The Last Hope for Westeros

CastleColin, cmyatt01, Longclaw_1_6

Chapter 39:

Gold and Steel

Summary:

1. Catelyn and Edmure have a run in at the Twins.
2. Margaery learns how to be a proper Northerner and chats with her goodbrother.
3. Alysanne plays babysitter while arriving at Yunkai.
4. Jon plans to go home while getting some lovin' from his beautiful bride.
5. Grey Worm is the hero of the Battle of Yunkai.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hi all. Things are beginning to go faster and faster. Strap yourselves in!

CastleColin: The liberation of Slaver's Bay continues as plans go awry back home. A familiar face will join the procession to Winterfell. Take a guess?

Catelyn Stark

Horse hooves pounded the dirt track of the Kingsroad as a small retinue of Tully bannermen escorting two of their liege lord's children made their way at a brisk pace out of the Neck. They'd been riding hard for the past fortnight and had just crossed the border of the North into the Riverlands. The lands that they were now in were owned by the last house that Catelyn wanted to see - the Freys.

"Cat, hurry up!" said Edmure, exasperated at how his sister kept slipping from her saddle. "There's no telling when Robert will invade Father's lands, and I will not have him caught off guard."

"I'm riding to the best of my ability, brother." Cat gritted her teeth at how painful the saddle jostled between her legs. "I haven't ridden a horse for this distance since Ned brought me up to Winterfell."

"Well, I'm not slowing down for you, sister," he responded curtly. "It's your fault we're in this mess anyways." Spurring his steed, he rode on ahead of her to the front of his bannermen.

Catelyn sighed in weary sympathy. Her brother still hadn't gotten over how she'd decided not to send reinforcements to their father in Riverrun. As hard-hearted as it seemed, she couldn't risk losing any of the North's fighting men with the Targaryens still absent from Westeros. She wasn't taking any chances as she remembered vividly how the Bran from Jon's past warned there would be no third chance if the dead weren't defeated in this life. Even after informing her brother of that fact on their way through the barrowlands, he remained adamant about his disapproval of her admittedly callous abandonment of their father.

Not that she blamed him, though. However, the survival of all life as is was more important than any individual one, regardless of rank, religion, and yes, birth. She prayed to the Seven to grant mercy on all truly devout in their faith and deliver them from the ancient evil beyond the Wall.

"Delp, Elwood, Enger, Poul," commanded Edmure. "Halt."

The four guards from the Tully Household pulled on their reins and brought their horses to a sudden halt. Catelyn came to a less graceful stop, her torso being flung forward atop her mount's neck, much to its chagrin.

"What now, brother?" she huffed, annoyed at the abrupt stop.

"That, Cat," he spat, pointing ahead of them on their right. She followed his gaze to see the twin towers of the Twins atop the stone bridge spanning the Green Fork. "The backstabbing family within those walls was responsible for our family's fall."

"Aye, brother," Catelyn agreed before rolling her eyes. "Is it really necessary to recite the obvious? We've already established that we're not crossing here. We're going to the Ruby Ford before taking the Riverroad to Father."

"Well, in that case, your Grace," interjected Elwood. "We might want to pick up the pace. The nearest inn after the Twins is a good hour ahead of us. On top of that, the weather looks like it's about to turn for the worst." He gestured to the heavy clouds that were gathering over them. A maester wasn't necessary to tell a storm was coming.

Edmure grumbled but said nothing. Pulling on his reins to resume their journey, they had barely taken five steps before Catelyn felt a few drops then heard thunder. Seven hells. She cursed under her breath. The rain was coming down in sheets and thunder punctuated the air in a steady rhythm. On the horizon, she saw lightning flash across the sky.

"By the old gods and the new," groaned Edmure. "What are we going to do? We can't set up tents in the rain and we'll be dead of the chills by the time we make it to that inn."

As Catelyn went to answer, she spotted a rider approaching them from the Twins. As the figure came closer, she could make out the twin tower sigil on the cloak draped over its hunched form. Pulling up in front of the Tully retinue, he addressed them in a hoarse, grating voice. "Who goes there? Do you seek to cross here?"

"I am Catelyn Stark, Queen in the North," she responded without pause. "This is my brother, Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun." She blinked and wiped the raindrops streaking down her face. "No, we were heading south to the Ruby Ford when this rain started."

