Table, I knew to keep the Gold Road to my north. I saw your camp below and the Tarlys approaching but continued to fly west. Turning south, I saw the Tyrell forces, and well behind them, the Dornish. The Tarlys had been flanking the Tyrells, but kept out of their sight. Suddenly, I remembered why I was up there, and hastened Drogon north.”

“Your Grace makes an excellent scout,” Ronard said. “Did you see any Lannister red cloaks while flying west?”

“No, I did not fly far to the west,” the Queen answered. “Nor did I see any evidence of Dothraki to my north. They left early from Duskendale, their detachment will meet you sooner on the Gold Road.”

“That is good to know,” Grey Worm added. “How long does my Queen intend on staying with us? We must first take care of the prisoners, then resume our march.”

“Drogon is out hunting, so I must wait for him. After I have met the prisoners, I’ll be ready to fly back to Dragonstone,” the Queen said.

“We have captured Dickon Tarly, the Lord’s son,” Red Tongue added. “He’s being held separated from the other prisoners.”

“And what of Lord Randyll?” Daenerys asked, raising an eyebrow. Randyll Tarly had been a Targaryen Loyalist, but swore to the Baratheons after Rhaegar’s death. He then supported Stannis, before declaring fealty to the Lannisters.

“Dead,” Red Tongue replied, “burned but still recognizable to his men.” We have his sword, it appears to be of Valyrian steel.

“The wounded?” Daenerys continued her questioning.

“Being cared for,” said Mickon entering the tent, “I thought I heard my name mentioned, but I suppose you were discussing Dickon Tarly. The severely burned will take long to heal, if ever. We cannot move them. We will leave some healers behind to care for them. The Dothraki women have taken well to this land, once clear of the forest. Others will heal over days, some are up and about now. Does your Queen wish to address them?”

“Yes,” replied the Queen. “I am glad that you are taking good care of the wounded. Gather the prisoners near the healer’s tents. I want all to hear me.” She turned to Grey Worm. “Forgive me for not asking, how many casualties among your men?”

“None,” replied Grey Worm.

“None,” added Ronard. “Although some are still in shock from what they beheld.”

“I hope they do not get used to it,” Daenerys answered, taking a sip of wine.

____________________

Daenerys climbed a stony outcropping near the healer’s tents. Drogon perched to her right, Grey Worm stood to her left. The Tarly and Stormlander prisoners were spread out before her. Some in bandages, some laying on cots tilted up that they could see and hear. Dickon Tarly stood in front. She wore her armor and held the helm in her right arm. The Dothraki women had cleaned out most of the soot from her hair, and re-braided it with eight braids.

“I am Daenerys Targaryen, Stormborn,” the Queen began. “Rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Queen of Meereen and the Bay of Dragons. Khalessi of the Great Grass Sea. Breaker of chains. I came to break the wheel which has repeatedly crushed you and your people. I came to take what was wrongly taken from my family. To depose the false Queen in King’s Landing. A Queen that enriches herself while the people suffer. I intend rule as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but also to serve the people of the realm. I will bring peace where there has been war. I will bring comfort where there has been misery!”

Daenerys paused, she clearly had their attention, then went on. “Today I give you a choice. Bend the knee and pledge fealty to House Targaryen. You will then be free to go home, or to fight alongside us as we take Kings’s Landing. If you go home, tell your families, your townfolk, your friends, what happened here yesterday and today. Tell them what happens to those that rise against the Rightful Queen to serve the usurper. Tell them peace and prosperity will soon be theirs.”

The prisoners began murmuring, speaking in hushed tones to one another. Daenerys let this go on for a moment, before continuing. “For those that refuse to bend the knee, you will not die today, although you should. You will be held here, watched by the Second Sons. My Dothraki warriors will soon be here to relieve the Second Sons. You may know them as savages from Essos. I am their Khalissi, their Queen, an honor earned through fire and blood. As many as are needed will take the Black and be sent to the Wall. Others will return home, to serve those who swear to me. Not as slaves, but as paid servants. For life. Refuse that too and you will burn. Here. Today. By me.”

The prisoners standing near Dickon, looked at him for guidance. Dickon seemed confused, out of place without his father to command him. He noticed his men staring at him. He dropped to one knee. A wave of men dropping to a knee flowed around and behind him. None remained standing. The wounded on cots hung one leg over the side if they could, to show their allegiance. This was over she thought as Dothraki women helped her doff her armor.

Dickon was among the men who wished to fight on to King’s Landing. Most prepared to go home, especially the Stormlanders and those Tarly men who knew others loyal to House Tyrell. Better to go home than take a dagger in the back while sleeping. A company of men formed around Dickon. The Second Sons would keep a close watch on them. Although they had bent the knee, trust took time, if at all.

Daenerys visited the wounded, guarded by Unsullied. She spoke with others who had bent the knee. To a man, they were amazed by her gracefulness and kind heartedness. She left them knowing that they chose wisely.

Grey Worm and Daenerys were exchanging parting words when a Second Son cried out, “Riders from the West! Two horses!” Daenerys didn’t expect to be leaving for Dragonstone soon.

The riders dismounted then spoke to Ronard, who in turn addressed Daenerys and Grey Worm. “Your Grace, Commander, a Lannister army approaches on the Gold Road. One thousand cavalry, five thousand infantry and a company of archers. They bring along a supply van, perhaps a hundred wagons and carts.”

“Farewell, until we meet in King’s Landing,” the Queen said to Grey Worm. Two Second Sons, fetched by Ronard, ran up and helped the Queen into her armor. She donned the helm and strode to Drogon, who seemed to know what was coming.

“Perzys Ānogār!” Grey Worm shouted the House Targaryen words as Drogon took three steps forward before leaping into the air.

____________________

Daenerys flew Drogon high and further west than during her flight from Dragonstone. Soon, she could make out a long line of men, horses, and wagons stretched out along the Gold Road. She began a wide circle, flying south. In the distance she could see dust. She flew futher south and saw the Tyrell forces, on an intercepting course with the Lannisters. Although the Tyrells outnumber the Lannisters in horses and men, she knew from Tyrion that the Lannister men were better fighters. She needed the Tyrells to hold King’s Landing after she took the throne. Each host seemed completely unaware of the other, neither having done much scouting, unlike the Second Sons.

The Queen resumed her circle, flying north, crossing the Gold Road west of the wagons. She would make her run from the east, where the sun was still rising, hoping at least some Lannisters would see their doom approach. As she began heading east, she spotted a huge cloud of dust, rising north of the road. It could be Torgo and his Dothraki. To raise that much dust, the Dothraki were riding hard. To be riding that hard, the Dothraki had sent scouts ahead who spotted the Lannister red cloaks. The Dothraki always sent scouts. She reconsidered her attack, flying north over the Dothraki. Her warriors saw her, letting out blood curdling screams acknowledging their Khalessi. She had come to watch them kill the men in iron suits. They would not fail.

Lannister men riding north of the Gold Road spotted the rising cloud of dust. They rushed to inform their commander, Jaimie Lannister, bother of Queen Cersei. Jamie looked north, in horror. “Form a shield wall!” Jamie commanded. “Bronn, form up the horses behind the shield!”

Bronn of the Blackwater, once a sellsword, once commander of the City Watch at King’s Landing, replied, “What of the wagons?”

“Forget the wagons!” Jamie cried out. “Savages have no want of wagons!”

Archers fell in behind the shield wall, “Not enough,” Jamie thought. Bronn arranged the cavalry, also too small for the host before them, sending some alongside the wagons to remain hidden until they can attack the passing Dothraki flank. He had no illusion that the shield wall would hold.

“Nock!” Jamie screamed, followed by “Draw!” then “Loose!” Hundreds of arrows arced through the air at the oncoming Dothraki. “Fire at will!” Jaime screamed again. “Lances! Ready! Out!” he shouted at the shield wall men, most of whom were shaking in terror.

Dothraki riders fell, horses crumbled to ground, spilling their mounts. Arrows rained down on them as they surged forward. Torgo was among the first to hit the shield wall, taking a wound in his left arm as he slashed the face of a red cloak to his right. Horses impaled by lancers dropped behind the shield wall, their riders rising to attack the shield wall from behind, not caring that more horses were crashing through them. Broken lances, limbs, horses, and men littered the front lines. Blood began to bind the wreckage with dirt. Bronn dismembered an attacking Dothraki as the riders engaged the rear. The infantry and archers faced relentless slaughter. Bronn was dismounted as a wounded Dothraki sliced through his mount’s leg. Bronn escaped death by diving at a downed horse, his attacker’s arakh slicing open the wounded animal’s belly, spilling guts and blood onto Bronn. Bronn scrambled onto a cart, throwing off the canvas cover.

Daenerys circled the battle on Drogon. She watched as Dothraki men fell to a barrage of arrows. She watched the Dothraki smash through the Lannister shield wall. She watched the carnage unfold as the Lannisters fell to her warriors. She saw a man on horseback, wielding his sword in his left hand. His right hand appeared to be . . . gold? Jamie Lannister? Tyrion had told her of his brother’s infirmary, yet he fought well despite it. Please let him live, she thought. He’d be more valuable to her as a prisoner than dead.

The Queen turned Drogo hard to right nearly throwing herself from the dragon. She had glimpsed a black object rising up at her. Banking left, she saw it. A ballista, or scorpion as some called it. A man was loading another bolt. She saw him struggle to turn the infernal device, then she realized it could only be turned fully to one side or the other. I could not be turned completely around. She saw two other similar carts, with covers like the one laying on the ground next to the scorpion. Two more she thought, let me see how they burn.

She brought Drogon around to fly from the west, attacking the carts from the rear, hopefully from the direction they could not turn to. Two carts were covered and the first one was unmanned. Its operator grabbing a passing horse and riding off towards Jamie. “Dracarys,” she shouted. Drogon laid down a line of fire along the line of carts and wagons. Men hiding near the carts burned with them, some running off in agony, most erupting into fireballs where they stood. That could not be helped, Daenerys thought to herself. With the carts destroyed, she looked for Jamie. The man from the scorpion was pulling on his arm, as if to encourage Jamie to escape with him.

Jamie watched the black dragon descend to burn the wagon line, and most importantly the three scorpions they towed for defense. He knew dragons had returned to Westeros, seeing one was a another matter. He wouldn’t let his men burn.

“Surrender! Surrender!” Jamie cried out as he rode among his surviving men. His men began dropping their swords, they themselves dropping to the ground. Unhappily, the Dothraki held up their slaughter. Torgo rode about, looking for who may be a surviving commander.

Bronn rode up, grabbing Jamie by his right arm, shouting. “Ride with me! Let’s get out of here and to King’s Landing. We must warn Cersei!” Three other red cloaks came up, indicating they would ride too. The five mounted men bolted through the surprised Dothraki, with a half dozen giving chase.

Daenerys watched as Jamie, the scorpion man, and three others broke through the Dothraki to ride north. They had a good start on the chasing Dothraki, but it was only a matter of time before they were caught. She had to believe the Dothraki would kill them, not take prisoners. As the gap between the Lannisters and Dothraki closed, she landed Drogon in between. The Dothraki came to an abrupt halt, dismounted and kneeled.

“Khalessi! The men are getting away!” One of the Dothraki said in his native tongue.

“Let them go,” the Queen answered. “They will tell others what happened here today. How fiercely the Dothraki fight. How the Dothraki crush their enemies.”

“As you wish, Khalessi,” the one said.

Daenerys made a short flight to find Torgo. He was walking among the prisoners, shouting at them in Dothraki, waving his arakh. He still bled from the wound to his right side. There were no healers here, so she tore some cloth from under her armor and gave it to him. “Take this and care for your wound. Do not be like my Khal Drogo,” she ordered. Torgo tore the cloth in half, poured water over his wound, wiped it, then stuffed the clean cloth into it.

“Khalessi, you honor me with your care,” Torgo said with honesty. “What shall we do with these prisoners?

Daenerys hadn’t thought about it. She didn’t expect another battle before returning to Dragonstone. She looked at the prisoners, receiving angry stares in response. Or they looked away, not wanting her attention. She did not feel up to another speech like to the Tarlys. No, these men were hardened, and would rather die than bend the knee. She had no intention on killing them. Not today.

“The Unsullied and your healers will be here soon,” Daenerys said. “The Tyrells may arrive sooner, with the Dornish behind. Make camp here. When they arrive, take half your men to escort the prisoners to Casterly Rock, west along this road. Take the castle if lightly defended. If not, lay siege to it. Hold it until relieved.”

“As you command, Khalessi,” Torgo replied, unhappy that he and half of his men would be tied up in or around some castle. He’d have to order them to leave the smallfolk alone, otherwise suffer the Khalessi’s rage.

“Take care of your wounded, honor your dead, send them off to the Great Stallion,” Daenerys added as she drank water from a horsehide bladder while chewing on dried horsemeat. She then turned away, climbed slowly onto to Drogon, and flew off to Dragonstone. “Gods, I need a bath,” she thought, again covered in soot.

Theon received a raven from Dragonstone ordering the Dothraki to sail for Duskendale. Leaving now was early, but not unexpected. The Dothraki reinforcements sailing on captured Volantene ships had arrived in Blackwater Bay. Landing them near Duskendale made more sense than bringing them to Driftmark. Theon informed Aggo and Jhogo, who immediately made off to prepare their men. The first longships were ready to sail when Yara returned from Dragonstone with Sers Jorah and Gerold aboard along with a dozen Second Sons that had remained at Dragonstone.

“After we deliver the Dothraki, then what?” Theon asked his sister.

“We sail up the Blackwater Bay, to go after Euron, bottle him up at first,” Yara answered.

“We have those damn scorpions to contend with. Their range is further than our catapults.” Theon cautioned his sister’s enthusiasm.

“Fuck the scorpions. Fuck the catapults,” Yara responded with a snarl, “Our Queen reminded me she has dragons.”

“Aye, she does,” said Theon, falling back to his acquired Northern dialect.

“Let’s go, we have horses and savages to move!” Yara said as the pair mounted horses and rode to Spicetown, where her ships were taking on Dothraki.

____________________

A chaotic scene unfolded on the landing beaches north of Duskendale. Longships came ashore side by side, some nearly ramming others from the rear. The Dothraki, eager to come ashore, began to disembark from moving ships. Some ships rammed swimming or wading horses, dropping beast and rider into the surf. Aggo, Ser Jorah, Ser Gerold, and the Second Sons were among the first to land. While watching the Essosi hoard come ashore, Gerold asked why most Dothraki carried dripping wet sacks. “Oysters,” Aggo answered. The Dothraki packed fresh oysters in sacks filled with seaweed. “We intend on feasting at Duskendale.”

Yara came ashore shaking her head and spoke to Aggo. “If time comes for you to go home, find your own way. I’m done with the ferry business.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Ser Jorah. “On the trip over, Ser Gerold and I thought how to make use of your men before you sail up the Blackwater.”

“And what would that be?” asked Yara, clearly interested in anything other than ferrying Dothraki.

Ser Jorah explained, “Attack the Outer Docks. Divert the defenders away from the Western Gate. The Dothraki will surround the city, but will need time to breach the gates.”

“With pleasure,” Yara answered. “We are short of ship supplies; the docks should have what we need.”

Jorah smiled and said, “Take what you need, but no reaving. Don’t cross the Queen!”

Taking the docks served another purpose – occupying the town. Ships still at sea from Essos would dock there to unload troops. Those troops would take over occupation duties, freeing men to travel west. As it was, some Dothraki landing now would remain for a time in Duskendale to hold it and protect the main force’s rear from attack.

Further up the coast, Torgo’s men landed in more orderly fashion. Not having seen horses swim, his men were brought close to shore where the horses could wade in. Having watched nearly half his force land, Torgo rode south to meet with Aggo and Jhago. Torgo was pleased to learn that he would immediately ride west with 10,000 men. Less pleased that the men were not those he sailed with. Yet he understood that his horses needed fresh feed, his men needed to time to rid themselves of sea legs.

Ser Jorah chose four Second Sons to ride with Torgo as guides. These men were from the southern Riverlands, knowing the way and how best avoid being seen. Torgo rode up to the group that had been watching the main Dothraki force land. He dismounted to let his horse graze on fresh grasses.

“You look well, Torgo,” Aggo said in greeting. “Sea travel seems to suit you.”

Torgo shrugged then said, “The ground moves beneath me. If I never eat fish again, I will die a happy man.”

“Not many fish where you are going,” Ser Jorah added. “Good to see you again, Torgo. These men will be your guides on the ride to the Gold Road.”

Jorah went on to introduce the four guides. One, Bryan Rivers, spoke a bit of Dothraki from his time in Essos.

“Horsemeat, rabbits, wildfowl, some deer meat,” Bryan said, “no fish.”

“That is good,” Torgo answered. “Aggo, what are your men carrying in those sacks?”

“Oysters,” Aggo answered.

“Oysters? What are oysters?” asked Torgo.

“You’ll soon find out,” Jhogo said with a grin.

____________________

Sorting out the 10,000 men who would ride with Torgo and merging the new arrivals with Aggo’s and Jhago’s men took most of the remaining daylight hours. Torgo, his guides, and new riders rode west until sunset to make camp. That night, Torgo became acquainted with oysters. He was pleased to learn that they could be found on the shore near King’s Landing.

At first light, Aggo and Jhogo rode south with 40,000 Dothraki. Along the way, they picked up dry wood, carrying it on their horse’s backs. The new arrivals were not expected to participate in taking Duskendale. They carried the wood. As the hoard approached town, Ser Jorah had them fell three stout trees, delimbing them to make strong battering rams. These the Dothraki dragged behind pairs of horses.

House Rykker’s banners flew from the walls around Duskendale. No flags of truce or surrender were seen. Duskendale would resist. Smoke from hot pots of pitch curled up from the ramparts and towers alongside each gate. During Robert's Rebellion, Ser Jaremy Rykker remained loyal to the Mad King. He died at the Wall. Renfred Rykker was the current Lord of Duskendale, pledged to Cersei Lannister. There were settlements outside two of the three gates. Those were abandoned, the smallfolk taking refugee behind the walls. Merchant ships and fishing boats left the various docks and piers for open water. There they would run into Yara’s fleet, but she had no interest in them.

The Dothraki surrounded the landward side of town, outside of archer’s range. Varys’ birds reported no catapults inside the town, not that they would have mattered much. With quick charges at each wooden gate, the Dothraki piled wood and set it on fire. The defenders first cast pitch at the attackers, then tried dousing the fires from above, not daring to open the gates or sally ports to fight the flames. The Dothraki simply added more dry wood and set the pitch ablaze then waited for the fires to weaken the gates. The fires burned brightly under the clear skies. Ser Gerold and several Second Sons rode to a point just north of town. There they set a bonfire, signaling Yara to attack. They saw a light from sea — Yara acknowledging their beacon.

“Land near the causeway, then sack the docks!” Yara commanded. “Theon, take half the men across the island and secure it. The others will follow me across the causeway!”

“What of prisoners?” Theon asked.

“Strike fast, strike hard, the defenders will have no time to surrender,” was Yara’s simple advice. Theon had spent too much time with the Starks and their honor, she thought. He carried nothing from his horrible captivity by Ramsay.

The Ironborn landed on the seaward side of the small island where the old docks were. As she sprinted towards the causeway, Theon led his men to the docks. There were some ships still tied up, although unmanned. Ironborn struck down men in Rykker colors as they appeared. Theon pushed a man off his sword and into the water. The final defender died on the approach to the last pier, his neck chopped open, blood soaking into the wooden boards he collapsed onto.

Theon could hear the sound of blood dripping between dock planks into the water below. “Into those warehouses! Pay the Iron price!” Theon shouted as he scouted for a way out onto the small island. His men took ropes, shackles, sacks of food, flaggons of wine, ale, and anything else that seemed of value. They piled their loot on the promenade leading to the docks, then followed Theon.