"You'll never make it in this weather," the man replied. "My lord father Walder Frey would be more than pleased to offer his liege lord's children shelter until they can be on their way."

Edmure noticeably balked and went to refuse, but Catelyn shot him a stern glance. As much as she wanted nothing to do with her father's treacherous bannermen, the man had a point. They'd certainly die from the cold if they didn't get out of the rain. She could only pray that nothing unfortunate would befall them.

Her fears were not allayed when she accepted the man's offer. "Thank you for your father's hospitality, Ser. May we know your name?"

The man looked over his shoulder as he turned his horse around back toward the castle. "Lothar Frey, your Grace." He spurred his mount on, eager to put a roof over his head.

As their retinue followed him, Edmure shot his sister a look of warning to which she reciprocated. After all, Lothar Frey was responsible for murdering Robb's wife, Talisa, and their unborn son in their past life…

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Walder Frey laughed at his soggy arrivals as they made their way into the Great Hall. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting visitors at this hour, but it's always a pleasure to host old Hoster Tully's little trout." He clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers at the serving girls standing off to the side. "You all are just in time for dinner."

Shedding their sodden riding cloaks to be taken away by the Frey servants, Catelyn, Edmure, and their guards took their seats at one of the long wooden tables beneath Walder's elevated seat. Most lords had a long table reserved for their family that they would offer to honored guests. Not Walder Frey - he dined alone.

Edmure discreetly leaned over to Catelyn's ear. "I don't trust Walder's hospitality at all. You and I both know that guest right means nothing to him. The fact that bread and salt was offered to us is just a mummer's farce."

"Do you think we had a choice, brother?!" she snapped. "Let's just not give him a reason to hold us here any longer than we'd like." She sighed and turned her attention to the goblets of wine that the serving girls were busy pouring out for them. Snatching one up, she drank heavily from it to avoid talking any longer with her brother.

Edmure snorted and turned to converse with his guards, who were sitting across the table from him. They were all starving and eager for a hot meal after weeks of dried camp rations. A loud clap interrupted them from their conversation.

"Dinner is served!' Walder announced. "My personal favorite - steak and kidney pie!" On cue, several serving girls strode out from the kitchens, each with a steaming pie in their hands. The hearty scent of roast meat and kidneys wafted up to Catelyn's nose as her pie was set in front of her. Picking up her fork, she tentatively scooped a morsel out of the pan and took a bite. The pie was surprisingly tasty - just the right blend of salty and spicy. There was a certain herb mixed into the filing that made it richer. She groaned contentedly and tried hard not to wolf it all down in one go.

From the noisy chomps and slurps next to her, it was obvious that Edmure had no such restraint. He had always been like that when he had to wait for his meals - it annoyed her and father to no end when guests were hosted at Riverrun in their youth. Lysa didn't care - she barely paid her brother any attention. Yet for all the time she spent gawking at Petyr Baelish, he spent gawking at her older sister. Some people are just so clueless.

From his dais overlooking the hall, Walder smiled behind his wrinkled visage. He had no pie served to him, which was curious. Clearing his throat, he announced, "Well, how about a song? I always enjoy a tune to help my meal go down." Snapping his fingers again, the doors to the hall flew open and a troupe of musicians marched into the room - Lothar and his brother, Black Walder at the head.

Suddenly, Catelyn felt an overwhelming sense of dread. This was exactly how the Red Wedding started. If the Rains of Castamere started playing… May every Frey man be cut up and made into a pie. Still, she kept her wits above her and placed a reassuring hand on her brother, who was starting to sweat.

The musicians took up their places on the sides of the hall and raised their instruments. What came out of their horns was the most high-pitched blare that grated across Catelyn's ears. Then the singers started belting out the most bawdy tune that she remembered from her youth. The song was a mockery of the popular Jenny of Oldstones, in which 'Jenny' danced among whores rather than her ghosts. Only the singers were using her name instead of 'Jenny's.'

Edmure clenched his fists and went to rise out of his seat, but Catelyn yanked him back down. As disrespectful as it was, she couldn't risk giving Walder a pretext for imprisoning them. Delp, on the other hand, had no such reservations about defending Hoster's daughter's honor. He leapt from the table with a knife in hand… then fell over from intoxication. Clearly drunk, he failed to heed Catelyn's yell for him to stop before he clambered to his feet and charged the musicians.

Delp had barely taken three steps before he dropped to the floor, a bolt in the dead center of his chest. The hornblower in front of his corpse smirked and lowered his crossbow, which he had held covertly behind his back. Silence overtook the Great Hall as everyone stared at the dead Tully bannerman sprawled on the floor. Walder broke the suspense with a disappointing click of his tongue.

"Lord Edmure," he started. "I am most displeased at your bannerman's blatant breaking of guest right in my home. Had I not given you the bread and salt upon your entry?" He didn't wait for an answer. "As it is the lord's responsibility to enforce discipline upon his sworn swords, I am holding you personally accountable for this… discourtesy."

Edmure went to challenge Walder's accusations, but Catelyn elbowed him in the ribs. They were already in trouble as it was - best not to dig the grave any deeper. Fuming, he bowed his head to the old man sitting smugly atop the dais. "I take full responsibility for my guard's actions and will accept the proper penalty as such." He ground his teeth as he said that.

"The proper penalty, heh," Walder said. "You and your sister will remain here for the time being until your father comes around to answer for what happened. I am sure that the Queen in the North wouldn't want her brother to be lonely now, would she?" Turning his head to face his sons, he called, "Black Walder and Lothar. Take our esteemed guests to their rooms. Give them the finest comfort as they will be staying here for awhile." Catelyn closed her eyes, her worst nightmare coming true. Is this my punishment for how I treated Jon? Weighed against that, it was rather fitting.

"Right away, Father," said Black Walder. As he and his brother moved to escort Edmure and Catelyn out of the Great Hall, he turned back abruptly. "What about Lord Edmure's bannermen?"

Walder's smirk contorted into a sadistic grin. "Finish the song for them." He raised his goblet in a toast. Enger, Elwood, and Poul scrambled to their feet as the musicians brandished their hidden crossbows.

As Catelyn exited the hall, their screams of agony echoed in her ears.

Margaery Tyrell

A dainty hand reaching out to the thick trunk, Lady Margaery Tyrell gently rested the palm against the rough bark. The oak tree wasn't a Weirwood, not even close. Far smaller and with a vibrant green canopy rather than the blood red that made the latter so iconic, it only made an… underwhelming substitute.

"There are few Weirwoods south of the Neck." The Tyrell beauty turned to find her raven-haired lady-in-waiting, Melissa Blackwood smiling softly, hands clasped in front of the skirts of her black dress. Youngest sister of Lord Tytos Blackwood, she had met up with the Tyrell/Martell procession at Harrenhal. Picked personally by Margaery's grandmother as a First Man companion for her as she would marry Robb Stark. As of now, Melissa was teaching her about the Old Gods.

Margaery raised an eyebrow, curious. "Why is that?"

A sigh. "The Andals… many cut them down as a sort of psychological warfare against the First Men. Most of the remainder largely fell victim to the Faith Militant over the various years." This caused Margaery to wince. News of the Oldtown riots had sent Olenna into a fit of rage, screaming at Margaery's parents and sending ravens to her grandfather Leyton. None which were yet answered. "As a result, most Godswoods hold oaks or cedars as their heart trees." House Blackwood was one of the few south of the Neck that retained the Old Gods. "Come here, Lady Margaery, let me show you something."

Being led around the tree, Margaery soon found a crudely carved face in the oak. Eyes wide depressions and the mouth gaping open, as if screaming. "Which of the old gods does this represent?" She was kicking herself for not visiting the Godswood at Highgarden… but the preparation for the travel north consumed her days.

"No," chuckled Melissa, reverently bowing her head at the face on the tree. "Weirwoods never need to be freshly carved, while those for other trees need constant maintenance. These faces, they are what the magic of the gods use to witness all around them. To connect with us in the serenity of the Godswood."

"It does feel serene…" Surprising herself slightly, Margaery could acutely feel just the mystical power that Melissa seemed to feel. "Can I pray?"

Melissa smiled widely. "Of course. Just kneel here." Margaery complied, gingerly lowering to her knees as her cloak kept her finely tailored blue and yellow dress untouched. "Never lie in the Godswood, my Lady. It is the worst of luck."