Theon found no people, defenders or otherwise on the small island. Having secured the island, the Ironborn men made their way to the causeway.

The causeway was clogged with dead defenders and Ironborn. A wounded Ironborn told Theon that Yara and her men had crossed the causeway. Theon left the man with water and bounded off to join his sister. He found her just past the causeway, his men joining in on the escalating fracas.

“You seem to be blocking the causeway, not attacking,” Theon joked while taking in the scene.

“Fuck you, little brother,” Yara retorted. “I have scores of Rykkers tied up here. We are killing them as they try to push us back.”

A growing pile of dead defenders underscored her point. The Ironborn were pulling their dead and wounded rearward, while retrieving spears favored by the Rykkers. “How long can we hold?” Theon asked while grabbing a bloodied spear.

“All night if we have to,” Yara’s simple response came. “We can fall back to our ships, but let’s not plan for that yet.”

Theon hurled the spear into the attacking men. He had no way of knowing if it struck home, however likely that it did.

The Western Gate glowed red as embers fell from the burning gates. The fires had died down; if not pushed, the gate would soon fall on its own. The Dothraki raised their bows and began firing at the wall’s defenders, illuminated by the dwindling fires. As the defenders climbed down from the walls to temporary safety, twenty Dothraki picked up the log dragged into place and charged the gate, screaming. The weakened wood gave way with half the screamers spilling through gates. The Rykker men quickly dispatched these warriors, but it was a small victory. The scene was repeated at the Middlor and Southern gates. Thousands of Dothraki poured into the town, slicing and cutting down any in their path. Only defenders and fools were on the streets, the townfolk hiding in their homes, trembling at the sounds of attackers screaming.

Attacking on horseback through small narrow streets was difficult. Bows and arrows were useless in the dark. When facing clusters of defenders, the Dothraki would charge, dismount, and press their attack on foot. It was a bloody affair, with some Dothraki inadvertently wounding their own while cutting down defenders in the dark. Aggo and Jhogo learned lessons that would prove valuable at King’s Landing.

As the Dothraki made their way to the Old Quarter and Dun Fort, Sers Jorah and Gerold took several hundred riders and the Second Sons along the Smith’s Road to relieve the Ironborn. Although the Old Quarter was walled, the defenders neglected to close the gates. Before long the detachment found itself facing the backs of Rykker defenders surging forward onto the causeway. The Dothraki blindly fired arrows into the mass, then rode through it slashing and cutting down men with fury. They came to an abrupt halt in front of the Ironborn, almost riding into them. Turning around, the Dothraki rode back, killing defenders that survived the first onslaught.

Ser Jorah trotted on horseback over paving stones slick with blood. Ser Gerold and the Second Sons followed. Horses and men laid about. The Dothraki would butcher their wounded horses for meat. There were plenty laying along the road along with dead and wounded warriors. Wounded defenders groaned in the darkness, there was no way to care for them until light. Most would be dead by then. The Dothraki took their wounded away, leaving the dead for the morning. Jorah and the others came up to Yara, now holding a torch as were several of her men.

“Took you long enough,” said Yara.

“You held, we came soon enough,” Jorah answered curtly.

“What’s next?” She asked.

“We take the Dun Fort then rest, feast during the day, later ride on,” Jorah said flatly. “The Dothraki hoard should be outside the Fort by now.”

“Good for them,” she responded. “We’re taking our dead and wounded, packing our loot, and setting out for sea to rest a while. The Drowned God will be receiving our dead tonight.”

“Then up the Blackwater Bay?” Jorah asked while wondering why they don’t rest on land.

“Yes, I have an uncle to kill,” Yara said while spitting on the ground.

“See you in King’s Landing,” Jorah said as they parted.

____________________

The sun had begun its morning climb into the heavens when Ser Jorah arrived at the Dun Fort. No Rykker banners flew, nor did flags of surrender. A fraction of the Dothraki fit in the space along the Fort’s walls. There had been no archers firing down on them, no men appearing atop the walls, no defense on the approaching roads. Only silence.

A sally port to one side of the fort’s gates opened. Out stepped a man hobbling on a leg fashioned from wood. With him were two unarmed men in House Rykker colors. Sers Jorah and Gerold walked over, along with Aggo. Jhogo had begun moving the Dothraki out of Duskendale through the south gate.

“I am Ser Rufus Leek castellan of Fort Dun and Duskendale,” said the one-legged man. “I am ready to discuss terms of surrender.”

“The terms are surrender or die.” Jorah found the man annoying, as if there could be terms after thousands of Dothraki captured the town.

“Where is Renfred Rykker?” Jorah wanted to know. “Why does he send the castellan in his place?”

“Lord Rykker is away. He has business in Maidenpool,” Rufus replied. He seemed a bit embarrassed being put in this situation.

Jorah grew angry. “Business? You mean he ran away. He fled Duskendale to avoid capture or death. What sort of coward abandons his people like that? Tell me, Ser Rufus; did Renfred order you to defend the town? Did he needlessly condemn a thousand men to death?”

Rufus paused to breathe deeply. “He did indeed, Ser. He believed your army would bypass Duskendale. He planned to follow your horde to King’s Landing. Why did you not pass Duskendale? What value is this town to you?”

“Your docks, Ser Rufus, we need your docks.” Jorah thought Lord Rykker a fool to believe he could follow and harass the Dothraki. A few hundred would turn back and cut the Rykker’s to shreds.

“I should drag him back from Maidenpool and have the widows and mothers judge him,” Jorah said, nearly beside himself. Ser Gerold pulled Jorah aside to let him know it was time to get on with it.

“Open your gates!” Jorah commanded. “One thousand Dothraki will remain to secure the town and nearby roads. More men will arrive on your docks in the coming days.”

“As you command, Ser Jorah. Dun Fort is yours, or should I say your Queen’s.” Rufus complied as he had no choice.

“Daenerys Targaryen is now your Queen,” Ser Jorah reminded the man.

Rufus nodded with resignation and motioned to the two men behind him. The men retreated through the sally port. Soon, the gates opened. Aggo rode forward with a hundred Dothraki, filling the courtyard. Sers Jorah and Gerold, the Second Sons, and the castellan followed. The courtyard was empty except for a handful of household staff standing along its perimeter. Ser Gerold went over to one staff member who was soon nodding in understanding before disappearing into a tower. He quickly emerged with more staff wheeling out flagons of wine, benches, and tables. Aggo’s one hundred men and those outside the fort walls would feast in the courtyard, while others celebrated with Jhogo.

Jorah drank from a cup then asked Ser Rufus about ravens.

“Yes, we have ravens for Dragonstone, although none have flown there since Stannis Baratheon sailed north,” said Rufus.

“Take me to the rookery,” Ser Jorah demanded. “Bring quill, ink, and parchment.” Jorah along with several Dothraki followed Rufus through some hallways before reaching a room looking out onto the bay. There was a table and chair. Morning sunlight streamed through the window. Jorah sat down and wrote out two identical messages to the Queen. “Duskendale is yours, my Queen” they began. He sealed the scrolls with the Targaryen signet, underneath he scratched his initials, “J.M.” The Queen had gifted him a wax press that he wore around his neck. He watched as the rookery keeper attached each scroll to a raven, releasing them from a window.

____________________

Daenerys was dreaming when the ravens arrived. She was riding Drogon over the Narrow Sea. Rhaegal and Viserion had departed Dragonstone with them, but had flown off on their own. Drogon took her higher and higher. She could see to where the Blackwater Bay ended. There lay King’s Landing, although she was too high and far away to make out the city. In the cold thin air, Drogons scales grew hotter and hotter. She felt her own skin radiate heat. She thought to shed her thick leather flying outfit. Instead she commanded Drogon to return to Dragonstone. Drogon landed outside of Aegon’s garden. The Queen clambered down, shedding her jacket. She went to the garden fountain to drink. Looking down into the still water, she gazed at her reflection. She saw scales. Startled, she ran her fingers over her face. She felt thin scales, but scales nonetheless. She glanced at her hands to see smaller scales running down to her fingers. On her fingers, short claws appeared where her nails should be. She looked again into the fountain. In the bright daylight, her pupils were narrow slits. She turned to face Drogon. The dragon tilted his head and produced a long low purr. She closed her eyes, then opening them to find herself in bed, first light appearing on the horizon.

____________________

Missandei knocked and opened to door to the Queen’s chambers. Daenerys was standing, peering into a looking glass. “It there anything wrong, your Grace?” Missandei inquired? “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, but had a strange dream,” Daenerys replied. “I dreamt that I was turning into a dragon.”

“You are a dragon, your Grace.” Tyrion had been standing outside door, waiting to deliver the scrolls from Duskendale. “We received two ravens earlier, bearing the seal of Ser Jorah that you had made for him.”

“Come in, Tyrion.” Daenerys walked over to her Hand and took one scroll and began to read. “’Duskendale is yours,’ it says! Read the rest, Tyrion, provide me with details before I fly to Duskendale.”

Tyrion began reading the scroll, he paused. “I don’t know why you wish to visit Duskendale, your Grace. There are people there with no love for Targaryens since your father exterminated the Houses Darklyn and Hollard.”

“That is exactly why I must visit Duskendale,” the Queen said. “I am not my father. My father was not the same man after Denys Darklyn held him his dungeons for six moons. I will see that dungeon. I will show myself to the townfolk.”

Missandei brushed out and braided the Queen’s hair. The seventh braid, for Volantis, ran down the center of her head. The other six, three on each side, wrapped in an intricate weave, held the seventh in place. Daenerys donned her black and red riding leathers, slipped on boots, and briskly walked to the garden. Drogon was waiting for where he been in her dreams that night.

Ser Barristan stood a respectful distance from the dragon. Daenerys came to him. “I’m flying to Duskendale.”

“So I’ve heard,” the elder knight said. “Be careful of what you look for.”

“You rescued my father from those dungeons. What will I find there?” She asked.

“Certainly, your past,” Ser Barristan warned. “Perhaps your destiny, if you let it be so.”

Daenerys climbed onto Drogon. Before flying off, she shouted out to Ser Barristan. “Thank you for the warning!”

Daenerys had Drogon circle the town several times before landing. She saw the Dothraki, inside and outside the walls, shouting and cheering at her. “Khalessi!” rose up to her ears. She saw the docks Ser Jorah mentioned in his scroll. Already, a ship bearing the Targaryen banner was approaching. Townfolk came out onto the streets, staring up at the great beast in the sky. She came around over the courtyard at Dun Fort. There were Dothraki there. She could make out Ser Jorah looking up at her. She landed, Sers Jorah and Gerold came up to help her to the ground from the dragon’s wing. Drogon tolerated Ser Jorah. Ser Gerold was brave to get so close; Drogon remained suspicious of him.

“I wish to see the dungeon,” were the Queen’s first words.

“I thought you would,” Ser Jorah answered. “I’ll fetch the castellan to show us the way.”

The castellan carried a torch and led Daenerys, Jorah, and Gerold down several flights of worn stairs. He stopped at the door to the dungeon and opened it. “That which I believe you seek is at the far end,” he said. “I’ll take my leave now.”

The castellan lit torches for Jorah and Gerold. They could see light at the end of the dark dank hallway. They came upon the door, left ajar, its latch and lock broken and rusted.

“Wait here,” said the Queen. “It’s light inside, I do not need a torch.” She stepped inside, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the sunlight streaming in through a barred window. The window faced east overlooking the water. Looking about, she saw a cot, table, chair, and chamber pot. Molten wax was mounded on the table. “A dungeon fit for a king,” she thought. To her right she saw two sketches on the wall, lit by sunlight.

Closest to the door was a dragon. Well drawn, she thought. She didn’t know her father had an artistic bent. Perhaps it passed on to Rhaegar in the form of music. It was drawn with a soft stone. Her father’s representation was quite good, for someone who had never seen a dragon. To the dragon’s left was another sketch, somewhat disturbing she thought. It was of a being half dragon and half man. The head, neck, and chest were of a dragon. Below that, a man. It held a sword, in its claws rather than hands. She stepped back to see her House’s motto, “Fire and Blood,” written below the creature. She wondered what to make of this. Did Aerys see himself as a dragon in the flesh? Is that why after returning he kept others away, forbidding them to touch him? Was this her dream?

She turned stepping over to the other wall and gasped. Written in deep letters, clearly cut over and over with a hard stone, were the words: “Burn them all!” Tears came to her eyes as she probed the letters with her fingers. How many times did he scratch that stone over the wall to cut so deeply? Was this where he broke? Where the madness beneath the surface suddenly boiled over for the realm to see and feel? Was this her destiny? She recalled Ser Barristan’s words. No, she would not let this be. She is not her father. Her destiny laid before her, hers to make. She went over to the table and sat. Head in her hands, she wept.

____________________

Daenerys climbed up onto a black mare in the courtyard. She had refused Ser Jorah’s help saying “I know my way around horses, thank you.” It had been some time since she last rode with the Dothraki, but some things one never forgets. Jorah got up on a stallion to her right, Ser Jerrold to her left. Aggo was in the lead, with two Dothraki between him and the Queen. Several lines of three riders each made up the rear.

“We can get you through the gates without a slow procession, your Grace,” Jorah said with worry in his voice. He had tried reasoning with her that the road through the south gate may not be safe. Although there were Dothraki ahead checking each building, an assassin could hide without being found. He had urged a carriage, but she insisted on riding like a Khalessi.

The procession moved from the courtyard, turning left onto the road to the southern gate. Beyond the gate lay a settlement and further along, Jhogo and the main body of Dothraki in camp.

“I wish you had worn Rhaegar’s armor, your Grace,” said Jorah. He was quite sure it was Rhaegar’s from when he was a boy, although others at Dragonstone had their doubts.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” Daenerys answered. “It fits well, but I find the leg armor restricting.”

Ser Jorah shook his head. His Queen had the habit of putting herself at risk. Yet she always emerged unscathed and stronger. Qarth. Astapor. Yunkai. At the fighting pit in Meereen, Drogon saved her – and others. In Vaes Dothrak she burned the Khals – and gained an army. Finally, Volantis. He’d be much happier if her head, torso, and thighs were covered in Valyrian steel.

The townfolk were out and about after the night of carnage. They moved off the road as the procession passed, staring up at the Dragon Queen. They spoke to each other in hushed tones as she passed. In places along the road, people were scrubbing blood from the cobblestones. Duskendale had prospered throughout history. Enough so that its Lords had paved the streets. It was at one of these spots where a woman sat beside the road wailing as she held a bloodied garment. The tunic bore House Rykker colors.

“Stop here,” Daenerys commanded.

Ser Jorah knew his Queen’s intent. “It’s too dangerous here,” he said. “We should keep moving.”

“Nonsense,” Daenerys replied. “Guard me.” She dismounted the black mare with Sers Jorah and Gerold beside her. Dothraki came up behind and to either side as she stopped in front of the woman.

“Why are you here?,” the woman cried out. “The Darklyns, the Hollards, now my son! When Targaryens come, death follows!”

“I did not kill your son,” the Queen began. “His death is tragic because it was unnecessary. House Rykker fought for my fa–”

“The Mad King was a butcher!” the woman screamed. “He killed House Darklyn. He killed House Hollard. You killed my son!”

“I am not my father,” Daenerys answered. The woman looked at her as if she had seen a ghost. “Yes, Aerys was my father. My father was an evil man. I am not him. Your Lord commanded his men to defend the town. Yet he ran to Maidenpool, leaving his men, and your son to die.

The woman looked back in shock. “Lord Rykker fled? He’s in Maidenpool?”

“Yes,” Daenerys said. “Jaremy Rykker was loyal to my father. For that he went to the wall rather than lose his head. Renfred Rykker could have opened the gates, could have let us use his docks. Instead he betrayed his people and your son.”

“What will become of us?” The woman asked, almost pleading.

“You will live. Duskendale will prosper with trade. When I take the Iron Throne.” Daenerys helped the woman up, gently touched her cheek and turned away. She stopped to say something more, but walked to the mare and got up.”

“Hopefully the word will get around,” said Ser Gerold. “That woman seemed well acquainted with the houses of Duskendale. There may be more to her than meets the eye.”

“Lord Rufus may come around,” Ser Jorah added. “He’s bitter that his Lord fled, leaving him to defend the city. Surely he knew it was futile, yet he obeyed. There’s the gate, we’ll soon be at the camp.”

Docks lined the left side of the road to the gate, buildings on the right. Once through and into the settlement, the docks yielded to buildings, now on both sides. Aggo had riders from the rear move up, so that they road five abreast and not three to better shield the Khalessi. The people on the street had to make room for the shorter, but wider procession.

Daenerys screamed in pain as a bolt passed through her right thigh and into the mare. In the distance, Drogon screeched loudly and took to the air. The mare bucked wildly, throwing the Queen to the ground. The streets here were dirt, but she hit hard. Ser Jorah instantly lept onto her, covering her body with his. A second bolt ripped into his left shoulder, lodging into the dirt. It missed the Queen’s neck by the width of two fingers.

Ser Gerold saw the bolt hit Jorah. He pointed to a window in the building to his right and slightly in front. “There! The bolt came from there!” He dismounted, checked on Jorah and the Queen while the Dothraki assembled a human shield around them. He ran to the building, where other Dothraki had already entered.”

“Don’t kill him!” Ser Gerold yelled at the Dothraki as they bounded up the stairs. He followed up two flights to find the Dothraki in the front room. A man, dressed in finery, lay on the floor. His right arm lay nearby, next to two crossbows and several bolts. “Dress that wound and bring him down. We need him alive!” Ser Gerold looked at the crossbows. “One assassin with two crossbows, or two assassins each with one,” he wondered to himself. He settled on one assassin as more likely.

Ser Jorah knelt over Daenerys. Part of the second bolt was still protruding through his shoulder. Leaving it there, he cut the Queens riding breeches up to her hip. He sighed with relief. The bolt had missed the blood vessels that if cut, caused wounded men to die quickly. She bled, but not in a fountain of blood. A Dothraki offered a white cloth. Jorah stuffed bits of it into the wound from either side, wrapping the rest around her thigh to stem the bleeding. The healers in camp would clean and close the wounds.

Aggo insisted on having the Khalessi behind him on his horse. Another Dothraki sat behind her, forming a shield front and back. The big stallion complained at three riders, but rode off at a fast pace to the camp. Aggo stopped at the healer’s tent. He carried Daenerys in, laying her down on a clean cot. “She will recover quickly,” said the healing woman. “She’s young and strong. Unless the arrow was poisoned, then . . . .”

Daenerys rose up on her elbows. “If it was poisoned, shouldn’t I be feeling it now? Where is Jorah? He was laying over me on the road.”

“Depends on the poison, but I see no signs here.” The healer had begun cleaning the wound. It was rather clean, as the bolt passed straight through. “Ser Jorah was struck while covering you with his body. He’s on the far side of this tent. He will live.”

“Take me to him!” The Queen shouted.

“Not until I close the wound and the blood stops seeping. He’ll come to you before you are on your feet again. Now roll onto your left side.” The healer threaded her needle and began to stitch closed the entry wound. One, maybe two days, you will lie here.”

Daenerys closed her eyes, resigned to her fate.

____________________

The would-be assassin screamed as a Dothraki warrior pressed his red hot arakh against the stump above where the elbow had been. They had poured water over the wound, such was the extent of cleaning. He was needed alive, but only for now. Ser Gerold came over with Aggo and Jhogo. The man was sitting on the ground, holding the stump. He looked up at Ser Gerold and spit.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” the man asked.

“We haven’t been introduced. I am Ser Gerold Dayne, Knight of the High Hermitage. Who are you?”