Letting out a deep breath, she clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. Envisioning the great Weirwoods of the North, the ancient castle of Winterfell where she would soon be calling her home. Old Gods… my voice is new to you… I may be a follower of the Seven, but I hope you can give me your guidance as I journey into your domain. Grant me the wisdom of my grandmother and the kindness and nurturing nature of my mother. Grant me the love of my intended, and the strength to be a good wife and Queen to him. To do my duty for your people in the North. Such is my deepest wish. As she prayed, Margaery swore she could feel a calming wind pass through her.

Spearing a spoon through the flaky outer crust of the meat pie, Margaery sniffed from the wisps of steam that escaped into the air. Inhaling the meaty aroma of the tender chicken, melted cheese, and boiled greens. Mmmmmm…

"So you actually prayed in one of those?" Trystane Martell asked her with keen interest. He snorted at her nod. "Thank the gods I don't have to live in the North."

Margaery narrowed her eyes. In the weeks they had travelled to reach the crossroads inn at the Ruby Ford, the dashing youngest child of Doran Martell had seemed quite charming and respectful - positively serene compared to his larger than life uncle, though Oberyn shared a similar self-confident charm. Perhaps she'd been wrong in her assessment. "What do you mean by that?"

Sipping at the wine he had ordered - making a face at how sour it was - Trystane shrugged. "Nothing against it, I just know my mother would cut my balls off if I abandoned my faith in Mother Rhoyne. Most Dornish follow the Seven, but House Martell sticks with the roots of Princess Nymeria."

The Tyrell beauty relaxed, comforted by the answer that her first impression was right. Bringing the spoon to her mouth, she devoured the scoop of meat and greens. Gods… "Seven Hells, this is delicious." The best pie she had ever tasted, another quick scoop finding her tongue cheering at the taste louder than it screamed at the heat. "Excuse me!" she called out to the server.

A plump boy with frizzy hair waddled over, standing straight. "Yes, my Lady?" While the inn got many highborn travellers, none were so august as children of the Lords of Highgarden and Sunspear. He seemed… starstruck, especially by her beauty. It was something that Margaery was used to but didn't let get to her head.

"Who made these delicious pies?"

"I did, my Lady." He even blushed.

Taking out a gold dragon, she surreptitiously handed it to him. "You have a bright future with skills like that…"

"Hot Pie, they call me Hot Pie…" the boy stammered. Trystane crossed his arms, trying to hide an amused smirk at how the server was enchanted by Margaery.

"Well, Hot Pie," she said, adding four other gold dragons to her gift. "Save up your money. You should be owning this inn, and when I come back as Queen in the North, I hope to see that you do." Hot Pie beamed, bowing and mumbling a thank you. Once he was gone, Trystane no longer hid his grin. "What?"

The Prince of Dorne laughed. "Now I know why they call you the Rose of Highgarden. While you are beautiful, Queen Cersei is beautiful and everyone hates her - you have a tendency to make everyone fall for you, Lady Margaery."

Smirking herself, she continued eating her pie. "I only hope to enchant my husband to be… and the people of the North." Another three mouthfuls and Margaery washed it all down with a mug of ale. A bitter drink, but one she would have to get used to. "How about you, Prince Trystane? King Eddard only offered a betrothal on the condition that Princess Sansa agrees to it." The novelty of it both surprised and impressed Margaery. The Northerners were different, alright. "How will you charm your bride?"

A sly grin formed on Trystane's face. "I may not be a globetrotting lover of wine, women, men, and song as is my uncle, but I do have his wont of seduction. She isn't likely to resist my charms… sincere as they are." He leaned back. "We Martells are passionate people, but we treat our women well. Princess Daenerys - that's Daeron II's sister - my ancestor made the transition away from her love of Daemon Blackfyre by building the Water Gardens. That's why if Princess Sansa agrees to marry me, while I won't change my faith, I'll plant a Godswood in the Water Gardens for her if she so wishes… I'm not the High Septon."

All happiness dropped from her expression. "Damn him… mother is beside herself after that… barbarism. Grandmother was furious at her and grandfather Leyton, that the new High Septon's reformation of the Faith Militant wasn't stopped." Alerie Tyrell loved her family, both the one she was born from and the one she was married into, but Margaery knew her loyalty was to House Tyrell. That's what made it so hard for her. "I hate to speak ill of my family, but I think grandfather Leyton made a deal with the Crown."