“Fuck you, Ser Gerold Dayne,” the man said while looking up.

“Aggo here can cut off your other arm. Then a leg. Now who are you?” Ser Gerold had expected some resistance.

Aggo drew his weapon as another Dothraki put his arakh into the fire nearby.

The man saw that they would not simply kill him. He spoke, “I am Olyvar Frey, ward to the late Lord Giles Rosby.”

Ser Gerold hid his surprise. Rosby was the next town on their way to King’s Landing. “I was told that House Frey was extinct. Killed by assassins. Slit throats and poison.”

“Father had 18 sons, I being the youngest,” Olyvar explained. “He or a brother sent me to Rosby to be the Lord’s ward. I doubt he missed me.”

Accepting that answer, Ser Gerold proceeded with the interrogation. “Why did you shoot the Queen?”

“To stop a war,” Olyvar answered quickly.

“How did you know the Queen was in Duskendale? Ser Gerold continued.

Olyvar remained silent. Ser Gerold repeated his question. Olyvar looked away to see Aggo standing there, tapping the blunt side of his arakh with his hand.

“I was in Dun Fort when she came on that beast,” Olyvar replied looking back to Ser Gerold. Realizing that he would gain nothing but pain if he held back, he let go. “I was at Dun Fort when you attacked. Lord Rykker sent a raven to Rosby when you were landing to the north. I rode hard to Duskendale. He was determined to defend the city, but thought you would ride past Duskendale. When your forces stayed on the road to town, he rode to Maidenpool.”

“For what purpose did he flee? Other than to save his skin?” Ser Gerold asked.

Olyvar shook his head. “I don’t truly know. He said it was to give himself time. For what, he did not say. I intended to ride back to Rosby, then on to King’s Landing. But by then the gates were in flames.”

“How did you get to that house outside the gates? In these clothes?” Ser Gerold felt as if he was not far from learning all that happened.

Olyvar continued, “When the Dragon Queen landed, I snuck through a sally port. I travelled along the side streets, away from where the fighting had been. Ser Rufus told me of a boat to hide in near the Southern Gate. From there, I would wait until I could pass through the gate. A messenger sent by Ser Rufus found me this morning before sunrise. He told me the Dragon Queen was riding towards the Southern Gate. I went to the gate and passed through unmolested. There were crossbows on the ground all around the gate, dropped by Lord Rykker’s men on the wall as they fell. I took two that hadn’t broken, and a handful of bolts laying about. Then I found an empty building and went in. The rest, you know.”

Ser Gerold looked up at Aggo and said, “Bring him.” Aggo turned to two Dothraki warriors behind him who left in haste to ride back to the Dun Fort.

____________________

Daenerys rested in a tent emptied for her use. Ser Gerold had come by to tell her of Olyvar Frey’s and Ser Rufus’ treachery. Both were now bound and guarded nearby, awaiting her judgement.

“Where is Ser Jorah?” She asked.

“He’s on his way. The healers could not keep him on his cot any longer.”

“Thank you for finding the truth,” the Queen answered. “You know I am close to Ser Jorah. But you have served me well. There will be a place for you after I have the throne.”

Before he could answer, Ser Jorah stepped into the tent, his left arm in a sling. “My Queen,” he said. “You appear well. The healer says you are ready to stand.”

“Thank the Gods! Whoever they may be,” Daenerys exclaimed. “If I can stand, I can walk, if I can walk, I can fly.”

She was wearing loose Dothraki breeches, her bloodied and cut leathers discarded. Ser Gerold helped her up, the healer lifting the right leg of the breeches to examine her wound. No seeping.

“Walk, Khalessi,” the healer said. The Queen walked to outside the tent, then returned. The healer again examined her wound. “You may walk about now, I will examine your wound again later.”

“I must return to Dragonstone,” the Queen said. “But first, there is something I need to do.”

Ser Gerold nodded. He walked beside her as she made her way to the prisoners. Ser Jorah walked on her other side.

Drogon raised his head as Daenerys approached. She had walked past where Dothraki were keeping the prisoners. She touched his snout while the beast purred. Drogon lowered his head and sniffed around her right thigh.

“I’m alright, my child. It’s just a flesh wound.” She said while walking to his side. The dragon sensing she was hurt lowered his shoulder closer to the ground than usual. He extended his wing out so that she could easily climb up onto his shoulder, albeit slowly.” The Dothraki guards brought the two prisoners up onto their feet, turned them around, and moved away.

“I am Daenerys Targaryen, Stormborn. Rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Queen of Meereen and the Bay of Dragons. Khalessi of the Great Grass Sea. Mother of dragons. Breaker of chains.” The prisoners looked up at her, knowing they would die, but not how.

“Ser Rufus, Olyvar Rosby, you have confessed to conspiracy. You have confessed to treason against your true Queen. The sentence is death.”

The two men dropped to their knees, thinking that a blade would soon relieve them of their heads.

“Dracarys!” The Queen commanded. Drogon roared and spit forward his flame. The prisoners had no time to react and soon turned to ash and bones. Daenerys glanced at Ser Jorah, who stood nearby grimly. Drogon took two steps forward then took to the sky with his mother.

____________________

The Dothraki host marched out the next morning. In three days, they stopped outside of Rosby. Scouts had reported that the town was undefended. Flags of surrender flew from the castle. The Dothraki marched through and set up camp on the town’s edge. Ser Jorah, Ser Gerold, and the Second Sons with them took residence in the empty castle. There they would wait until receiving orders to march onto King’s Landing. A healer came by to change Jorah’s bandages and check his wounds. The bolt had broken a bone in his shoulder. “If you want to raise your arm again, you’ll leave it in that sling until healed,” the woman cautioned.

Jorah would obey, thinking of embracing his Queen at the Red Keep.

Daenerys was dreaming. Flying high above the Blackwater, turning towards land. Yet she was not atop a dragon. She herself was the dragon; with silver scales and red tipped wings. She flew across the shoreline and out over a grassy plain. She could see an army marching in the distance. Not her army. She continued forward while descending, intending to burn this army. Crossing the host from its right flank, she stopped herself from saying “Dracarys” before breathing out death from the sky. She turned to make a second pass and felt a jarring pain in her thigh. She looked back to see a bolt, a scorpion bolt, lodged above her right knee. Blood poured from the wound.

The Queen sat up in bed, startled. “Another dragon dream,” she thought to herself. She sat on the edge of her bed, looking down at her wounded thigh. It was healing nicely, although still painful when walking. She was to breaking fast with Olenna, in Aegon’s garden. She didn’t want to see Tyrion that morning, to listen to more of his scolding. He had insisted she stay put until the attack on King’s landing. Not seeing a reason to leave before then, she would.

Missandei escorted her Queen to the garden, then politely waited on a bench out of earshot from where Olenna waited. Daenerys sat down, looking over the spread of sweetened breads, cheeses, smoked fish, and lemon pies. Elaria had lemons shipped to her from Dorne. Seemingly a selfish pleasure, she brought all but a few to the kitchens.

“You’ve been quite the dragon recently,” Olenna said while setting down her tea. “How does it feel?”

Daenerys appreciated the informality. When on Dragonstone, she tired of hearing “your Grace” and “my Queen.” She enjoyed hearing Rakharo say “Khalessi,” it reminded her of a simpler time, out on the Great Grass Sea with Drogo.

“How does it feel?” Daenerys said, repeating Olenna’s question while setting down her bread. “I did not enjoy burning the castellan and the last Frey, but it was necessary. I admit to feeling exhilarated when attacking the Tarlys. It seemed . . . it seemed natural, like I was born into it.”

“I see, perhaps you were, Daenerys Stormborn,” Olenna said, using one of the Queen titles. She ate a bit of lemon cake before continuing. “Yet you let Jamie Lannister live, you let him escape. Why?”

“He is more useful to me alive, than dead,” the Queen answered. “Not to warn Cersei or to bring her forces out of King’s Landing to meet mine. She certainly knows where mine are. But to reason with her, as only a brother can. I have no desire to burn King’s Landing or the Red Keep, for more people to die. The quicker this is over, the better for the Seven Kingdoms.”

Olenna held back a snort. “Cersei will not surrender. She’d rather see the city burn than do that. She has the means to do it.”

Daenerys was startled at Olenna’s answer. “How can she burn the city?”

“Has not Tyrion or Ser Barristan told you of the wildfire?” Olenna said with surprise. “You father had huge amounts stored in sewers and basements around the city. He had ordered it ignited before Jamie Lannister earned his title as ‘Kingslayer.’”

“They told me of my father’s intent, but not that large caches of it remained below the city. Or perhaps they did, and I failed to grasp the significance.” Daenerys showed worry on her face. She’d have to have a talk with Tyrion and Ser Barristan. “Still, I would not think that she would kill thousands rather than surrender.”

Olenna expected the Queen to say something like that. “Nor did I expect her to destroy the Great Sept, killing my son, grandson, and granddaughter with hundreds more. Nor did I expect to hear that she was unmoved when learning that her son Tommen threw himself from a window in Maegor’s Holdfast. Trust me, she is very capable of any atrocity.”

Daenerys shuddered at the thought of Cersei destroying the city. “I will keep this in the forefront of my thinking as we attack King’s Landing. We need to take her alive, to face trial and punishment later. I hope Jamie can keep her from this madness.”

“Madness seems to have its way in the Red Keep,” said Olenna while returning to her food. The two women finished eating in silence.

____________________

The merged Dornish, Tyrell, Dothraki, and Unsullied armies moved east on and to either side of the Gold Road. The Unsullied led the Army of the West as they now referred to themselves. The Dothraki hoard was the Army of the East, although nobody thought to tell them. Torgo’s Dothraki, rode behind the Unsullied. Next came the Tyrells, with the Dornish, last to rendezvous, bringing up the rear. The Tarlys who pledged to Queen Daenerys marched between the Dothraki and Tyrells. The army had to slow its pace when crossing a stone bridge near where the river flowing from the God’s Eye merged with the Blackwater Reach. A small but thick woods grew near the bridge. It soon gained attention from the Tyrells as they awaited their turn to cross.

Dickon Tarly and about a dozen of his men were seen breaking away from the ranks and riding into the woods. One by one they rode in, trying not to attract attention. Twice as many Tyrells rode around the woods, entering from the far side. Soon enough they found Dickon and his men together, waiting for the great host to pass. After a brief melee, the Tyrells brought Dickon and his surviving men across the bridge to Grey Worm.

Bound, battered, bruised, but whole, Dickon stood before Grey Worm. His men, also worse for wear, were held by their Tyrell captors behind him. Grey Worm shook his head and said, “You expected we would not miss you?”

“We were hunting, my men need fresh meat,” Dickon said through swollen lips.

“Hunting?” Grew Worm asked. “Without bows or spears, only swords? Take mine.” Grey Worm plunged his spear through Dickon’s throat. Blood flowed from his mouth as he fell to the ground. He quivered a bit while arching his back, then stopped moving. Eyes wide open in lasting shock, bloody tongue hanging out. Grey Worm looked to the Tyrells, who ran their swords through each other Tarly. Leaving their corpses to scavengers, Grey Worm ordered the Tarly men be pulled from the march. Dornish would guard them near the woods, not crossing the Blackwater Reach. Their fate to be decided later – by the Queen.

____________________

A few days later, the Army in the East approached King’s Landing. There were too many Dothraki to all wait near the Iron Gate. The huge army formed lines from the Iron Gate to just past the Dragon Gate. Out of archer’s range, they saw scorpions atop each tower. Ser Jorah thought that a foolish place for them. Archers belonged on the towers to provide flanking fire on the attackers. The scorpions belonged on the wall itself. He watched as a flaming ball sailed up and over the wall. The Dothraki riders easily evaded it.

“Ranging shot,” Ser Jorah said to Rakharo. We should move behind where the projectile landed.

Rakharo had sailed from Dragonstone, landing at an inlet between Rosby and King’s landing. He brought news from Varys that “little birds” inside King’s landing observed catapults erected inside each gate, with the most at the Iron and King’s gates. Despite his earlier concerns, Jorah now thought Varys to be loyal. Rakharo also brought a cart carrying ravens, something they had neglected to bring from Driftmark.

Aggo gave the command to fall back some. Jhogo was at the Dragon Gate with Ser Gerrold. Jhogo would have the harder time approaching the Red Keep. Rhaenys’ Hill then Flea Bottom stood between the Dragon Gate and the Keep. He could ride west to Cobbler’s Square before turning onto the central road leading to Aegon’s High Hill. That was the road Aggo intended to take, after crossing west on the road from the Iron Gate. They had learned in Duskendale to avoid narrow streets. He watched north along the wall as Dothraki riders fell back, mimicking the movement by those to their left.

Ser Jorah sent a raven to Dragonstone containing three words. “Ready to attack.” He didn’t expect a response before they attacked, but it was his duty to send the message. He knew there would a signal to attack.

Yara sailed her fleet further up the Blackwater Bay. Euron’s fleet was close to King’s Landing. Too close, she thought. Not happy with her lookout’s observations, she climbed the mast and took his seeing glass. What she saw both confused and astounded her in its stupidity. Euron’s largest ships, those carrying scorpions, were in a staggered line across the bay. All of them, from what she could see. Further back, his longships were close to the Red Keep, as if his men were about to land. For what purpose she wondered? Did Euron know of the secret tunnel into the Keep that Tyrion had told her about? Was he mad, thinking he could take the Iron Throne for himself? Strike a deal with Daenerys? She also saw the Dothraki outside the Iron Gate, their lines stretching north along the wall. She sensed that whatever would happen, would happen soon. For now, she wondered how to get past the line of scorpions to engage Euron’s men on or near the shore.

To the west, Grey Worm stopped his army when in sight of the King’s Gate. From the maps he had studied with Rakharo, he decided that the Dothraki would best pass through the Gate of the Gods, allowing a straight ride to the Red Keep. He sent Red Tongue north, warning him of catapults at each gate. He learned of these defenses by a messenger arriving that morning.

Red Tongue asked, “How will I know to attack? The gates, who will open them for us?”

“You will know,” Grey Worm answered. “The gates are of no concern, you will see.” As they finished, burning ranging shots soared over the King’s Gate and Lion Gate. Grey Worm shouted to Red Tongue who had begun riding north. “Stay behind where those shots landed!”

Grey Worm deployed the remaining forces. He sent a legion of Unsullied to protect the right flank in case Euron attacked from the Blackwater Reach. With them, went the Second Sons scouts. He had agreed to have the Tyrells and Dornish enter the city first, mixed with Unsullied centuries. Although not the best choice tactically, it achieved the Queen’s strategic intent. Westerosi men would first enter King’s Landing.

Knights and Lords from the Reach and Dorne assembled for final orders. Young Quentyn Martell, eldest son of Doran Martell. With him was Lord Anders Yronwood, head of his house. Quentyn had been his ward years ago. Lord Titus Peake, Lord of Starpike commanded the forces from the Reach. He was married to a distant cousin of the Lannisters, but held no love for Cersei. With him was Talbert Serry, a knight of his house. They had fled their home on Southshield when Euron Greyjoy conquered the Shield Islands. Living in Highgarden, they were closest to the broken House Tyrell. With Ser Serry came the Hightowers and their knights.

“When do we attack?” The young Martell asked. Although cautious by nature, he was rumored to carry Targaryen blood.

“When we receive the signal,” Grey Tongue replied cryptically.

“What is the signal?” asked Quentyn.

Grey Worm looked to the gate. “Fire and blood.”

____________________

Daenerys stood in her chambers wearing a long tunic while the Dothraki healer inspected her wound. “It’s healed,” the woman said. Maester Pylos also checked. “I agree,” he said. “Surprisingly fast,” he added.

Missandei helped her Queen dress in her flying coat and breeches. Once done, the Queen’s closest advisor stood behind her to brush and braid her hair. Ser Barristan entered and began fastening Valyrian steel armor, starting with the Queen’s legs. Daenerys chose not to wear a helm that day. “It interferes with my vision,” she claimed. The old knight convinced her to take it along for when she landed.

Torch in hand, Tyrion accompanied Daenerys through Aegon’s garden to where Drogon and his brothers waited. “You don’t have to do this now,” the Hand said fearfully. “Let your Army besiege the city for a few days, see what Cersei does. See what effect Jamie has on her.”

“I will not leave my armies outside King’s Landing, exposed to harassment and attacks,” she stated while looking down to Tyrion. “We’ve been over this. Today I fly.”

In the morning darkness, Daenerys climbed on Drogon, securing her helm to one of his spines. She looked back to her advisors standing in torchlight. “See you in King’s Landing.” Drogon soared off into the starry sky, Rhaegal and Viserion following.

“Fire and blood,” Varys said as they watched three shadows disappear.

“I’m afraid you are right,” Tyrion said glumly.

The sun’s light began creeping over the horizon. Daenerys flew high over the Blackwater Bay. Her intent was to attack low and fast, with the rising sun behind her. Rhaegal and Viserion had never experienced scorpions. She worried that they would follow Drogon on the attack. She would need Drogon’s help to convince them to stay high.

Drogon screeched and snapped at his brothers as he began decending. The two quickly understood, climbing higher. Daenerys was surprised at what laid before her, yet thrilled that the large ships carrying scorpions lay in lines across the bay. She turned Drogon to the south over dry land on a wide turn to attack Euron’s line. “What luck,” she said to herself, Drogon grunted as if he agreed.

“Dracarys!” the Dragon Queen commanded. Drogon responded with a blast of flame, incinerating the first ships in the line. Their crews died where they stood, never hearing Drogon approach on his final glide. Skinless men in flames sought the water. Men not touched by dragon fire jumped into burning pitch blown from the decks. The dragon continued to rake the line. Ships bursting apart from the heat. Lines, rigging, and masts in flames before falling on hapless men desperate to escape. Shattered corpses floated among the flotsam, men who had been thrown from below decks by the dragon’s infernal blasts.

Daenerys brought Drogon around for a second run. Euron’s men began turning their scorpions north, looking for the dragon. They thought the machines were agonizingly slow to turn. Smoke and ash from burning ships obscured their view. As Daenerys completed her second pass, results as horrifying as the first, a ship on the far end of the line managed a shot. She heeled Drogon over to his left, then back right, crossing the ship as he burned it too. The bolt sailed off harmlessly. She commanded Drogon to climb. She spotted three armed ships that had broken from the line. Coming down with the sun behind her, each ship was quickly reduced to smoldering wreckage.

Daenerys flew Drogon higher, passing over Yara’s fleet. She saw and heard men cheering wildly. “Dragon Queen! Dragon Queen!” Raising sails and manning oars, the fleet made way to fight what was left of Euron’s. Yara had wisely inverted the colors on her sails and oars, making her ships distinct from the enemy.

Rhaegal and Viserion rejoined their mother and brother high over King’s Landing. If they stayed near Drogon, or mimicked his attack, they should remain unharmed, she reasoned. Daenerys had Drogon descend in a tight spiral, never straying near the walls. His brothers followed. The Queen attacked near the Mud Gate, flying Drogon low and fast as he destroyed scorpions and archers alike. Men and scorpions were flung in flames from shattered towers along the wall. Buildings caught fire from burning wood falling upon them. Archers burned, unable to drop flaming bows seared to their hands as they ran madly, some falling from the wall to a quick and fortunate death.

Reaching the King’s Gate, Daenerys pulled Drogon around nearly to Visenya’s Hill to fly along the River Row. Men of the City Watch lit fuses and released four catapults from inside the gate. Drogon’s maw burst with fire, burning men and catapults. As the King’s Gate shattered, its pieces flying outwards, a tremendous eruption tossed the dragon skyward. Wildfire ravaged the wall, shops, and homes. The blast toppled stables and stands on the Tourney Grounds. The Queen’s ears ached, she could barely hear Drogon screeching.

Grey Worm watched four globes soar high over the wall arcing higher and further than the ranging shots he saw earlier. He suddenly realized that those shots were a ploy, to keep his men too close to the wall and in range. He watched as the King’s Gate disappeared in blasts of fire, red followed by green. The green rose higher and further, accompanied by a strong wind ripping banners from staffs. The globes came down among the Dornish ranks, wiping out hundreds with each burst. Those not killed outright burned in a sickening red flame mixed with green. It was like he saw at the Gold Road, but these were men under his command, not the enemy. He ordered the Tyrell forces and Unsullied to advance as the Dornish reformed their ranks. But the gap in the wall was filled with fire, blocking them. Red Tongue took the blasts and fire as his signal to attack. While the infantry stopped before reaching the flames, the Dothraki rode through. Grey Worm watched in astonishment while listening to the Dothraki screaming in attack beyond the wall.

Drogon and Daenerys recovered from the blast. She could see Rhaegal and Viserion destroying scorpions near the Old Gate. Viserion being the most agile and fastest of the three chose to tempt the scorpions, dashing at them before turning away to let Rhaegal burn them. She knew to destroy the catapults inside the Dragon and Iron Gates before they could fire on the Dothraki. She was over Flea Bottom when to her dread, the catapults launched their deadly payload.

Ser Jorah knew the blast roaring over King’s Landing from the west was from more than Daenerys destroying the King’s Gate. He heard the catapults’ release and watched three projectiles soar toward the Dothraki. “Get away! Get away fast!” he cried out. The confused Dothraki, about to attack failed to move. Some who saw the spheres falling dashed off. Most simply watched. Burning horse flesh and Dothraki body parts thrown outwards and upwards to rain down on others. Horses reared, some bolted with their riders. Minutes later, Ser Jorah heard more blasts from the Dragon gate.

Rakharo rode up to Jorah, screaming in Dothraki. “What foul thing was that?”

“Wildfire,” Jorah shouted in response. “Send Aggo to find Jhogo, I fear the same hell rained down at the Dragon Gate!”

At that moment, the Iron Gate vanished in an expanding ball of green flame. Jorah couldn’t hear a dragon roar or screech, he only saw tower after tower crumble under red flames reaching towards the Iron Gate.

Rakharo screamed, “Ride!” The Dothraki brought their terrified horses around and charged at the burning gap in the wall.

Daenerys destroyed the catapults at the Dragon Gate, with the same result. The gate disintegrated in a storm of green fire. She anguished over people in the homes, shops, and buildings consumed by the flames. They couldn’t be helped, not now. She saw many thousands crowded on side streets as she crossed the city. Refugees from surrounding settlements, she presumed. Brought in by Cersei to serve as human shields. Fortunately, the City Watch gold cloaks herded them away from larger streets. The streets her men would use to reach the Red Keep.

She looked around. The city was ringed by broken and burning towers. Viserion and Rhaegal were finishing the last towers between the Red Keep and the former Iron Gate. Daenerys suddenly felt sharp pain in her right thigh. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Rhaegal scream. She turned Drogon to see Rhaegal struggle in the air, a scorpion bolt lodged in his right leg above his knee. It was fired from a tower on the Red Keep pointed into the city, not out. Rhaegal regained his form and flew to the Dragonpit with Viserion following. Both landed – Viserion hopped over to his brother to comfort him.

Dragon dreams, a bolt through her thigh, a bolt in Rhaegal’s leg, her sudden pain in a nearly healed wound. “What am I?” she wondered.

Only a few scorpions remained, all on the Red Keep walls, most facing into the city. Daenerys moved to destroy those facing the Blackwater Bay which threatened Yara’s ships. She looked down to see men landing bellowing the Keep. Euron’s men. They scrambled up the rocky shore for relative safety under the walls. More men landed as Yara’s ships broke free of their melee with Euron’s. They sailed for the shore, to meet Euron’s men in battle. The scorpions stood high about the boulder strewn shore, unable to shot down at the shore. Men rested among the boulders, waiting for orders to move forward or stand to fight fellow Ironborn. The queen flew Drogon below the towers atop the walls. “Dracarys,” she yelled. Drogon raked the rocks and wall with fire. Euron’s men burned as steam rose from rocks still wet from high tide. Some hid around boulders only to have the old rocks shatter from heat. Rock shards cut through men, saving them from an agonizing fiery end.

Euron and two others stood within the secret tunnel into the Red Keep. He watched his men burn or be shredded by shattering rocks. Yara’s ships came up on the soot covered shoreline. He saw Theon bound up the rocks, cutting down a burned but still fighting man. Other men emerged from among the boulders, having laid flat in tidal pools as a desperate measure to survive. Some had boiled to death. One by one they fell, overwhelmed by Yara’s men. The two men sheltering with Euron climbed down to fight Theon. In a rage fueled by the dragon’s fire and his enemy’s blood, Theon cut them down.

Euron approached wielding a battle axe in one hand, a dagger in the other. “Come forward, cockless!” He taunted Theon. “Where’s your cunt sister?” He held the higher ground. Theon moved to improve his position.

“Looking for your corpse,” Theon answered. “I’ll bring her your head!” Euron glanced away to look for Yara as Theon struck first. Euron blocked Theon’s sword with his heavily armored shoulder while swinging around his axe. Theon jumped back some, but still took a blow to his hip.

“First blood, nephew!” Euron hollered. “Let’s make this last! Fight!”

Theon surged forward on his good leg, nearly collapsing with his weight on the injured hip. He swung madly, catching Euron under his left arm, dagger out ready to plunge. Euron dropped his dagger while falling onto the rocks. His head bled, momentary darkness changing back to light. Theon stood over him.

“You neck is ripe for cutting, uncle,” were the last words Theon spoke. Euron could see Theon’s legs. He swung his axe around, breaking Theon’s shin. He collapsed while Euron spun the axe around, burying the spiked end in Theon’s chest.

Euron could barely stand. He laughed at Theon’s corpse, unseeing eyes staring at the sky. He mocked Yara. “Come, see your brother before you die!” Yara could see Theon’s legs splayed over a rock, his sword pointing to where Euron stood.

She seethed in anger, scrambling over rocks to avenge her brother. Euron’s laughs stopped short when an arrow pierced his neck. Stunned, he glanced at Yara before falling over dead on Theon’s body.

Yara looked to her right and above. Several men of the Second Sons approached along the wall. They had been moving next to the wall from what remained of the Iron Gate. “We saw the fire. We saw you land and fight,” one shouted to Yara. “I fear we arrived too late for your man.”

“Today my brother will rejoice with the Drowned God,” Yara answered while closing Theon’s eyes. She pulled a bloodied parchment from his jerkin. A map drawn by Tyrion revealing the passageways under the Red Keep. She handed it to one of the Second Sons. “I have another,” she said. Two Ironborn came to carry Theon’s body to a ship where it would remain until the battle had been won. “This one,” Yara pointed at her uncle, “is for the carrion eaters.”

Yara, her men, and the Second Sons entered the tunnel. Her men lit and passed around torches. They had entered the Red Keep.

____________________

The girl passed through the Mud Gate two days earlier. She shuffled along with smallfolk until slipping away onto a side street. She concealed a small sword and dagger under her cloak. Separated from her travelling companion, she paid fora room and board at an inn not far from the Red Keep. The girl washed then rested. After breaking her fast the next morning, she walked about the streets. By noon, the gates were closed. She had been in King’s Landing as a child. It changed her forever. She happened by a motherhouse outside the gates to the Red Keep. Gold Cloaks stood guard at the gate, letting no strangers pass. A septa emerged from within the Keep and walked to the motherhouse where she entered. Later the girl watched as a different septa passed from the motherhouse and through the gate. The girl recalled a small sept within those walls. This motherhouse served that sept, so it seemed.

She returned to the inn to take dinner. She had seen men erecting catapults outside the Mud Gate. Soon, she thought. She ate, drank some ale, and paid for another night. She returned to the motherhouse, sitting on a crate in an alley across the way. At first light she saw Lannister soldiers pass into the Red Keep. She crossed the road and stood at the motherhouse door. She entered. A tall septa was in the front room performing chores.

“Who are you?” The septa asked while setting down a cleaning cloth.

“I am no one,” the girl answered.

“What do you want?” The sept stood there glaring, hands on her hips.

“I am in need of a septa’s cloak, much shorter than yours,” the girl answered. “Also, a septa’s shoes.”

The septa frowned at the girl. “Do you take me as a fool? Leave at once!”

“Then I will find the clothes myself and you will die.” The girl drew her sword from under her cloak. The septa shook her head while moving to another room. The girl followed, taking the used cleaning cloth.

“These should fit you,” the septa said while holding a cloak, rope belt, and shoes.

The girl took the garments. “Now kneel.” She again raised her sword and the septa complied. The girl stuffed the cleaning cloth into the septa’s mouth before binding it with a thin line. She tied the woman’s wrists to her ankles then dragged her into a corner. “You will be safe here,” the girl said while covering the septa with the cloak she had worn. “Pray for endurance, pray that nothing falls on this house.” The girl donned the garments, secured her sword, and departed.

The girl walked to the gate. The City Watch men had been replaced by Lannister Red Cloaks. “Where are you going, septa?” One of the guards challenged.

“To serve the Queen,” the girl answered. “To bring her grace of the Seven.”

“Have you been called?” The guard asked. “These gates are soon to be closed. You will not be able to leave.”

“I have been called by the Seven to serve the Queen. I have passed through these gates each day. The City Watch knows of our duties. I must go to the sept.” The girl calmly pleaded her case. The guard relented.

“Go and serve our Queen and the Seven.” The guard watched the girl pass. Moments later, he helped close and bolt the gate. Beyond the Keep, over the Blackwater Bay, he saw smoke rising and heard a terrible roar.

The Unsullied fought along the length of River Row. Each corner was a new skirmish with Red and Gold Cloaks attacking from crossing streets. The Dornish and Tyrell men moved largely unopposed towards the ruined Great Sept, presenting a Westerosi face to frightened city residents. Red Tongue’s men were facing stiff resistance and taking casualties inside the Lion Gate. Torgo perished soon after the Dothraki rode through the burning wreckage. His men rode on slashing defenders and leaving a trail of blood while making their way to meet with fellow Dothraki in the central square.

In the northeast quarter, Aggo led the remains of Jhogo’s Dothraki westward along the wall towards Cobbler’s Square. Many of Jhogo’s men burned in wildfire before crashing through the Dragon Gate. Aggo presumed Jhogo was dead. They destroyed the catapults at the Old Gate. Ser Gerold warned the Dothraki not to disturb the glass globes filled with a green liquid. At Cobbler’s Square they met a strong force of defenders. More Dothraki fell under a rain of arrows from rooftops and swordsmen on the ground. They rode southeast from the square leaving it strewn with dead men and horses.

Rakharo’s warriors rode west on the road bordering Flea Bottom. The people of that slum remained in their hovels. Ser Jorah saw Viserion and Rhaegal land in the dragonpit. He would have rode there if Daenerys followed. He could see Drogon circling the city as the Queen to surveyed the battle.

Daenerys flew above the city, keeping away from scorpions defending the Red Keep. Although smaller than those she had destroyed on the walls, these could be reloaded faster and send more bolts aimed at her dragon. Each time she passed near the Keep, a swarm of bolts reached out to greet her. She knew what distance to maintain, letting the bolts fall harmlessly onto the city. She saw those defending the Red Keep building barricades in the streets. They took furniture, doors, carts, baskets, and clothing – anything that would burn – from the surrounding shops and homes. The men had completed one ring of barricades and continued to build two more closer to the keep. Daenerys thought to burn these barricades, but doing so would expose Drogon to scorpion bolts and cause immense destruction among the houses. She didn’t know how many innocent city dwellers remained there.

Lacking clear targets, she flew to the Dragonpit, landing near Viserion and Rhaegal. Viserion had pulled the scorpion bolt from his brother’s leg. He had gone off foraging as the ground around the dragons was littered with bones. Human bones. She knew it was wishful thinking that none of the bones had belonged to her soldiers. Dragons eat whatever they want. Rhaegal had been licking his wound. The bleeding had stopped but he was still clearly in pain. He let go a low growl then purred as she stroked his leg. Viserion slept, Drogon came over to give his brother a nudge on the snout. She admired her children, how they seemed to care for each other. She was about to climb onto Drogon when Ser Jorah rode into the pit along with four Dothraki.

“Khalessi, it’s not safe for you in here. The pit is surrounded by people escaping the fighting,” Ser Jorah said.

Daenerys smirked and tilted her head at that. “Do you think they’d come into this pit with three dragons protecting me? I doubt any wish to offer themselves to my children!”

At that moment, Ser Jorah noticed the bones lying about the pit. “I suppose not, seeing that they’ve availed themselves to a meal. But please, your Grace, be careful.”

“Very well,” the Queen answered. “I find dodging scorpion bolts very exhilarating.” She climbed onto Drogon’s back and took to the sky towards the Red Keep.

____________________

The girl hesitated in the Red Keep’s outer courtyard. She knew there were tunnels beneath the keep, but not where they went or how to enter from here. She’d have to climb to the lower bailey and take her chances crossing the drawbridge into Maegor’s Holdfast. She was relieved to find the portcullis leading to the Sept open and unguarded. Rather than turning to the Sept, she continued up the serpentine stairway. Armed men including members of the Queensguard passed her in both directions. She reached the lower bailey and observed the bridge spanning a dry moat. The bridge was heavily guarded by Lannister soldiers, but they were having a heated argument. She moved closer to look down into moat. She saw long spikes that last spilled young King Tommen’s blood. The guards were saying something about invaders below the Holdfast. All but two vanished into the imposing tower. She was shocked that the guards let her pass without a word.

She walked under an open portcullis and doors into a large hall. A broad staircase stood directly in front of her. She climbed to the second level landing connecting to a central hallway. Narrower stairs continued from the hallway upwards. She stopped at each floor to glance around, looking for what would be Cersei’s apartment. On the sixth level, she saw an ornate doorway with two Queensguard White Cloaks standing watch. The girl ducked into a maid’s pantry next to the stairwell.

Cersei was standing at a large window watching the battle for King’s Landing rage on. The reception room was her favorite in the Queen’s apartment. She could entertain visitors or look out over her city. Today, infantry was fighting its way towards her on the River Row. Savages were riding past Flea Bottom. Others were making their way around Visenya’s and Rhaenys’s Hills towards the central square. She watched as two dragons destroyed scorpions and ravaged her men atop the walls. Her brother and Hand stood to either side.

“There is still time to concede, make peace, and escape the city,” Ser Jaime said for what would be the last time.

Cersei looked at her wine goblet before setting it down. “Peace? We cannot make peace with the dragon whore. Euron’s scorpions and those on the Keep will kill her dragons. One beast is already down in the dragonpit.”

Her Hand attempted to have her face reality. “Euron’s fleet is smoldering in the Blackwater. His last men burned below the keep. Without the Golden Company, our men cannot hold back the attackers.”

“To seven hells with the Golden Company,” Cersei replied sardonically, returning to her goblet.

“You’ll die with that goblet in your hand,” Jamie said while watching Daenerys circle the city on her dragon. “One breath from that beast and we are dead.”

“Better with a goblet than in your arms, brother,” she replied with a smirk.

____________________

The Tyrells and Dornish had fought their way to the Hook, a curving road from Muddy Way to the base of Aegon’s High Hill. They spread out onto side streets to make room for the arriving Dothraki. Other Dothraki approached the High Hill directly from the Iron Gate, following the street below the city wall. The Unsullied had opened the Mud Gate allowing some city folk to flee and Unsullied with the Second Sons protecting the flank to enter. They too were careful not to disturb the glass globes filled with wildfire. They reached the outer barricade partway from the gate to the hill. Soon, the surviving host that had come to King’s Landing was at or near the barricades.

“Dismantle the barricades,” the Lord of Starpike commanded. “I see more in front of us. Check each building for the enemy, we don’t want to march into a trap.”

The Dothraki, Unsullied, and Second Sons began tearing up the barricades. Grey Worm wondered why the Lannisters went through all the effort to build the barricades without leaving men behind to set them alight. He soon had his answer.

On the walls of the Red Keep, men operating the scorpions loaded clay bottles of wildfire in hollows fashioned into the tip of each bolt. Having fired many bolts at the Dragon Queen and her beast, they knew better how to aim. With lit fuses, the bolts soared over the streets, landing on attackers crowded behind the barricades. Some landed onto the barricades themselves, setting them alight. The wildfire bursts were small compared to the globes launched by catapult. But in the confines of narrow streets, the effects were just as awful. Buildings, men, and horses burned. Men were trampled as they surged away from the fire.

“Over the barricades!” Lord Yronwood shouted. “Retreat is death, spread out to the front!”

To the north, the Dothraki charged over burning and unlit barricades alike. Many were falling as the scorpions maintained their deadly fire. To the south, Grey Worm avoided death by ducking into a building, only to find it ablaze moments later. He found his way out the back and reappeared past the burning barricade.

“Move forward where you can!” Grey Worm shouted. The Second Sons had already spread onto side streets looking for paths forward. Once clear, they rushed to the second line of barricades and clambered over.

The men firing scorpions began setting the second line of barricades on fire. The attackers dispersed, bolts aimed at clusters of men set much of the city below the High Hill in flames.

Daenerys looked down in anger. Her men were dying. City blocks were burning. She turned to attack the scorpions through the smoke. If she could time her attack, Drogon could burn a scorpion while the men were reloading. She had to pull away from her first run as a bolt came at her from the left. What she saw next brought her joy. A bolt sailed over the Keep’s sept and destroyed a tower and scorpion firing from it. The Ironborn were fighting on the walls surrounding the Red Keep.

“Shoot the towers!” Yara screamed as her men charged along the wall. Some fell to archers who were quickly overrun and taken down by axe and sword. It took some time for her men to figure out loading wildfire bottles into the bolts, but soon destroyed each scorpion in their sight. The Ironborn stormed the remain towers, pushing the scorpions out and over the wall onto rocks below. The last bolts Yara herself shot at the gate to the Red Keep. Her men cheered as the gates splintered and burned.

____________________

Cersei watched as her last scorpions were destroyed. Enemy soldiers controlled the wall. Certainly, Euron and his men failed her in reinforcing the Keep. She always hated that ugly heathen, glad for not having to face him again.

“The gate is breached, your Grace,” Qyburn said unhelpfully. “There may be time to escape with Jamie.”

“Perhaps it’s time to end this,” Cersei replied. She unhappily noticed her wine carafe was empty.

Qyburn offered no resistance. “Are you sure, your Grace.”

“Yes, I am sure” Cersei said nonchalantly. “On way, have the handmaiden bring more wine. Ser Gregor could use a goblet of weak wine, as could the Queensguard in the hall.”

“As you wish, my Grace.” Qyburn turned and left the reception room. He stopped briefly speak to the handmaiden, who followed him past Ser Gregor and in the hall.

“You are sure of what Cersei?” Jaimie asked. “What do you mean by ‘time to end this?’”

Cersei turned to her brother. “To deny the Dragon whore the city. Don’t worry, we’re safe here in the Holdfast. It can’t be taken. The Red Keep will survive.”

“Survive what?” Jaimie grabbed Cersei by her shoulder. “What madness is this?”

“Is it madness to deny a Targaryen, Kingslayer? Go ahead, add kinslayer to your titles, soon it will not matter. She’ll burn us anyway.”

“Wildfire!” Jaimie concluded. He faced a monarch threating King’s Landing with wildfire before. He would not kill Cersei, not like the Mad King, but could still stop this. “You’re mad like Aerys!” Jamie left her, running after Qyburn.