Trystane nodded. "That does make sense. I'm sure the news that you are now my good-sister, through the marriage of my sister to your brother must have reached King's Landing." Now that had been a good surprise for Margaery. She couldn't wait to see Garlan and meet her new good-sister. Hopefully he and Arianne could bury the years of rivalry between the Reach and Dorne. "I wouldn't be surprised if I don't hear that Renly has married a Hightower girl."

She shuddered at the thought of her would-be betrothed. "Well, from what Loras has told me, Renly would likely try to wriggle out of that. Girls… they don't have the parts he likes." They both laughed at that. "House Hightower controls the Citadel and the Starry Sept, and they will need to be placated. My guess is that my aunt Lynesse will marry Tywin Lannister."

Chortling at that, Trystane smacked the table. "Gods, I'd pay a sack of silver stags to see… ah, fuck!" He had accidentally smacked his knife with his palm. Cut across the hand, blood started gushing onto the table.

Before Margaery could do anything, a woman in a traveling dress of dull blue darted forward. Cloth in hand. "Here, press this against the cut," she said to Margaery, holding it there and waiting for the daughter of Highgarden to do so. "It doesn't look that deep, so we can probably bandage it. Don't move." She had a distinctive foreign accent, though her common tongue was fluent.

Margaery held it there while the girl returned with a bag. "What are you doing?" asked Margaery when she began dusting powder into a white bandage.

"Special remedy, from Tyrosh. It contains sulfur so excuse the smell," she smiled. "It helps with wound rot, not that the Citadel cares, my lady."

Judging her identity wasn't that hard to deduce, while Trystane tried not to wince in pain, Margaery struck up a conversation. "Your accent… Tyroshi?"

"Close, Volantis." The healer began to bandage the palm. "I'm Talisa Maegyr, daughter of a Magister there, though I vastly prefer the art of healing. Citadel booted me out, as did the Grand Maester of King's Landing, so I thought I could head North. See if the King there could use my services."

"We're headed to Winterfell, if you wish to join us? I'm sure Prince Oberyn would let you hitch a ride for patching up his nephew." Talisa only smiled back. Continuing her work.

Alysanne Sand

A chubby hand reached up to grab a fistful of chestnut-brown hair. Laughter rang out as it pulled down hard.

"Oh my!" gasped Alysanne, shocked at the babe's surprising strength. "Rhaegon, you've definitely inherited the inner steel of your parents," she laughed as she gently freed her locks from his meaty grip. The tiny son of her half-sister giggled in response before letting out a huge yawn and snuggling down in the folds of his blanket. Alysanne's heart melted - the little treasure in her arms reminded her so much of what Aerys used to be like - innocent and pure.

Looking over the Crown Prince of House Targaryen, she noticed he bore a remarkable resemblance to his father, with the only trace of his mother being the amethyst shade of his eyes and the silver-gold hue of his hair. She prayed that the babe in her womb would be just as blessed as her nephew.

Her lady mother Ashara gently nudged her, discreetly motioning for her to keep Rhaegon quiet while the King and Queen held a parley with the Wise Masters of Yunkai. Alysanne complied, gently rocking the babe in her arms and humming softly a lullaby that her mother sang to her and Aerys in their youth. She could see a procession of richly dressed men approaching the pavilion under which the Targaryen monarchs sat with their Kingsguard standing and ready. She herself and her mother were situated a bit further back under the canopy from which to watch the proceedings. Her mind drifted back to when the Targaryen Army had first come within sight of the Yellow City…

"Would you like to take a guess as to how many slaves are behind those walls, sister?" Daenerys asked atop her silver mare.

"Maybe… fifty thousand?" she guessed, trying to gauge how many people could fit within the confines of the city of the Wise Masters. Larger than Astapor with its buildings more pressed together, Yunkai stood out among the dusty rocks of the land surrounding it. Its most striking details, however, were the massive pyramids that penetrated the sky, atop which sat bronze statues of the Harpy - a creature with the body of a woman, the talons of an eagle, and the tail of a scorpion.

Frankly, she found the Harpy to look downright hideous.

"Not even close," Daenerys laughed. "Two hundred thousand, actually." Her gaze then steeled. "Two hundred thousand reasons we have for taking the city."