The girl watched through the pantry door as an older tall and lanky man emerged from the Queen’s apartment, spoke briefly with the guards, then disappeared through a hidden door across from her. Behind him came a handmaiden carrying a tray with a large carafe and goblet. She had longish flaxen hair and a plain face, wearing a simple dress. The handmaiden entered the pantry, the girl hidden in the rear. The girl watched the handmaiden fill the carafe, and select a clean goblet. She filled two bronze goblets with wine and water, then a much large one the same. The stepped to her side to wipe down the table. The girl moved quickly.

Spinning the handmaiden around, the girl pushed her across the table as she thrust a dagger up under then chin. “I’m sorry,” the girl whispered. She held the handmaidens head over the table edge so that no blood would stain her dress. The girl pulled off the handmaiden’s shoes, stockings, and dress down over the ankles. She changed into the clothes, hanging her sword from the septa’s rope tied around her waist, but under the dress. She retrieved a sealed vial from the cloak she had just worn. The emptied vial, she returned to the cloak.

She carried the tray to the White Cloaks at the door, holding it up to each. The men thanked her and drank deeply. They set their empty goblets back onto the tray. “Sleep well,” the girl thought to herself as she entered the apartment.

The Mountain towered over her. She lifted the tray to her face, yet Ser Gregor still had to bend over to retrieve his goblet. He lifted his visor revealing a dark and mottled face. Eyes red without emotion. He stared at the girl, then drank. He held the empty goblet at his side with closed eyes, then leaned back onto the tapestry covered wall. Slowly, he began to slide down the wall. He dropped the goblet, the girl caught it with one hand while balancing the tray. The huge man tipped over on his side, laying near the door, taking shallow breaths. The girl set the three bronze goblets on a table then entered the reception room.

____________________

Daenerys watched the Ironborn destroy the scorpions and gate to the Red Keep. The Second Sons were first to enter the outer yard, followed closely by Grey Worm and nearly 200 Unsullied. Lannister soldiers and a few Queensguard fell back to the Small Hall, defending the entries to the middle bailey. Daenerys landed Drogon atop the Tower of the Hand, scattering stonework onto the Small Hall and surrounding ground. The defenders looked up at her, dropped their swords, and knelt.

From her perch on the tower, Daenerys could see Cersei looking across at her from Maegor’s Holdfast. Drogon hopped of the tower while madly beating his wings to hold position. She urged him closer to Cersei’s window, turning him so that she could see her face without the dragon’s wings scraping the walls.

Cersei stared at her with a narrow smile. She turned for a moment, looking forward again with a goblet of wine in her hand. She took a sip then raised it, as if in a toast.

Suddenly, Cersei dropped the goblet. A bloom of blood flowered across her chest, bright red against the lemony bodice. A fountain emerged as Cersei’s heart pumped its last beats. She collapsed, disappearing from view.

A handmaiden, stood behind where Cersei fell. She held a bloodied sword, thin and short. The girl reached up to her chin and lifted – lifted her face and hair off? She dropped the bloody mask while wiping her forehead. A different girl, or young woman, looked out at Daenerys. Dark short hair and deep dark eyes. She smiled through lips spotted with blood. She turned away, disappearing into the room.

Shocked by what she had seen, Daenerys backed Drogon away from the Holdfast. She stayed a few moments, half expecting some other bizarre event. Seeing none, she brought her dragon around and landed in the outer yard.

Her reign had begun.

____________________

Drogon lowered his shoulder and the Queen began to climb down. She noticed her helm still fastened to a spine. She released it and took it with her. She strode confidently to Grey Worm. “We have won,” she said. “Cersei is dead, murdered. I saw it happen.” She began to loosen her armor, Grey Worm held out his hand and stopped her.

“It’s still dangerous here,” the Unsullied commander warned. We must secure the keep and these towers. Perhaps you should rest here then return to Dragonstone until it is safe.”

“Dragonstone is no longer my place, this is,” she replied while wiping soot and dust from her face. “Send ravens, have Tyrion, Missandei, Varys, and Ser Barristan set sail immediately.”

“As you command, your Grace.” Grey Worm had no idea where the ravens were, but would send men out to find them.

Unsullied moved to stand watch over the Lannisters and Queenguards who had remained kneeling with heads down or eyes fixed on Drogon. The others began moving through the keep to secure it. They were soon joined by Dornish and Tyrell men. A few Dothraki, led by Rakharo rode into the yard.

“Our Khalessi, now rules over all of Westeros!” Rakharo exclaimed. “Today the Great Stallion rejoices on your victory!”

“Thank you, Rakharo,” the Queen responded. “Where are your leaders, Aggo and Jhogo. Ser Jorah? Ser Gerold?”

The Dothraki commander gave a grim look. “Aggo and Jhogo have gone to the Great Stallion. Jorah and Gerold are out there, rounding up prisoners.” Rakharo pointed to the shattered gates. “We lost many to that green fire, the work of sorcerers.”

Daenerys tilted her head compassionately. “I saw many die today. Too many. We will honor them in each people’s customs.”

“What shall we do with these prisoners?” Grey Worm asked. He had lost many men as well, including Red Tongue who burned while climbing a barricade.

“Take them down the hill. Feed them, give them water, care for their wounds,” the Queen said. “Put the able bodied to work moving the dead and clearing the streets.”

Just then, Sers Jorah and Gerold rode into the Keep. Jorah dismounted and ran to his Queen. He embraced her, lifting her off her feet while spinning around. “My Queen!” he shouted.

Daenerys leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek. “Set me down! You are wounded again!”

“It’s nothing,” Jorah said. “Just some debris falling onto the streets that hit me. Command me, your Grace. Let me serve the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!”

Daenerys thought for a moment, then answered. “Find the kitchens and some food and drink! Then a place for me to wash up, where I can get out of this filthy armor.”

“Ser Gerold, let’s go!” Jorah yelled to the knight still on his horse. “We need to secure the kitchens if you care to risk it!”

Ser Gerold dismounted to make his way over to the Queen, bowing deeply. He looked towards the gate to the middle bailey to see Yara and several Ironborn escorting a prisoner.

“Your Grace, I present to you Ser Jamie Lannister,” Yara announced. Jamie looked at the Queen and bowed.

“Ser Jamie,” Daenerys started, “I let you escape from the Gold Road so that you might counsel your sister to surrender. You surely see that you have failed. Cersei is dead.”

“I expect the prisoners will be treated fairly, your Grace.” Ser Jamie said with slight pain in his face. “How did she die?”

“Murdered, seemingly by her handmaiden, but I am not sure,” Daenerys recounted. I saw her die, I saw a light-haired handmaiden holding a bloody sword. Next I saw a dark haired young woman with deep dark eyes. What I saw in between, I cannot explain.”

“You’ve explained enough, your Grace. I ask that you turn her body over to me,” Jamie said firmly, but pleading none the less. “I will place her in the lowest dungeon, where it is coolest. I ask for some of her clothes, and a handmaiden’s help. She will know where to find the clothes.”

Daenerys gave thin smile, “This you are granted. These men will escort you to her apartment now.” “Yara, how and where was Ser Jamie captured?”

Yara stepped forward to answer. “We found him below the Holdfast. A man, apparently the Hand lay dead. Two other men in grey cloaks we found dead nearby. We captured two others cloaked the same outside. He claims to have killed them, his sword was bloodied. He surrendered without resistance.”

“Cersei intended to do what I killed your father for,” Jamie said while reminding all of his being the Kingslayer. “I would not let that happen. I stopped the hand killing him and two pyromancers. Two others I let go as they begged not to be part of the scheme.”

“You have paid for your life with blood, Ser Jamie,” Daenerys said. “I’m glad I let you live when I could have burned you. Go now, care for your sister’s body. We will talk again.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Jamie said. The men who escorted him earlier took him away.

____________________

Daenerys sat at a table in the kitchens. Sers Jorah and Gerold sitting on either side of her, facing the doors. She had washed up from hot water taps in the kitchen. She wondered how such a thing was possible, but then recalled that Targaryens built the place. Her armor was on the floor behind her. She hoped never to wear it again. The Queen ate bread and reheated meat stew, tasted first by the cooks. Wishing Missandei was there with her, she could also use Tyrion in dealing with Jamie and his dead sister’s body. A family should mourn together.

Jorah had asked her if they should prepare the Queen’s apartment for her. She said no, she would not live where Cersei did. She’d use the King’s apartment, vacant since Tommen defenestrated himself. Her men found several women who claimed to be from Astapor and Meereen. They said they heard rumors of a Dragon Queen freeing the slaves and were anxious to serve her. The women set about changing over the apartment the best they could. She also needed a change of clothes. The same women said the late Queen Margaery’s clothes were stored in the King’s apartment. They would do for now.

Daenerys awoke in what was now her apartment, once occupied by her father. She wondered what he would have thought of her ruling the Seven Kingdoms. If he were alive and captive in the dungeons below the keep, would his madness later fade? Would he want to take back the throne? She didn’t dream at all but laid in bed thinking of her father’s cell in Duskendale. “Burn them all,” he had scratched deeply into the wall. She breathed a sigh of relief that she did not before falling deep into sleep.

Later, she stood at the large window. She looked down at the iron spikes in the moat. Her ancestor Queen Helaena Targaryen threw herself onto those spikes. Many Targaryens died here, women in childbirth, infants in early death. Others murdered. Should she tear it down and rebuild her own? No, it is part of her family. She will add to its history.

Gazing out, she could see building smoldering as Lannister men and city folk were clearing out what they could. These she would rebuild first. And the gates, her advisors would certainly insist on gates. She walked over to another window and saw Drogon sleeping in the Godswood. She understood it was there out of respect to the Old Gods still worshipped by many, especially in the North. Fortunately, he slept far from the red-leafed tree, a weirwood that had some special importance in the history of Westeros. She couldn’t see into the Dragonpit. She hadn’t seen Viserion or Rhaegal. Hopefully Rhaegal was resting and Viserion out fishing over the Blackwater Bay. She hoped his gathering of corpses to feed on was out of expediency and not a new taste in food.

A knock on the door ended her sightseeing. It was Ser Jorah and two of the Essoi handmaidens that had assisted with her bath the night before. They had Valyrian and Ghiscari names, still common around the Bay of Dragons. Selaerla and Rirarra. Her hair was down, silver strands flowing around her night clothes. Selaerla began brushing out the Queen’s hair, Rirarra laid out food from the kitchens for her and Jorah to break fast.

“I need to speak to the people,” Daenerys said as she raised fresh bread to her mouth.

“Indeed, your Grace,” Jorah replied. “The city below the Red Keep is devastated from wildfire, perhaps the dragonpit will do? It will hold tens of thousands with many more below on the hill.”

“I’ll have to get Viserion and Rhaegal to move,” she said while nodding. “Rhaegal should be able to take flight now. There are bones to clear out and I’ll need some sort of platform to speak from.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Jorah agreed. “There are likely some carpenters among the Tyrells and Dornish, more in King’s Landing. You haven’t been in the throne room. Shall I escort you there today?”

Daenerys sighed. “We’ll go this morning, after our meal. It had slipped my mind with everything that has happened since yesterday morning. Have you learned anything about the girl or woman I saw kill Cersei?”

“She vanished,” Jorah said while frowning. “We found a septa’s cloak in a pantry near Cersei’s apartment. The two guards were still groggy, but insisted that she was a regular handmaiden serving Cersei. We found her personal guard, Gregor Clegane, dead with an empty goblet at his side. A stab wound in his throat, probably by the assassin on her way out.”

“So, she posed as a septa to gain entry to the Holdfast,” the Queen pondered. “Clever.”

Ser Jorah nodded. “Apparently so. There is a small motherhouse outside the gate to the Keep. We found a septa inside, bound and gagged. She said a young woman had taken a cloak and shoes. A dark cloak and leather armor the woman had worn were there. Ser Gerold presented the garments to hounds from the City Watch kennel. Men are about the city with hounds looking for her.”

Selaerla had finished the Queen’s hair, putting it into nine braids per her Grace’s order. Rirarra had gone into another room and returned with clothes for Daenerys to choose from. She picked a black dress and jacket, think the others were too revealing for a Queen to wear in Westeros. Margaery Tyrell had not shared in that restraint. Rirarra helped her put on high boots. Daenerys and Ser Jorah began their long walk to the throne room with four guards following.

They entered through massive wood doors. Some of her men had noticed a wood veneer over the doors. Behind the thin planks was revealed a Targaryen sigil carved into each door. The vast hall was empty save a pair of bronze braziers at each column. At the far end the Iron Throne made from thousands of swords towered above the floor. The Queen walked up to the throne, touching a sword.

“The swords are not sharp,” Daenerys said as she drew her fingers over several blades. “They seem to have been dulled.”

“Likely the throne cut a Baratheon or Cersei, so they had each blade dulled,” Jorah offered as an explanation. “Look, the swords to the outside are sharp.”

“I’ll be careful of those,” said the Queen as she began to climb thirteen steps to the seat. She turned and sat down on the thick cushion, laying her arms on padded rests. She looked down to Jorah and the four guards. Others in the Keep began wandering in, filling the front end. She took a deep breath. It was hers, what she wanted, what she fought for, what thousands died for. She closed her eyes to let her heart stop racing. For a moment after opening them she saw small dragons flying about the hall, her hands covered in scales. Smoke drifting across the rafters, flames in the braziers.

Hundreds stood in the throne room, looking up at her. Knights, Lords and Ladies, tradesmen, merchants, and smallfolk alike filled the space. Her Queensguard in white cloaks lined one side. To her immediate right stood a man with black and silver hair, violet eyes so dark they appeared black. He carried a sword with a dragon head pommel. A thin crown rested on his head. Further right was a young man that looked all the world like her brother Viserys. His black cloak had a matching cape with embroidered dragon wings. Missandei stood to her left, beyond her were Tyrion and Varys.

Her visions ended; she looked down to her left and right.

“How do I confer with my advisors when I’m up here and they’re down there on the floor?” She wondered out loud. “Do we somehow pass notes to each other?”

Jorah understood what she meant. He gave some thought then came up with a solution. “We can have carpenters build platforms with stairs on either side of the throne. In time the platforms could be built from stone.”

“Please make that happen soonest, Ser Jorah,” the Queen replied as she descended from the throne. “Do we have word on when my remaining council will arrive from Dragonstone?”

“If the winds are favorable and they left immediately, tomorrow or the following day,” he answered.

“Indeed, I hope they did,” the Queen said. “Take me to the small council room or library, whichever is closest. I have a speech to prepare.”

____________________

Ironborn men rowed the longship up the Blackwater Reach. They docked near the fish market, in front of the Muddy Gate. Missandei stood at the bow, anxiously looking for Grey Worm above the docks. She leapt from the ship before the lines were secured, running to him then falling into a deep embrace. Tears flowed from her dark eyes as Grey Worm held her while placing a kiss upon her forehead.

“You’re safe!” she cried in Valyrian.

“I would not die without holding you first,” Grey Worm said. “Come, we have a long walk to see the Queen. She longs for your counsel and company.”

Tyrion climbed up and out followed by Varys. He straightened his jerkin while looking around. He saw the wrecked towers where the scorpions once threatened and burns along broken ramparts. His eyes gazed at smoke rising beyond the wall, closer to the Red Keep.

“Not as I feared,” Tyrion said to Varys. “Our Queen appears to have destroyed every scorpion along the walls. The gate is intact but I suppose not all of them are.”

“Also, every ship carrying a scorpion in Euron’s fleet,” Varys added. “All his other ships too, from what we saw coming here. Let’s get going, the sun is getting high and I’d like to rest in my former quarters again. Presuming Cersei did not do something unspeakable to them.”

Sers Jorah and Gerold greeted Ser Barristan as he came off the ship. “I’d do without ships for a while,” the older knight said.

“There is much to do here,” Jorah remarked while the walked past the open carriage brought to take Olenna to the Keep. Elaria joined her on the carriage, to make conversation along the way. Maester Pylos was the last to climb ashore. They would take the Muddy Way to the Hook. The shorter route along River Row was blocked by men moving rubble that had fallen from walls and buildings.

“It smells like smoke, guts, rot, and shit,” Tyrion observed as they passed through the gate. The bodies had been cleared from the streets, but blood and ash still covered the cobblestones. “Most everything from here to Aegon’s High Hill is burnt!” He shook his head, fearing his Queen unleashed the dragons in her attack on the Red Keep. But the Red Keep was intact, so “what happened here?” he thought.

“Wildfire,” Ser Gerold said as he caught up with the pair. “They used wildfire on scorpion bolts fired from the Keep. We would have lost many more had not Yara’s men entered the Keep. Many of ours burned outside the walls by wildfire lofted by catapults.”

“Cersei commanded that?” asked Tyrion.

“And much worse, I am afraid,” Ser Gerold answered.

“Where is she?” Tyrion continued.

“Dead,” came back Gerold’s reply.

“And my brother Jamie?” Tyrion had sadness in his eyes, thinking himself to be the last Lannister.

“Alive,” said Ser Gerold. “He is with her body, in the deepest dungeon. He is cared for.”

“What would have been worse than this?” Tyrion suspected the answer, but asked anyway.

“Burning the entire city with wildfire stored in tunnels below,” said Ser Gerold, in a tone like a question. “Your brother stopped it, he killed the Hand and two pyromancers.”

Tyrion stopped and vomited. His wine-red puke mixing with drying blood on the street. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth saying, “What a waste of Dornish Red.”

They walked silently along the Hook. From the street to the Keep was nothing but ruined buildings and ash. Dothraki horses laid dead alongside the street, stomachs bloated while they rotted. On some side streets Tyrion could see bodies being removed from what were once homes and shops.

“How did she die?” Tyrion finally broke the silence.

“Murdered, so I have been told,” Ser Gerold said without looking at Tyrion.

“By whom?” Tyrion thinking it may have been Jamie.

Ser Gerold replied, “A girl or young woman, we don’t know who.”

____________________

Carpenters built a high covered platform at the vault furthest from where the dragonpit gates once stood. Men had taken away bones that remained from the dragons’ meals. The dragons themselves flew off towards the west and east, looking for prey. Tens of thousands gathered on the floor of the pit to hear their Queen. Thousands more sat or stood on the old rubble rising above and around the sandy floor. Men who had fought for Daenerys stood between the platform and crowd. Her council sat on either side of where she would speak from. Banners from nearby Lordships flew amongst the crowd. The Queen arrived at the pit through a rear gate into the vault. She climbed up onto the platform, laid her hands upon the rail she stood behind, and looked out over her people.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons. Moons ago, I set sail from Essos for Westeros to reclaim the Iron Throne in the name of House Targaryen.”

The crowd stirred, but was otherwise silent.

“I came to not just conquer, to not just take what is rightfully mine, but to break the wheel which with each turn crushed the people of Westeros. I came to bring peace to the people; the smallfolk, the farmers, the merchants, the craftsmen. I came to show the Lords and Ladies that they can reap the bounty of their lands without breaking those that work them. I came so that each child, highborn or not, has a place and chance to live a fair and full life. To live without knowing hunger. To live without knowing war. I came for all of you.”

The smallfolk began murmuring among themselves. The Lords and people around their banners for the most part just stared forward.

“The Usurper Cersei, is dead. I will not rule from the Red Keep reveling in luxury that your toil made for her. I will rule to serve. I will rule justly, but firmly. Loyalty is for me to earn and will be rewarded. Treachery will be dealt with severely.”

“There is much to do in King’s Landing. First, we must honor our dead. Not only those that died fighting for me, but those against me, and mostly the innocent who perished from the Usurper’s acts. We will do so. Privately if you wish, or together outside the walls. Then we will rebuild what Cersei destroyed. Your homes. Your shops. The Great Sept. All of us. Together.”

A cheer rose from the crowd at the mention of the Great Sept. Belief in The Seven was strong among those living in King’s Landing. Most also believed that Cersei destroyed the Sept to kill their beloved Queen Margaery.