Musing over the memory, she considered her half-sister's care for individual life quite touching. Certainly more so than how the masters treated the well-being of their slaves as she had witnessed back at Astapor. After liberating the city's slaves, Jon and Daenerys had set up a council of freedmen and non-slaveholding freeborn to rule in the Good Masters' place. They had also left behind a garrison of two thousand Unsullied to maintain order until the new regime had settled down. In their last life, Astapor had fallen back into slavery under a man called Cleon the Butcher, who declared himself king. This time, the Breakers of Chains would make sure that those chains stayed broken.

Now, awaiting the arrival of the delegation of the Wise Masters, the rightful King and Queen of Westeros were dressed in the same finery as they were during the liberation of Astapor. Jon wore his all-black garb of tunic, breeches, and boots underneath a blood-red cloak tied over his shoulders. Daenerys bore the black-and-red battledress under which she had on black leather riding boots. While Jon let his raven curls out loose, Daenerys had her hair up in the Dothraki braiding style that she favored in combat. Winter's Wolf and Dark Sister were displayed prominently on their figures.

To Alysanne, they looked every inch Aegon the Conqueror and Visenya the Fierce come again. They were the fire to each other's blood.

As the sun past its zenith, the envoy from Yunkai arrived at the Targaryen camp; thirty soldiers armed with spears, and ten other slaves. Six of whom carried the litter that the envoy traveled in, with the other four carrying large chests in their arms. The man in the litter climbed out when his litter-bearers gently lowered him to the ground. Straightening up and adjusting the folds of his tokar, he entered the tent where the Targaryens were waiting.

The envoy introduced himself as Razdal mo Eraz - unlike Kraznys mo Nakloz, he had a less sickening smile and more control of his tongue. Yet, Alysanne observed that his manners didn't extend to either his guards or his slaves - he pushed his way past the former and stepped over the latter. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly and clutched Rhaegon tighter to her breast. At least this little one knew no vices, not at his age and wouldn't know growing up if he was anything like his parents.

"Ancient and glorious is Yunkai," Razdal announced upon entrance to the pavilion. "Our walls are strong, our nobles proud and fierce, our common folk without fear. Ours is the blood of ancient Ghis, whose empire was old when Valyria was yet a squalling child. You were wise to sit and speak, Khal and Khaleesi. You shall find no easy conquest here."

"Well, we wouldn't want to make it that easy now, would we?" Daenerys replied sarcastically. Next to her, the Sand Snakes tried and failed to stifle their snickering, much to Razdal's annoyance. Jaime cracked a grin while Grey Worm, who had just entered from the back of the tent, relaxed his otherwise stone-faced visage.

Daenerys smirked. "Our Unsullied are fresh off their first conquet and our Dothraki are spoiling for a fight. If the great and glorious Yunkai can offer an actual battle, they will gladly accept."

Razdal took a moment to regain his composure before he continued. "If blood is what you desire, blood shall flow. But why? 'Tis true you and your husband have committed savageries in Astapor. But the Yunkai'i are a forgiving and generous people. The Wise Masters of Yunkai have sent a gift for the Silver Queen and… your consort." Razdal clapped his hands and sent the slaves carrying the chests forward to kneel before Daenerys, who raised her brow as the slaves opened the chests to reveal shining bars of gold.

Alysanne was impressed, but she knew that this generosity contained a hidden threat. After all, the battle-cry of the Golden Company was "Beneath the gold, the bitter steel!"

"Why squander your strength against our mighty walls when you will need every man to regain your family's throne in far Westeros? Yunkai wishes you only well in that endeavor. And to prove the truth of that is this." Razdal indicated the chests before him. "Fifty thousand golden marks," Razdal said smoothly. "Yours as a gesture of friendship from the Wise Masters of Yunkai. Gold given freely is better than plunder bought with blood, surely? So, I say to you, Daenerys Targaryen, take this chest and go. Certainly there are ships to be bought."

Daenerys took a long, meaningful look at the gold shining in the chest before casting Jon a sly smirk to which he reciprocated. Apparently, this wasn't the first time the Wise Masters tried to buy her off with a bribe of precious metal. But instead of taking it, Daenerys slammed the lid shut.