Daenerys had stepped in front of the rail and began walking down to the pit floor. In front of her the smallfolk began to chant. “Our Queen! Our Queen! Our Queen!” She ordered her men to part, she walked out and among the people, touching their outreached hands. For the first time, she felt that she had truly won.

Not far from the front, a girl stood, her arms crossed in front. She wondered what time would bring. Whatever it would be, the girl knew she would be close at hand.

It had taken most of three days to gather enough wood for the funeral pyres. People from the city and the Queen’s army brought fallen timber from nearby woods. Others carried whatever was not destroyed yet damaged beyond salvage from the city. They built three groups of pyres. To the right, those that had fought for the Queen. On the left, Lannister soldiers, Queensguard, and the City Watch. In the center were the innocent who had fallen. Many dead were burned beyond recognition making where to place their bodies a difficult decision. The only hints were bits of clothing or armor. The bodies reeked with decay, yet people willingly and solemnly placed them upon the pyres.

A Septon said words to the new gods, especially the Stranger. An old man, cloaked and hooded, invoked the old gods. Daenerys lit a torch from a brazier and passed it to the man standing next to her. He in turn used it to light the torch borne by a woman to his right. The Queen lit two more torches, keeping one for herself and passing the other to her left. More than a hundred soldiers and city people stepped forward holding torches, following the Queen to light the pyres.

The pyres would burn through the night. Daenerys stayed for a time, talking with the people around her. Food that had just arrived from the Reach was brought out and served from carts. Wine and ale flowed to loosen the somber mood. Daenerys was helped onto a white mare, together with her guards and party, turned away and rode back through the Old Gate.

She stopped several times to dismount and speak with the people. Did they have a place to sleep? Did they have enough food? Have merchants begun to reopen their shops? She stopped at a jeweler’s shop to buy a small gold chain. She paid more than it’s worth, but the value laid in the jeweler making his first sale under her reign. The Queen walked the street leading to the High Hill. Men and women were salvaging stone from ruined buildings. Soon the city’s masons would be laying the stone anew. The burnt district beneath the hill would rise again. She thought it may need a name, to honor those that died there.

At last she passed through into the Red Keep and made her way to the Small Council chambers. She’d take her midday meal there while waiting for her council to assemble. Her ancestors built a strong keep. They didn’t think to build one that was easy to move around in.

____________________

Daenerys and Missandei had finished their meal and were chatting about things they wouldn’t mention in mixed company. Missandei had been prodding the Queen about finding a Lord to keep her company at night. The Queen learned that at least one Unsullied retained a portion of his manhood and that it functioned quite well. The two were laughing and sampling fresh cut fruit from the Reach when Tyrion walked in.

“I’m glad you two can find humor while smoke still rises from the city and pyres,” Tyrion said. “I suppose it’s about some man or men.”

“That’s the long and short of it, Tyrion,” the Queen answered by throwing in a dwarf joke.

Tyrion gave her an eye rolling look and bow before sitting at the far end and filling his goblet. The others filed in, including Olenna and Ellaria. Rakharo would be absent. He rode with ten thousand Dothraki south, between the Reach and Stormlands. A smaller force rode north to patrol the lands where the Vale and Riverlands meet. It was the first time the Khalessi was without a bloodrider nearby. The Second Sons left to scout within the Stormlands, keeping Rakharo informed of possible threats.

Olenna thanked the Queen for including her in council meetings. “I’ve seen Cersei’s corpse, my role here is done. Tomorrow I will return to Highgarden. Willas and Garlan, my grandsons, will attend your coronation. You should consider Willas for Master of Coin. May I ask if you have given thought to Jamie’s fate and her body?”

“Kill him and burn them,” Ellaria said spitting. “Or send him to Dorne and let House Martell take care of him. I can take him when I return. A ship now sails for King’s Landing to take me home.”

The Queen frowned. “I will do neither. Banishment is appropriate. Perhaps to Casterly Rock to serve as Warden, but not leaving its confines.”

“What you do with my brother is your Grace’s decision,” Tyrion said. “If you do send him to Casterly Rock, allow him to take Cersei’s body with him. There are Unsullied there, holding a number of Lannister soldiers prisoner.”

“The soldiers may return to their homes, but need to be watched,” Daenerys decided. “Olenna, could you spare men to stay in the Westerlands until my hold over them is certain?”

Olenna answered, “The Reach will serve you thusly. I can beseech the Lords to send men for duty, later relieving them with others.”

There are also Tarly men held on the Gold Road,” Grey Worm informed.

“Are they the ones who had bent the knee?” the Queen asked.

“Yes, my Queen,” he responded.

“Then send them home, order them to watch over those that refused,” Daenerys replied. “With that settled, I have a few announcements. I thank Tyrion and Ser Jorah for advising me on these. Any of you may leave for your homes or other lands. Or you may stay to serve. It is your choice. Missandei, you have been my closest friend and advisor since Astapor. I hope you will remain at my side.”

Missandei smiled. “Although I miss Naath, my place is with you.”

Daenerys turned to Grey Worm. “Grey Worm, you will be my Master of War, commander over my Armies.”

“The Unsullied will never leave you, my Queen,” Grey Worm said while standing and bowing.

The Queen continued, “Ser Barristan, you served as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to my father and later to King Robert. I appoint you as the same for my Queensguard which will be your duty to fill. Ser Gerold, the City Watch has been decimated. As Commander of the Gold Cloaks, you will restore the Watch and protect the people of King’s Landing. Varys, you will serve the realm as my Master of Whispers. Yara, before you return to rule over the Iron Islands, I ask that you serve as Master of Ships. As for Master of Coin, I look to this council for to help fill the role.”

Tyrion sipped his wine. “Do I presume to remain as your Hand?”

“Yes, unless you wish to watch over your brother as Lord of Casterly Rock, which you are anyway,” the Queen answered with a grin. “That leaves you, Ser Jorah. Your advice and counsel are invaluable to me. I do not wish to tie you to any one role on the council.”

“I will serve you in any capacity needed, your Grace,” Ser Jorah answered.

Daenerys took a sip of wine and some more fruit. She was excited to finally do the work of ruling and had more for her council. “Very well. Tyrion, prepare scrolls for each of the kingdoms and major houses requesting them to travel here for an audience with their Queen. When the scrolls are signed and sealed, Maester Pylos will send the ravens. Include a scroll to the Citadel informing the Archmaesters that I will retain Maester Pylos at King’s Landing.”

Maester Pylos bowed to his Queen. “I am grateful for your confidence in me, your Grace. The ravens are in good health, despite having the top of their rookery destroyed by wildfire.”

“Speaking of wildfire, we must remove it from below the city,” Daenerys said with in a commanding voice. “The question is where to keep it until disposed.”

The maester proposed a solution. “May I suggest the Dragonpit? There are many deep alcoves surrounding the floor, enough to hold it all. If the wildfire should explode, the deepness of the pit will contain it.”

“Explode?” Vary asked. “What does that word mean?”

“It means to expand or burst with great violence,” Pylos explained. “The pyromancers coined the word and use it among themselves. Explode, exploded, explodes. An explosion is the violent bursting itself.”

“Ah, like what occurred at the Doom of Valyria,” Tyrion said understanding. “The fourteen flames and many hills exploded.”

“A fine example,” Pylos said.

Daenerys wasn’t sure, as her dragons used the pit. “I’ll accept it for now, but my children rest and eat there.”

“Your Grace, Ser Jorah interrupted. “You may not want to eliminate all the wildfire. I saw what it can do when launched by catapult. It may add rather than detract from your security in King’s Landing.”

“You make a strong point,” Ser Gerold added. “Perhaps the stonecutters know of a spent quarry nearby to hold it.”

“I’ll leave this you, Sers and Maester Pylos,” the Queen said deferring to her council. “I see how it would improve our defenses against an enemy. My only demand is that it be removed from the city. Moving on, I have one last item, envoys. I wish to send envoys to Essos to announce my reign and negotiate trade. The envoys should go first to the Free Cities, but also carry news to Volantis and Meereen.”

Ellaria spoke up. “Dorne can supply you with all the envoys you need. We have men and women seasoned in the arts of diplomacy, they would travel in pairs.”

“Thank you, Ellaria,” the Queen replied. “I will take your offer under consideration. I also wish to send an envoy to the Iron Bank. I am prepared to honor the debt accumulated up King Robert’s death. The Iron Bank foolishly lent to Cersei – I am loathing to repay her extravagance.”

“You may already have an envoy, your Grace,” Varys informed. My birds tell me Tormo Fregar has set sail for King’s Landing to meet with you. His word carries favor with the Iron Bank.”

Daenerys did not appear surprised. “This is good news. I have hoped to soon meet our kind benefactor. In time, perhaps Westeros will have a strong bank of its own.” Olenna raised her eyebrows at that. Highgarden held more wealth than any other kingdom in Westeros. With a stronger Bank of Oldtown, the throne could become very well off with loans made between its shores.

“Is there anything else for the council today?” the Queen asked, wanting to get on with her day.

Ser Jorah spoke again. “There’s the matter of the Dothraki. Many have told me they wish to serve you, but long for the Great Grass Sea. Grey Worm should advise if you have enough for now. Ships from Meereen still arrive with warriors, perhaps those who wish to return could do so.”

“I will speak with Rakharo when he returns,” Grey Worm responded. “The lands in Westeros are not well suited for them. Much is farmed. Many forests and desert in the south. Unsullied legions will train the Westerosi men to be better fighters. The Queen’s army will be strong with or without the Dothraki.”

“You will meet Rakharo with me and Ser Jorah present,” Daenerys warned. “I agree that those that wish to return to Essos should be free to do so. In time I will stop the ships carrying more men from Meereen. I do not wish to deprive Daario of forces he needs to control the Bay of Dragons.”

“As you command, my Queen,” Grey Worm said with a nod. “Yours is the wise approach.”

Daenerys rose from her chair and waited for the others to file out. Tyrion and Missandei remained. When all had left, she asked, “Now that I’ve asked for audiences with the Lords, how long will it take?”

“Moons, your Grace. Several moons,” said Tyrion. “We also need to plan your coronation.”

Daenerys sighed. She needed to go see her children and fly on Drogon to clear her mind.

____________________

Missandei was reciting the long version of the Queen’s introduction. “You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Lady of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.” Daenerys preferred this version if she needed a moment to think or gaze upon the person before her. Otherwise, Missandei would stop after “Protector of the Realm.” Likewise, the Queen could choose where on the Iron Throne she sat. The wooden platform for her advisers was finished. Stone cutters were working on Dragonstone to harvest material for the permanent platform. She enjoyed being able to see the back of the Throne Room from the high perch and at times felt a need for an enhanced presence. At other times she would sit a few steps up on the throne. Carpenters had rebuilt the steps making them wider at the base and included a landing part way. Here she could sit on a comfortable chair to better converse with whomever stood before her. Once seated, she would not change positions for the day or for meals. On this day, she sat up high.

“Your Grace, I present Lord Renfred Rykker, formerly of Duskendale. And I am Reynard, Lord Rykker’s nephew.” Both men went down on one knee with Lord Rykker pledging his fealty to the Queen.

“Thank you, Reynard, you may leave. I have no issue with you. Safe travels,” Daenerys said while dismissing the younger man. He rose and walked out of the throne room. Lord Rykker remained on one knee, visibly shaken.

The Queen leaned forward on her high perch, staring down at the Lord. “Tell me Lord Rykker, why did you not order your garrison to open the gates to my Army? Instead, you ordered them to defend Duskendale at all costs.”

“To protect the people, your Grace. We did not know your army’s intent,” the Lord answered unconvincingly.

This was too easy, Daenerys thought. “Then why did you flee, leaving your men to die on your behalf?”

Lord Rykker lowered his other knee to the floor. “Your Grace, I did not flee! I left to bring reinforcements!”

The Queen shook her head, he was beginning to break. “Reinforcements? From where? Maidenpool? You were captured there without resistance by a small party. What men could Maidenpool offer?”

He lowered his head, closing his eyes with clenched fists. He would not break. Not here. Not before this woman on the throne.

“You were fleeing,” the Queen continued. “Do not deny it. You wished to escape. To where, I do not know. To King’s Landing to join with the Lannisters? To the Vale? It does not matter, it’s clear that you are a coward who caused the deaths of a thousand of your people.”

In an act of defiance, Lord Rykker rose to his feet. “To the North, to warn them of your foreign Army. So that the King in the North would call his banners and defend the lands. My people’s deaths were not in vain, they gave me time!”

“I have made no war against the North, nor have dispatched forces there,” the Queen responded with annoyance. “I do not believe you, you dallied in Maidenpool. Your cousin Ser Jaremy fought for House Targaryen. He was offered the Wall or death. I offer you the Wall or trial, guilt followed by execution. How do you choose?”

He stared at the Queen with hatred in his eyes. He did not regret his lie, she would have killed him nonetheless. “I will not go to the Wall and suffer Jaremy’s fate! I will not stand before your mockery of a trial. Kill me now and be done with it!”

Daenerys sighed, she expected him to take the Black. His lack of remorse sealed his fate. “I Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, find you guilty of murder through malfeasance in trust. The sentence is death. Ser Gerold, take him to the courtyard.”

Tyrion looked at his Queen quizzically, but said nothing. He never heard of the crime of “murder through malfeasance in trust.” Perhaps it was from a Essosi law he was unacquainted with. Nonetheless, she was Queen and had the power to pronounce such a crime; Lord Rykker deserved death.

Ser Gerold strode over with two Gold Cloaks from the City Watch. As they escorted Lord Rykker from the room, Daenerys descended from the throne and followed with Tyrion and Missandei. Tyrion had said nothing during the interrogation. He had expected Lord Rykker to beg for mercy. Tyrion needed to think about the Lord’s defiance.

A large crowd clogged the courtyard, watching the comings and goings of Lords and Ladies seeking audience with the Queen. There was no room for a dragon to land. She looked to Ser Gerold making a chopping gesture with her hand. Within moments, a block was brought forward as the Gold and White Cloaks pushed the crowd back. Lord Rykker was pushed down with his head out over the block.

“If you have any last words, Lord Rykker, speak them now,” the Queen stated. He remained silent. Daenerys stepped back, nodded to Ser Gerold who brought his sword Dawn down through the Lord’s neck. His head rolled forward spewing blood while his heart pumped its last through the neck. Four Gold Cloaks picked up the corpse, head on its chest, and carried it away.

Daenerys turned to Missandei saying, “That will be all for today, we’ll resume tomorrow.”

____________________

The Queen’s procession for a ride across King’s Landing came together in the Red Keep’s courtyard. Four White Cloaks in front followed by Daenerys and Missandei who were flanked by four Dothraki, two on each side. The Dothraki had been acquiring simple Westeros coats and breeches. As such they no longer looked so savage to the people. Ser Jorah and Grey Worm followed the women with the Master of War somewhat uncomfortable on a horse. Four more White Cloaks brought up the rear. A party of Gold Cloaks rode out before the procession along the planned route.

The burned hillside before the Red Keep swarmed with activity. The wreckage had been carried away. What could be salvaged was stacked in neat piles. Stone masons busily rebuilt or repaired foundations and raised walls. Dozens of Lords, Ladies, and other highborn from around Westeros wandered about, some on horseback. Although they interfered with the work, each learned that the damage was caused by Cersei using wildfire. After the hillside was rebuilt, foul Flea Bottom would be remade. Daenerys’s procession often stopped as the visitors declared their fealty and allegiance to the Queen. The Queen hoped this meant fewer audiences in the Throne Room, which were becoming tiring.

Once past the Muddy Way, Daenerys insisted on dismounting to walk among the common city folk. The Queen gets what she wants so four White Cloaks walked beside her with Ser Jorah and Grey Worm keeping close watch on rooftops and windows. She gave much time to widows and children. She overheard one man saying that the last time they had seen a Queen, the people were throwing rotting food at her. “Why would they have done that?” she wondered out loud. A White Cloak filled her in on Cercei’s walk of atonement.

The party remounted for the ride up Visenya’s Hill. Arriving at the ruined Great Sept, they could see that the enormous blast pit had been filled with rubble. Stone cutters and masons were working to salvage pieces from the ruins. What would have been the floor of the Sept was extended outwards and smoothed over with fine stones and sand. No doubt the ashes of her ancestors, kept at the Sept, were mixed in. Much of the seating surrounding the floor remained, now cleared of rocks and debris, it formed a semicircle. There was no sign of the huge statues of the Seven that once stood in the Sept. Each had been pulverized by the blast into dust.

“This will have to do,” the Queen intoned. “King’s Landing is filling with highborn expecting a coronation, so a coronation they will have.”

“Having it here will please the Faith, your Grace,” Jorah replied. “In the North they worship the Old Gods, some acknowledgement of them will help you in the long run.”

“Are you suggesting two coronations?” The Queen asked, looking displeased at the thought.

Jorah grinned. “Not at all, your Grace. Meeting with them in the Gods Wood, perhaps.”

Daenerys nodded her head in agreement. She then noticed a woman dressed in red with scarlet hair walking along the ruins, pausing to glance in their direction. “Bring that woman to me.”

Grey Worm and Ser Jorah fetched the woman who came willingly. “Your grace,” she said standing before Daenerys.

“Melisandre, I presume. Or so Kinvara had me expect. How is that that a Red Priestess serving the Lord of Light is found on ground sacred to the Faith of the Seven?”

“I am her, your Grace,” the red woman responded. “I saw in the flames that the Lightbringer, the Princess or Prince that was promised, would be here today. Two and twenty years ago a red star crossed the skies announcing your birth. I have waited since then.”

One of the White Cloaks whispered to his Queen and Missandei, “She served Stannis Baratheon until his death, advising him on claiming the Iron Throne for himself.”

“I see. I am stormborn,” Daenerys said with a raised brow while turning her attention back to the red woman. “The skies were cloaked during my birth. Neither my brother nor those that took us to Essos mentioned anything of a red star, but I accept your story. Kinvara revealed that I would meet a man from the North bearing gloom from frozen lands beyond. Is he with you?”

“The King in the North, Jon Snow of House Stark is on the King’s Road, coming south with his banners,” Melisandre replied. “The Lord of Light has revealed to me that he will attend your coronation and seek an audience afterwards.”

“Snow?” Ser Jorah asked incredulously. “How can a bastard be named King?”

Melisandre continued. “The Lord of Light works in mysterious ways. The King comes to ask for an alliance and bears a gift for the Queen.”

“A gift and an alliance? Does he intend on bending the knee?” Daenerys wondered expectantly.

Melisandre evaded, “The Lord of Light has not revealed this to me, your Grace.”

“Not very helpful,” Daenerys said while climbing up onto her mare, “not very helpful at all.”

____________________

That evening the Queen dined with Tormo Fregar, Sealord of Braavos, and council member from the Iron Bank. He would only identify himself as Galeo. Tyrion joined them with Willas Tyrell, recently named Master of Coin. Varys sat quietly in a corner, slowly sipping from a goblet. Missandei had taken her leave to spend time with Grey Worm. Daenerys had sincerely thanked Tormo for his help and gifts; the ships and most of all her mother’s crown. “This crown is more than my mother’s, it’s a bond from the old Targaryen dynasty to me,” she explained. After a dinner of fresh fish, oysters, and veal medallions, with much small talk; they got down to business.

The Queen opened, “Galeo, I understand the large debt the Crown owes the Iron Bank. I will make good, yet am loathe to carry the debt incurred by the usurper Cersei after King Robert’s death. She spent recklessly, attempted a raid on Hightower to purloin the Tyrell’s gold, and left nothing to show for it but ashes and charred bodies.”