Alysanne was intrigued. So far, the parley had proceeded as per usual in Daenerys' last life. Now things were becoming different very fast. Still, she was surprised at how her half-sister reacted to the gold that was set at her feet.

Razdal wasn't the only one who was shocked. Everyone in the tent was baffled at how she unceremoniously disregarded a castle's worth of gold so casually. She cleared her throat before speaking again to the envoy.

"I have a gift for you as well, dear master," she said. "Your life… consider this gold you so kindly gifted me a good faith payment to assure you of my word."

"My life?" Razdal frowned. "For what reason do you speak of?"

"For the lives of every man, woman, and child in bondage behind the walls of your city. You will release every slave in Yunkai. Every man, woman, and child shall be given as much food, clothing, and property for their years of servitude. Reject this gift and no mercy shall be given to the Wise Masters."

Daenerys smiled genuinely, but from the warning look Jon was giving Razdal, it was clear that she wasn't joking. In her last life, she had made the mistake of leaving the Wise Masters intact when she liberated Yunkai. The result being the freedmen being put back in chains almost as soon as she had left. This time, every master would be put to the sword if they resisted.

Razdal, however, was having none of it.

"You are mad! We are not Astapor. We are Yunkai and we have powerful friends! Friends who would take great pleasure in destroying you. Those who survive we shall enslave again, and use to retake Astapor from the rabble. We can make a slave of you as well, do not doubt it. There are pleasure houses in Lys and Tyrosh where men would pay handsomely to bed the last Targaryen."

"It is good to see you know who I am," Daenerys said mildly. Next to her, Jon drew his sword and brandished it - the milky pale blade of the famed Sword of the Morning clear as dawn for all to see.

"You would be wise to live up to your noble namesake, my lord," Jon said. "It is wiser for the masters to give up their treasure in blood to keep their treasure in gold." He tapped the lid of the chest with the flat of his blade. "What friends do you have that can match the Dothraki and Unsullied, the strongest armies in Essos, other than the Golden Company?"

Razdal looked at a loss for words. Perspiration was visible across his brow, but still trying to maintain a controlled decorum, he shook his head at the Targaryen monarchs. "Even against siege weapons, Yunkai will fight to the last man. What few catapults I could see coming down from the city won't be enough to bring down our walls."

He spread his arms out wide. "Our people are not fools. We knew your kind would come to us after hearing what befell Astapor. The land has been stripped bare of any food that could sustain an army - you won't be able to maintain a siege." Allowing himself a slight sneer, he pointed at Jon with a crooked finger. "Your consort here would make a fine living in the fighting pits of Meereen. Perhaps as a small mercy, we shall sell you there with him instead of Lys?"

Alysanne clutched Rhaegon to her chest tighter. He started to cry in his sleep. Apparently he knew a threat to his parents when he felt it. Her mother eased him from her grasp and rocked him gently until he fell back into a peaceful sleep.

"I thought you might say that," Daenerys replied. "As for bringing down your walls, we actually plan to blow through them."

"With what?" Razdal scoffed.

As one, Daenerys and Jon whistled for their winged mounts. "Sarogon! Arogon!"

Twin roars echoed from the sky as the great grey and red dragons swooped down to land behind the Yunkish envoy. Overhead, Jogon, Rhaegal, Viserion, and Ragnar circled and screeched to announce their presence. Such was the most blatant show of intimidation that Alysanne had seen short of Aerys in his rages.

Razdal tripped over the elaborate folds of his tokar and flailed on the ground trying to get back up. The cloth folds having tangled up around his legs. Alysanne laughed silently. The tokar was the most ridiculous, impractical clothing she had ever seen. At least, Westerosi dresses allowed a woman to move her legs freely.

After making a fool of himself for a few seconds while his slaves hauled him to his feet, he angrily dusted himself off and spat at the ground. "Impressive, I admit. Dragons are back in this world after all these years." He shot the Targaryens a glowering stare. "You may triumph today, but our loss will be our victory tomorrow. The Harpy will never submit to the Dragon, whether with wings or without!"

With that he spun on his heels and headed back up the long, winding road to the Yellow City, not bothering to get back in his litter. His soldiers ran to catch up with him while the slaves clumsily grabbed the litter and chest of gold to take back with them.