Galeo expected this and countered. “Your Grace, usurper or not we treated her envoys as legitimate representatives of the Realm in Westeros. As we understood the system here, the crown borrowed gold on behalf of the Realm, then paid it back for the Realm. We did little or no business with the kingdoms themselves, some short loans to Dorne that were quickly paid back. I will repeat your position to the full council, but the Iron Bank’s answer is not likely to differ from what I have just explained.

Daenerys took that response as a small crack in the Bank’s armor. She glanced over to Willas who seemed eager to make the proposal the Queen suggested many weeks prior.

“The Bank of Oldtown is a small institution that mostly serves Lordships in the Reach and western Dorne,” Willas began. “As you surely know, this bank was formed after the Rogare Bank collapsed more than a century ago. The bank brought wealth to House Hightower and to the Reach. Since then, I understand a Bank in Lys has formed, a mere shadow of Rogare. I think we have an opportunity for these smaller banks to grow, bringing wealth to all three.”

Galeo seemed nonplussed. “How would two larger banks bring wealth to the Iron Bank? We now make all substantial loans to any credit worthy borrowers. How would we gain from competition?”

“Through trade in debt and credit,” Willas answered. What does the Iron Bank do with bad debt? It hires sellswords and sellsails to collect. It undermines rulers. All of this robs the Bank of gold. It’s the cost of business, I know, but why not sell some debt to Lys and let them collect from those nearby?”

“Your idea had merit, Ser Willas.” Galeo seemed open to more discussion. “The Iron Bank has considered founding smaller banks in Essos. In Volantis. In Mereen before the Queen disrupted the way of business there. How would your Bank of Oldtown help with the Realm’s debt?”

Daenerys suppressed a chuckle before Willas continued. “House Tyrell will establish the new Bank of Oldtown. The Bank will buy all of the Realm’s debt at a discount amounting to the amount incurred by Cersei since King Robert’s death. The Iron Bank will have its gold now. The Bank of Oldtown will receive payments from the Crown on terms mutually agreed upon.”

Daenerys nearly dropped the lemon cake she had been nibbling on. Tyrion almost coughed up a mouthful of wine. Varys simply raised his eyebrows. Tormo smiled and Galeo was speechless for a moment.

Upon regaining his voice, Galeo answered. “Your offer is worth of the full council’s consideration. I will leave for Braavos tomorrow if the Sealord lends me passage. But do tell me, how does House Tyrell hold such wealth?”

Everybody had eyes on Willas, wondering the same. “Since the time of Garth the Gardener, House Gardener and then Tyrell have fed Westeros through trade and payment of foodstuffs. Over thousands of years, the wealth accumulated. Tyrion, it’s true that the Lannisters always pay their debts. Most of the gold came from beneath Casterly Rock, exchanged many times before coming to rest in Highgarden.”

Willas continued. “If the Bank in Lys needs gold, the Iron Bank may choose to lend it or buy some of their debt holdings. If the Iron Bank needs reserves to establish a bank in Volantis, Oldtown may offer gold to own part of that bank. Each bank carries less risk and stands to profit rather than paying good coin to chase down bad debt.”

Tormo agreed to send a ship back to Braavos ferrying Galeo. Before leaving, Galeo retrieved a purse and removed a large golden coin, handing it to Daenerys. “Your Grace, since I am leaving early, allow me to present this gift from the Iron Bank. It is a new coin worth ten dragons to honor your conquest and ascendancy to the Throne. This is the first coin struck. With your approval, we will begin circulation in Braavos and beyond.”

On one side was the Queen’s likeness in profile, complete with braids. On the reverse was the Targaryen sigil. “It’s beautiful,” the Queen remarked. “Do tell, how did the Iron Bank make such an accurate likeness of me?”

“We have our ways, your Grace,” was all that Galeo offered.

____________________

The Queen’s days leading to the coronation, feast, and tournament – the Queen learned Westerosi custom demanded a tournament – were filled with nobles coming to swear fealty and bend the knee. Most nobles, the Lords from the North were notably absent, sworn to the King of their choice. The Stormlanders came nearly groveling in apology for the minor houses that joined the Tarlys and also to be relieved of Dothraki on their western borders. They were so overwhelmed by fear of savages that none were wise to the Second Sons scouts moving about their lands. Daenerys agreed to move the Dothraki further west where they had already begun to cooperate with horse breeders from the Reach. Rakharo upon his return for the coronation mentioned an agreement to cross-breed Essosi and Westerosi horses.

Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident arrived apologizing for failing to come with his banners to attack King’s Landing. “The Riverlands are short on men and weary from battles past,” he offered as an excuse. Daenerys accepted this as he bent the knee, knowing full well that the Rivermen responded to Cersei’s call to gather under her and Tully banners. They were two days march from King’s Landing when it fell. Had they arrived earlier, Edmure would have no men at all.

Finally came House Arryn and sworn houses from the Vale. Lady Lysa escorted her young son Lord Robert, barely ten years of age, and known as “Sweetrobin” or simply “Robin” to his court. Robin was a sickly child, he hid behind his mother’s robes and was shielded by Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone. Rumors brought to the Queen’s attention included one that Lady Lysa still breast fed the boy.

Lady Lysa flattered the Queen with shallow gratitude and praise. But she did not offer to swear fealty, nor did Lord Royce. Daenerys recalled what her ancestor Visenya had done centuries ago. “Lord Robin, would you like to visit my dragons?”

“Dragons? Real dragons? Now?” A suddenly excited young lord responded. “Will you make the them fly?”

“Of course, I will,” Daenerys promised. “We can go now to see them.”

Robin’s excitement was matched only by Lady Lysa’s horror. But as Daenerys descended from the throne, Robin rushed to her. The pair exited the throne room without Lady Lysa or Lord Royce.

They returned before sunset. Lord Robin was incessantly talking about dragons, flying, and something about training. “Mother!” he shouted. “I met three dragons and flew on the biggest with Queen Daenerys!”

Lysa nearly swooned. Lord Royce had waited with Lysa for Robin to return. He had heard the boy say something about training. “What is this training you speak of, Lord Robin?”

“Robin has agreed to remain in King’s Landing as a ward of the Crown,” Daenerys answered with a grin. “He will be trained by my Queensguard and learn the ways of lordship from my council. When of age, he will return to the Eyrie as Lord Protector of the Vale.”

“You cannot steal my son!” Lady Lysa shrieked. Lord Royce held her back as she lunged at the Queen.

“I am not stealing him. I am preparing him to fulfill his role by birth,” Daenerys said, still grinning. “He has sworn his and the Vale’s fealty to the throne, in six years he be an able and loyal Lord, to me and to his people. Return now to the Eyrie and wait for him.”

A member of the Queensguard approached. “Come along, Lord Robin, I will show you your quarters in the Keep. Tomorrow we begin your training.”

Lady Lysa sobbed as her son walked off with the white cloaked knight. “My Sweetrobin!” she cried out as the he left the throne room.

____________________

Coronation Day had arrived. Missandei had braided the Queen’s hair before helping her into a long red linen gown with black trimmings. Over the gown, she would wear a black long coat tapered to a point in front and back. A Targaryen sigil was attached to a silver woven sash draped over her right shoulder. The coat covered the tops of her black boots embossed with a dragon scale pattern. She wore her mother’s ring and the brooch the Sealord had gifted, soon to be joined by her mother’s crown.

The coat and gown kept her from riding a horse to the Great Sept. Despite the Queen’s protests, she sat upon an open carriage with Missandei at her side. Six white stallions guided by three postilions from the Queensguard pulled the carriage with additional White cloaks riding to the front and rear. Missandei observed that the entire affair was for the Lords and people, not for the Queen. Daenerys laughed in agreement.

Sers Jorah and Barristan warned the Queen that there would be no stopping the carriage on the way to Visenya’s Hill. “Yes, my Lords,” Daenerys said to them with a slight curtesy – a rare show of self-depreciation by her. The City Watch had cleared the streets along the route although many city folk watched and cheered her passage from windows. As the procession climbed the hill, they could hear the large crowd gathered there. She would enter from the right side, on cue after the High Septon’s opening prayers.

The tolling of city bells hushed the crowd. The High Septon with two assisting Septons came forward, one holding a wooden box. A score of the Most Devout arranged themselves behind the trio. This would be an important day for the Faith. Five Queensguards stood on either side with a line of Unsullied above them. A Septon started in prayer, when finished the High Septon formally announced why they had gathered. Ser Barristan, as Lord Commander of the Queenguard escorted Daenerys to stand before the leader of the Faith. She then did something the faithful had hope for. She knelt before the High Septon.

The High Septon removed Queen Rhaella’s crown from its box. Holding it over Daenerys’s head, he recited the coronation rites finishing with “And may the Crone, she that knows the fate of all men, show her the path she must walk and guide her through the dark places that lie ahead.” He paused before continuing. “In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Rise Queen Daenerys!”

Her crown sparkled in the sunlight. The Queen slowly rose and turned to the crowd which was shouting “Long may she reign! Long may she reign!” The Unsullied slowly beat their spears into the ground. Suddenly the crowd quieted and fell to its knees. All but a group of two scores or more standing together to the right.

“The Northerners,” she thought. To the front was a man, dark haired, not tall but well formed. Their King, she assumed. To his right stood a woman with radiant copper hair, nearly his height. To his left, a shorter woman with dark short hair. She lifted her hands motioning the crowd to rise. They did and resumed their adulation. Common folk in the crowd cheered “Dragon Queen!” shocking the Lords and highborn. Daenerys smiled broadly, appreciating the name her people gave her. She descended to where her council stood; hugging Missandei, Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, Grey Worm, Yara, and even Tyrion. She worked the crowd shaking hands and saying kind words to Lords and Ladies standing near the front. She waved to the others as Sers Jorah and Barristan escorted her to the carriage. They’d make many stops returning to the Red Keep, where she’d open the feast.

The feast would last all that day and the next. Daenerys was constantly moving, stopping at every celebration throughout King’s Landing. Each “Kingdom” but the North had centered their festivities in various squares, corners, or blocks in the city. They caroused from party to party to talk, drink, and eat. She saw the Northmen moving about, enjoying themselves. All but their King and who she learned were his two sisters. She visited Flea Bottom on both days. The poor people living there greatly enjoying the bounty brought by the Reach and eagerly listening to her plans for rebuilding there.

The tourney began on the third day. Workers from the city had done a marvelous job restoring the grounds. Knights from all the Kingdom, including two from the North, waited to be announced before each bout. A large crowd had gathered, mostly highborn with some common folk who had made their way out to the grounds. Food, wine and ale were plentiful, served at two huge tents. The ale came from the Riverlands, food and wine from the Reach and Dorne. The Stormlanders arrived with fresh stag carcasses to roast.

Daenerys sat calmly, rising to applaud after each bout. Thankfully, little blood was spilled. She had passing thoughts of that day at the fighting pit in Meereen. The fear she felt when the Sons of the Harpy attacked. The closeness she felt with death before Drogon arrived. The thrill to first ride on her dragon. Missandei felt her occasional unease and gave comforting words. “It’s not like Meereen, nobody is intended to die.”

Rakharo was completely enthralled, although winners did not kill the defeated nor did the losers cut their hair. He cheered each winner and shouted insults in Dothraki when neither knight fell from his horse. Daenerys and Missandei laughed at his inventive and colorful language.

By day’s end, sixteen knights remained, a northerner among them. The would compete again in the morning. Four rounds to victory for one. Asher Forrester was the northerner. Said to have been exiled to Essos and having been a sellsword. He held no lands and his knighthood was uncertain at best. Yet he fared well in the tourney, not missing a single opponent. Ser Barristan overheard talk among the finalists that an apt reward would be to serve as the twelfth Queensguard. He and Ser Gerold gathered them at sunrise in training duels to judge each man’s ability. Although all good on a horse, only four were deemed worthy to guard the Queen.

Blood came early when a lance passed under a knight’s shoulder armor to emerge in his upper back. Rakharo was beside himself in glee. Once helped to his feet, the wounded knight apologized to his Queen for bleeding on her tourney grounds.

The final round was between Ser Perwyn Osgrey, named for his ancestor Perwyn the Proud, and Asher Forrester. Both men’s lances struck home on the first pass, but neither fell. On the second, Ser Perwyn delivered a direct hit on Asher’s chest plate, yet Asher remained on his mount. Asher took time to catch his breath and lowered his lance to horizontal. Ser Perwyn charged with his lance raised, bring it to bear at the last moment to catch Asher by surprise. He missed Asher’s left shoulder high while receiving a blow to his right that had him spinning to the ground. The crowd roared as the winner dismounted and helped Ser Perwyn to his feet.

There would be no naming of a Queen of love and beauty, no scandalous garland of roses given. Asher Forrester kneeled before Queen Daenerys, standing above him near her seat. She asked, “How should the realm reward your for a well-earned victory?”

“My only desire is to serve your Grace as one of her Queensguard,” the young man answered.

Tyrion let out a deep breath. “It’s unusual for an unknighted man to be named to the Queensguard,” he said quietly to Daenerys. The Queen looked over to Ser Barristan, who nodded meaning Asher did well in the training duels that morning.

“Then I will fix this, but I do not have a sword, nor do I know the words,” Daenerys said as Asher’s face lit up.

Ser Jorah whispered to her, “Use my sword, your Grace. Say these words.” Daenerys quickly memorized the words and stepped down to stand before Asher.

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave," Daenerys said, placing the sword upon his shoulder. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Asher Forrester, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

The crowd cheered for the new knight. Ser Barristan approached with a white cloak. After administering the oath, he cloaked Ser Asher as the twelfth and final Queensguard.

The crowd made its way to the tents serving food and drink. The Queen would linger there for a while then make her way back to the Red Keep. After nearly four days of ceremony and celebration, she needed to rest.

Tomorrow would bring a fresh challenge. The King in the North will have his audience.

The Queen sat high on the Iron Throne. The wooden platform Tyrion and Missandei had occupied was replaced with a permanent stone edifice. Beneath each side was a large alcove, currently covered with thick curtains, intended for the skulls of Balerion and Vhagar. Nobody could recall how King Robert’s men moved the skulls to beneath the Red Keep. Tyrion claimed to be residing in brothels at the time. Jaime was said to have been afield, chasing down Targaryen loyalists. Eventually an older stone worker came forward to say that the courtyard had been excavated through the vaulted ceiling beneath the keep. The skulls were lowered through the opening, then the ceiling and courtyard repaired. He was given responsibility to bring the skulls back up, at three times his current wage. He estimated it would take two moons passage to do the work. He’d be paid a bonus to do so in one.

Eight of the Queensguard stood along one side of the Throne Room. Two were at the entrance doors, which happened to be large enough for Balerion’s huge skull to pass. Two more stood outside to admit those arriving for an audience. Lord Robin of the Vale stood near Ser Asher, given the task of training the young Lord. Today’s lesson he described as “Ruling.” The boy had doing well, away from his overbearing mother.

The Queensguard men pushed and pulled the massive entry doors to admit the Northern party. The Throne Room was about half full with Lords and Ladies who had not yet begun their journeys home. As was becoming her practice, Daenerys had a contingent of city folk present. Grey Worm and Varys stood off to the side, the former intently staring at this “King in the North.” Jon Snow led the group. To his right and slightly behind him came an older man, obviously the Hand, that Tyrion recognized as Ser Davos the Onion Knight. To Jon’s right was a tall young woman with bright copper hair. Sansa, Jon’s sister and Tyrion’s former wife, the Queen understood. Behind her an immense woman with short cropped hair, Brienne of Tarth. Behind Brienne, surprisingly, was the Red Priestess Melisandre. It was Arya, Jon’s other sister standing to his left that caught the Queen’s attention and surprise. “Her! How could this be?” Daenerys thought. Arya gave the Queen a slight nod after her formal curtsey – and a wink of the eye.

“You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Lady of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons” Missandei announced as the Queen gazed at Jon Snow. He was shorter than she expected, but handsome nonetheless. Sansa picked up on the Queen’s gaze and looked back with squinted eyes and crinkled nose. Ser Davos formally introduced himself, Jon Snow, and his party.

“Ser Davos,” Tyrion began, “we fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay. For what purpose does the King in the North seek audience?”

“To my misfortune,” Ser Davos replied.

Jon steeped forward. “I come before your Grace to offer an alliance, ask for your help, and to offer mine.”

“An alliance?” The Queen said smiling. “But we have just met!” Her face returned to rest. “Are you not here to give fealty before asking for and offering help? I have conquered King’s Landing, I rule over most of Westeros, what help of yours do I need?”

“Your Grace, I am not here to bend the knee,” Jon responded. “I am here to warn you of a great threat to your kingdom and the North. A threat beyond the wall that will soon find its way south. The Others and their army of the dead.”

“The Others? As in the White Walkers and an army of wights?” Tyrion said questioningly. “The same grumpkins and snarks in tales told by old women and nursemaids to frighten small children? Surely, you cannot believe in such things.”

“I believe in them because I have seen them,” Jon answered. “I have fought them. I have killed them. I brought south thousands of Freefolk from beyond the wall to save them from the dead. Many Freefolk died at Hardhome where we fought the dead. Now they fight for the Others. When the dead come past the wall and we cannot stop them, all of us will die. A winter without end will take Westeros forever.”

“So, you propose an alliance to fight these dead together?” Daenerys spoke. “You want the help of my armies and my kingdoms, but refuse to bend the knee? Your ancestor Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conquerer. The North enjoyed centuries of peace in allegiance to House Targaryen. Why can you not do the same before Aegon’s heir?”

“Your Grace,” Jon began, “with all due respect to you and your crown, the Targaryen line on the Iron Throne ended with your father’s death and King Robert’s rule. You have the throne by right of conquest. Your line begins anew.”

“He makes an interesting point,” Tyrion says to Daenerys in a low voice.

“My ancestor’s vows ended with the Mad King. Your father burned my grandfather near where I stand while his son died trying to save him. Your brother captured my aunt Lyanna who was never again seen alive. The North has no love for King’s landing. Joffery Baratheon executed my father, Cersei’s plots killed his wife and my brother. But I have no desire to see King’s Landing fall to the Others and their army.”

“Your Grace,” Daenerys says addressing Jon properly, “please accept my and House Targaryen’s deepest apology for my father’s sins against House Stark. He was an evil man. But, I am not my father. A child is not responsible for a parent’s transgressions. Tell me now, if this threat is real, what do you need of the throne?”

Jon sighed, relieved to have gotten this far without being cast out. “Your Grace, you have huge armies, you have sworn Lords and their banners, you have three dragons, and on Dragonstone, you have obsidian – dragonglass – the only thing besides fire and Valyrian steel that can kill the enemy.”

“Give the King your dragonglass,” Melisandre spoke stepping forward. “I have seen the caves on Dragonstone with my own eyes. Let him mine and forge weapons from it. Do this with or without offering your armies and dragons.”

Daenerys recalled her meeting with Kinvara in Volantis where the red priestess predicted a man from the North bringing warnings. “Believe him. Help him and you will be forever remembered for your greatness,” she had said. This audience had already gone beyond what she expected. “I thank you for your warning. I must meet with my council before considering your offer. Is there anything else?”

Jon was about to speak when Ser Davos whispered in his ear. “Yes, your Grace, I have brought a gift,” Jon answered.

“A gift?” The Queen inquired. “You needn’t have brought a gift. Is it here?”

“Your guards forced me to leave it outside to doors, if you may allow it to be brought in . . .”

Daenerys looked to Ser Barristan, nodding. He in turn walked to the entry doors. Two Queensguard carried in a long box with the Lord Commander walking along. Daenerys stepped down from the throne, standing close to Jon. The box was much longer than wide, held closed by two clasps, and covered in dark leather. “Open it,” she commanded.

Her guards opened the box and pulled away a red silk covering. Daenerys looked down at her gift. It was a slender longsword whose blade with a single fuller shined silvery yet rippled in grey, a sign of Valyrian steel. The cross-guard was of twisted gold with a ruby set on each side. A simple wrapped metal grip was topped with a pommel of golden flames. “My first sword, I am honored, your Grace.”

Ser Barristan was again stunned by the sight of a sword. “This is not any sword, my Queen. This appears to be Dark Sister, Queen Visenya’s blade, last borne by Ser Brynden Rivers. It was thought to be lost beyond the wall.”

Daenerys was awed by Ser Barristan’s assessment. “Is this true?” She asked the King in the North.

“Indeed, it is,” Jon said. “Ser Brynden Rivers, the Lord Bloodraven, brought it to the wall. While Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, he vanished beyond the wall. Years later a ranging party looking for signs of him found this sword. It was put in the care of your grand-uncle, Maester Aemon Targaryen who in turn entrusted it with me.”

“A grand-uncle?” Daenerys gasped. “At the wall? Another Targaryen lives?”

“Sadly no, he passed, your grace. Of old age. He knew of you and followed news from Essos. He wished dearly to meet you. Before he died, he asked me to present it to you. Somehow, he knew that you were coming and I would be free of my vows to bring it.”

“I . . . I . . . I thank you with all my heart.”

“Free of your vows?” Tyrion butted in. “I hate to change topics, but how did that happen? A Night’s Watchmen’s vows are for life. You became Lord Commander of the Watch, and yet you stand in the Red Keep as King of the North?”

“My watch ended,” Jon replied curtly as he turned to Daenerys. “With your Grace’s permission, I will now take my leave so that you can meet with council. Much has passed today. I am grateful for your time.”

Jon’s party left as Tyrion and Varys discussed the meaning of “my watch ended.” At the doors, a guard motioned Arya aside. “The Queen wishes a private meeting with you, and you alone. Come to the library next to the Sept in two hours. The guards will let you pass into the middle bailey.”

____________________

Daenerys was studying old books when a guard opened the library door to admit Arya. A growing pile covered her end of the table. Most were in High Valyrian, which was typical for tomes written during the Targaryen dynasty.

“I’m happy that you came,” Daenerys began. “Please sit. I understand lemon cakes are a favorite in your family, have some. There is tea from Lys and Dornish red wine to wash them down with.”

Arya took a seat opposite the Queen, unconsciously touching her hip where she would normally find her sword, Needle. The guards had made it clear that she wouldn’t see it again while in the Red Keep.

“Thank you, your Grace,” Arya said while pouring tea before taking a cake. She saw no deceit on the Queen’s face. Besides it would be silly to do her harm here and now. “I’m honored to sit and speak with you, I’m also not foolish enough to refuse a Queen’s request.”

“That’s wise of you, Lady Arya. In fact, I’d rather be here with you than performing almost any other royal duty right now.”

“Please, your Grace, I do not see myself as a Lady – call me Arya. Those books in front of you, the covers are in a script I do not recognize. Is it Valyrian?”

“Indeed, it is. My schooling is not what it should be, none formally. I’ve been reading about the North, the Night’s Watch, the Wall, and the lands beyond. This book here is about your family, since Bran the Builder.”

“I’m surprised to learn a book on the Starks would be written in Valyrian. We don’t even know what the language sounds like!”

“Skoro syt se skorkydoso gōntan gaomā ziry?” Daenerys said in perfect High Valyrian.

Arya raised her eyebrows and palms upward.

“Why and how did you do it?” The queen translated to the common tongue.

“Oh, I suspected this meeting may involve Cersei,” Arya began. “Why? Because she was on my list. A list of people I wished to kill or see killed. She falsely accused my father, Ned, of treason. Her spawn Joffrey had him executed. That same day I poisoned then skewered her guard, the Mountain, otherwise known as Gregor Clegane, also on my list.”

“Do any on your list still live?”

“None that I know of. I would have killed Joffrey for the harm he did to my sister, Sansa. But somebody got to him first. Others came off the list, for good deeds, helping me or my family.

“I’m relieved to know that I am not on your list, Arya. How did you acquire such a dark skill?”

“I studied under the Faceless Men of Braavos. I one time, I was nobody,” Arya said with a grin.

“Very well,” said the Queen. Now tell me, how?”

“How? I believe you saw it. I ran my sword through her back while she stood at a window.”

“I did, but that is not what I mean. How did you get close enough to kill her?”

“I slipped into King’s Landing before the gates closed. After spending a few days coming up with a plan, I entered the Red Keep and Holdfast disguised as a Septa. I assumed the identity of Cersei’s handmaiden, then served poisoned wine to the guards and the Mountain to make them sleep. Then I ran Cersei through.”

“That mask I saw you remove,” Daenerys asked, “where did you get it and how did you know who would be serving Cersei that day?”

“Not a mask, your Grace. I took the handmaiden’s face. A skill known only to the Faceless Men. I apologized to her for doing so, may she rest in peace.”

Daenerys let out a long breath while leaning back into her chair. “It’s good to know of such skills, Arya. Better to know the realm of possible. Thank you for your time. I believe we’ll be seeing each other again.

“Yes, your Grace. You could also ask the men of House Frey who killed my mother and oldest brother – if they still lived,” Arya said before rising, performing an awkward curtsey and taking her leave.

“So that’s how they died,” Daenerys thought while recalling her war council meeting on Dragonstone. “I need to keep this girl close.”

____________________

Daenerys rose from her bed and stepped over to large window. The night’s breeze fluttered through her sleeping gown. She leapt through the opening before unfolding her wings to soar skyward. She looked down at King’s Landing, mostly dark at this hour but for some torches carried by the City Watch. She turned north. It would be a long trip. She would not stop to rest. Not the God’s Eye or Harrenhal. Not at Greywater Watch or Moat Cailin. Certainly not at Winterfell although she felt a presence below, watching her pass. From over Mole’s Town she could see the Wall. She came to rest upon it west of Castle Black. Through the narrow slits in her eyes, she could see through the dark to where the forest began.

Overcoming a strong reluctance to cross, she flew northwest. The forest gave way to mountains, a frozen river lay below. As the sun began its daily journey across the sky, she saw them. Thousands. No, tens of thousands. Staring up at her with blue eyes. Giants were among them. Here and there she saw white figures mounted on blue eyed horses, mammoths, or bears. Hundreds of ice-like beings carrying glittering swords and spears. They too gazed up at her. One sat upon a massive stead, surrounded by a dozen white figures. He raised his arm upward, as if in greeting, watching her turn south to return home.

____________________

Jon stood in the middle bailey near the top of the serpentine steps. He looked out over the Blackwater Bay through a gap in the ramparts opened by a ballista bolt tipped with wildfire. Jon thanked the gods that Yara and her men quickly suppressed the defenders atop the keep’s wall’s and towers. He hoped to meet Yara someday. On the bay, masts, spars, and other wreckage from Euron’s fleet still poked up through the water. Looking own below onto the rocks, he imagined Theon fighting and dying while assaulting the keep.

He didn’t know how much longer he would stay in King’s Landing. The Queen had provided spacious quarters in the Holdfast. Arya had her choice in the Tower of the Hand or a large room in the Maiden Vault. She chose to stay outside the keep, at some inn. She could have Needle with her at all times that way. Sansa’s nightmarish memories from King’s Landing had her returning to Winterfell with half the Stark entourage.

“It’s quite a mess, isn’t it?” Daenerys said as she came up behind Jon. He was startled to see her and that she could sneak up like that. The closest guards were well outside earshot. “I thought to have Drogon burn away the wreckage, but it does serve as a reminder to those who sail up the Blackwater.”

“A reminder of what, your Grace?” Jon asked, keeping formal.

“A reminder of what happened here. Of the second conquest. Of a new ruler.” She said, turning to Jon while closing the space between them. “Please call me Daenerys when we are alone or with my close advisors. And I shall call you Jon.”

“Very well, your . . . Daenerys.”

They started down the serpentine steps, she had no destination in mind. “Please escort a queen properly,” she said with a broad smile as the placed her arm inside his. People climbing the stairs gave surprised looks as they made room for the monarchs to pass. They spoke mostly of the North, its people, their Gods, the Houses and their allegiances. Soon, she began asking about Aemon and Jon’s time at the Wall.

“Later as Lord Commander, I took my most trusted men and sailed with a small fleet to Hardhome beyond the wall. I convinced the wildlings, who call themselves the Freefolk, to sail south and settle in the lands known as Brandon’s Gift.” Jon was nearing the end of his story.

“Why? Didn’t most of your brothers in the watch object?” Daenerys was enthralled with his tale, how he rose from a steward to Lord Commander.

“To save them from the dead, from the Others, which many call White Walkers. We were attacked by their army at Hardhome. More than half of the wildling were killed. The one known as the Night King came and raised the dead, increasing his strength by thousands.”

“Then what?” Daenerys had stopped and asked with a look of horror on her face.

“We sailed to Eastwatch by the Sea. Some men remaining at Castle Black were in near rebellion over me bringing the wildlings south. They later mur– . . . moved to depose me.”

“Murdered? You meant to say murdered!” The queen exclaimed while grabbing onto his sleeves with both hands. Yet you are here, standing in front of me, the King in the North! How can this be?”

Jon stood silent. He saw no way out of his slip. He would not lie. “Aye, it was murder. I was stabbed six times, the last in my heart by the boy who had been my squire. Those loyal to me overpowered the mutineers with the help of some wildlings. I was dead for at least two days before the Red Priestess Melisandre came and bought me back. I executed those who stabbed me by hanging and left for Winterfell. My watch had ended.”

Daenerys now stood with mouth and eyes wide open. “It was then you became King in the North?”

“Later,” Jon replied sadly. Winterfell had been captured by Ramsey Bolton. He forced Sansa into marriage. Treated her terribly, beat her, tortured her. Theon Greyjoy was Ramsey’s captive slave. He rescued Sansa. After a battle won when Sansa brought men from the Vale, House Stark returned to Winterfell. Without my youngest brother Rickon, who was murdered by Ramsey.”

“What became of Ramsay? Did you kill him?”

“I beat him near death at Winterfell, Sansa fed him to his starving hounds.”

They walked in silence to the outer courtyard. A procession of mounted guards awaited them. A white mare and black stallion stood without riders. Daenerys explained, “I thought you might enjoy a ride across King’s Landing without being threatened by the Lannisters. But if you are not up to it after our talk, I understand.”

“A ride on a magnificent horse will do me good,” Jon said as a Queensguard placed a harness holding Dark Sister over the Queen’s shoulder. Jon looked to a guard at the gate house as they rode out. Daenerys nodded to the guard who quickly handed Jon his sword, Longclaw. It would be the last time he’d be without it while in King’s Landing.

____________________

Tyrion and Varys had been watching from the Tower of the Hand as their Queen and Jon descended the steps and made their way out the Red Keep. Tyrion took a deep draw from his goblet. “They seem to get along quite well, don’t they?”

“Indeed,” answered Varys.

“A king and a queen would make a powerful alliance through marriage,” Tyrion observed.

“Yes, a king, but a bastard king,” Varys sighed.

“We don’t know who his mother was, only that she died in childbirth. I’ve heard rumors that she was Ashra Dayne. That would make him a highborn bastard king.”

“Still a bastard,” Varys said. “But I think it would be helpful if we knew who his mother was. Perhaps there are records hidden at the Citadel or the Starry Sept that would shed some light.”

“I agree,” Tyrion responded as the Queen’s procession rode out of their sight. “Do you have a trusted messenger we can send to Oldtown. This is too sensitive of a topic for ravens.”

“I do. Meet me in my quarters for dinner tonight. I will bring him. Together we will instruct him on his mission.”

____________________

The procession rode down Aegon’s High Hill enroute to the center of King’s Landing. They stopped occasionally for Daenerys to speak with workers rebuilding this part of the city. With much pride she pointed out to Jon the progress being made and her plans for Flea Bottom. Before turning onto the Street of the Sister, they stopped in front of the Guildhall of the Alchemists. She explained that this was where her ancestors had wildfire made. Jon realized they were riding to the Dragonpit as the horses climbed Rhaenys’s Hill.

After a bit of silence, Daenerys spoke. “I will honor your request to mine dragonglass at Dragonstone. I have enough men there to help with the work. I have ships there to move the dragonglass to White Harbor. I will also pay swordsmiths and stone cutters in King’s Landing to help make weapons.”

“I am greatly thankful, your Grace,” Jon answered while the Queen scrunched her nose at the title. Jon tilted his head toward the guards, making her sigh. “Does this also mean you believe me when I speak of the Army of the Dead?”

“In my own way, I have seen this army, the White Walkers, and their beasts. I know them to be true. I do not yet know what threat they pose to lands south of the Wall.”

Jon felt he passed a major step towards defeating the dead and said nothing more.

As they rode through the gates leading into the dragonpit, he could see the great black dragon known as Drogon. A smaller, yet huge green and bronze dragon laid not far from the black one.

“Viserion must be hunting,” Daenerys observed. “He’s the smallest of my three children and prefers fish and other sea creatures over those that walk over land. He’s named after my brother, Viserys. The other is Rhaegal, named after Rhaegar. The largest is Drogon, whom I named after my Dothraki husband.”

Jon thought about Drogon’s namesake as the two rode away from the procession to approach Drogon. The dragon faced them hunched over his two huge legs, head and mouth near the ground. Daenerys dismounted and motioned Jon to do the same. She went to her son, lovingly rubbing his snout as the great beast began to purr. She asked Jon to come closer. Drogon raised himself up, his head facing Jon directly. A low growl emerged from deep in the dragon’s throat.

Jon took another step forward, removing his glove. Longclaw felt like useless weight at his side. He lifted his hand toward the dragon’s snout. Drogon’s lower jaw opened wider. Jon could see deep into his throat, to where fire emerged. He touched the dragon, its mouth closed. He rubbed Drogon’s snout as Daenerys had. Drogon turned his head to stare at Jon through its huge orange eye. He gave a weak groan, then purred.

“He likes you,” said Daenerys while shaking her head. She didn’t expect Jon to be eaten. Still, Drogon’s acceptance came as a surprise to her. Neither she nor Jon saw that Rhaegal was plodding up to Drogon. The smaller dragon bumped his brother’s head away, demanding attention from Jon. Drogon moved off some.

Jon rubbed Rhaegal’s snout as the dragon purred deeply. He came around to Rhaegal’s neck, rubbing it more vigorously. Rhaegal raised his head upwards so Jon could reach underneath. Suddenly, Rhaegal dropped a wing to the ground and stared at Jon.

“What is he doing?” Jon asked while Rhaegal kept looking at him.

“He wants you to ride him. He’s never had a rider. Climb up his wing and hold onto the smaller spines over his neck.”

Jon gave her a questioning look while thinking this was a bad idea. He breathed deep and climbed up onto Rhaegal, sitting behind his neck and holding on as Daenerys instructed. “Now what?” He asked.

“Say Sōvegon.”

“Sōvegon?”

Rhaegal leaped into the sky. Jon screamed. Daenerys laughed. She climbed up onto Drogon and soon joined Jon and Rhaegal as they circled the city. They passed low over the Red Keep, making people wonder whether they saw two riders that day. Rhaegal took Jon up through the clouds. He felt powerless and powerful at once. Drogon came up close to Rhaegal.

“How do I steer?” Jon shouted, not yet realizing how cold it was above the clouds.

“Don’t, for now!” Was the Queen’s answer. “Let Rhaegal follow me and Drogon.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Dragonstone,” she answered. Soon Viserion joined them as they made their way under the midday sun.

Drogon landed on the beach in front of Dragonstone castle. Rhaegal landed nearby. Jon scrambled off and walked over to Daenerys. Viserion continued out to sea to hunt.

“How was it?” Daenerys asked smiling broadly.

“I was going to say something about horses, but I forgot what. Simply beyond my wildest dreams. So, this is Dragonstone. It’s much larger than I expected. So many steps to climb from the beach!”

“I have dragons, we can fly up,” she smirked and raised her eyes. “Are you sure there is no Valyrian blood in your veins?”

“Not from my father,” he answered. “All I know of my mother is that she was from the south.”

“Then it’s possible. Our blood runs through many in Dorne. Houses Velaryon and Celtigar further north. I have an inkling where these dragonglass caves are. I think we should have a look.”

They found the caves along the shoreline. The Dothraki had already stumbled across them, but did not venture far inside. They did leave torches near the entrances. The two ventured inside, marveling at the walls of solid black glassy stone. The caves had been worked before, that much was clear. Deeper inside, Jon spotted carvings in the rock that emerged between blocks of dragonstone. “Children of the Forest made these,” he explained to Daenerys. “Here, this spiral, I’ve seen it before, but made from animal parts beyond the wall.”

“What does it mean?” She asked.

“It’s a mark of the Others, the White Walkers. A warning left in this cave by the Children. A mark left by the demons themselves beyond the wall.”

Dothraki brought two horses to the cave. The pair rode up a winding trail that led to Aegon’s Garden. Jon explained what he knew of the Children, the First Men, weirwood trees, and the Long Night. Daenerys mostly listened and watched him. She felt a passion flowing through him as he spoke, as if he knew his place in the world was to fight the Others. They walked through Dragonstone to the dining hall. She first showed him the Chamber of the Painted Table and asked him to imagine Aegon and his sister queens plotting the conquest of Westeros. “As you did too, no doubt,” Jon said with a gruff laugh.

They enjoyed a substantial meal of roast goat, root vegetables, and dessert pudding. Afterwards they looked out over the beach to watch Viserion devour his latest catch. “He eats like a hungry wildling,” Jon observed.

Daenerys closed the distance to Jon to barely touching then leaning slightly against his frame. “We shall spend the night here before flying back to King’s Landing after breaking fast. My servants will show you your quarters and draw a bath if you please. “Sleep well, your Grace,” she said with a smile while turning back into the castle.

After a steaming hot bath, Daenerys put on her night clothes and laid down to bed. She stared at the ceiling where carved dragons swirled around her. She would dream of Jon that night, no doubt. Closing her eyes while smiling, she drifted off to sleep.

[Added in the Year 314 After Conquest]

He had been at the wall countless times over thousands of years. He had walked its full length from the sea in the east to the gorge in the west. He found and turned the seventy-nine sentinels, now wights frozen in the wall, blue eyes staring out to the north. He knew where each passage through the wall had been made by the builders. Only three remained. He had climbed the wall to walk along its icy mass after the Night’s Watch had abandoned all but three forts. He thought it foolish of them to do so, but in the end would not matter. He had seen men cross north, ranging beyond the wall. The Watch had mostly forgotten about him, the Others, and the dead who roamed the far north. The Freefolk were their worry now. More foolishness.

Crossing the wall was not a concern for him or the Others. They could climb. His army could not. He had tried to have them do so. They’d fail completely at the bottom or make it part way up before falling back. Broken masses of dead flesh left squirming on the ground when they fell from greater heights. Rangers from the Night’s Watch or Freefolk would find and burn them.

The dead did better on the frozen river near the Bay of Ice. Many remained there after falling between jagged rocks. The Others could cross the Bridge of Skulls to march on the westernmost fort. A tunnel remained there. Now he had options and dead to spare. Through the ages his army had grown. Not long ago they had swarmed the Thenn valley, killing all to add thousands to his force. Slowly they moved about, from the Frostfangs to the Shivering Sea. With more emerging from the Lands of Always Winter.

Twenty four times the midday sun moved further south before returning north again. Twenty four cycles, or years as men called them, had passed since he saw blood in the sky. The blood persisted for a cycle, calling him to make final preparations. He would conquer the lands to the south bringing darkness and ice. It would bring him the peace he sought. Peace as the reward for the bargain he made with the Great Other so long ago.

He longed for it.