"Wait," Daenerys called to the slaves as they rushed to leave. They turned back to the Mother of Dragons as she reopened the chest. "Take what you wish. What you want is yours to keep." The slaves looked back at her dumbfounded, unsure at the display of altruism. "Please, you will need it after tomorrow," she added with a conspiratorial wink.

The slaves bowed and muttered thanks to Mhysa. Each then took two broad bars of gold and stashed them under their shirts. Then they took the chest back with them to put back in the vaults of their doomed masters.

Watching them leave, Jaime pursed his lips. "Sad sight isn't it? Until now, only the mutilated bodies of Elia and her children were the greatest horror and tragedy of my life."

Hearing the Kingslayer openly share what he'd been denying out of guilt and shame for years opened a small well of empathy with the Sand Snakes. Alysanne could make that out from how their posture was no longer so tense around the Lion of Lannister.

"Well, that went as expected, more or less," Daenerys said to her husband. "Diplomacy has failed… Fire and blood?"

Jon nodded grimly. "Show them steel."

Alysanne couldn't agree more.

Jon Targaryen

"Our columns are setting up here, here, and here," Robb announced, pointing at the various points on the map table. "The objective will be a lightning assault at the weakest points in the wall. Once it's breached, the meager forces that the Wise Masters have won't be able to stand against the might of an Unsullied legion or Dothraki horde."

Nodding in agreement, Jon was unable not to laugh. "They didn't even realize you were scouting their defenses right under their noses." He and his brother shared a grin.

A chorus of agreements among the few in the command tent, final preparations for tomorrow's assault being made. "I used to think House Stark to be unable of actual subterfuge," Jaime mused, crossing his arms. "But I see the Targaryen blood has served you well, your Grace."

"We all know what we must do, Ser Jaime," Jon replied, not a single doubt in his mind about including him in the war council. Nor the other unlikely member. "Yunkai will be our last conquest under my direct banner. After mopping up of there forces is complete, we shall fly for Winterfell."

Barristan blinked. "Is that wise, your Grace? The situation here is far from over."

"And the situation in Westeros is close to collapse." Robb had discussed this with Jon, and they knew the stakes. "Faith Militant reformed, chaos north of the Wall, Robert erratic now that his children were proven bastards… we cannot wait any longer, lest the chance to solidify the alliance with the Martells and… Tyrells is lost." Jon reached out to tap his brother's shoulder comfortingly. I hope you and the Lady Margaery will be happy together. He couldn't live with himself if Robb was forced into misery for his sake.

"That is all well and good," Ashara Dayne remarked, "but who will lead the Targaryen forces in Slaver's Bay?"

The King's eyes fell on one person in particular. "You will lead the armies here in my stead, Princess Alysanne."

Alysanne, quiet but observant during the entire meeting, looked confused. "Princess? I am a Sand…"

"Not anymore." Removing an official decree from his tunic, Jon handed it to his aunt and her mother. "By the order of myself, Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of my Name, I hereby proclaim you Alysanne of House Targaryen, trueborn daughter of Aerys II Targaryen andLady Ashara Dayne, a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms." Formalities out of the way, he smiled. "I love you, aunt. Never forget that."

Surprise written in her eyes, the heavily pregnant Targaryen Princess suddenly understood what had just happened. Face a mix of laughter and tears, she threw herself into Jon's hands. "I love you too, nephew." A sharp kick bumped into Jon's side. Alysanne giggled. "Your wee cousin loves you too…" Everyone enjoyed the moment. "Will he be trueborn too?"

"You are still officially married to Aerys, dear," Ashara elaborated. "He will be a Targaryen Prince."

"Good." Her brows furrowed. "Ragnar… we've bonded…"

Jon kissed Alysanne's forehead. "Ragnar will stay here, with you. To help rule Slaver's Bay and to grow using the secrets of Old Valyria. Trust your council, aunt. The Masters are crafty, but I know you are up to the task."

Nodding, Alysanne stood on her tiptoes and kissed Jon's cheek. "I will not let you down, my King."

Half an hour later, Jon stumbled exhausted into his own tent, eager for some rest before the battle. Ghost lifting his head from where the direwolf rested lazily, Jon ruffled his fur before the gentle, soothing voice came from the inner chamber of the tent. A smile came to his face once the words began to be intelligible in his ears. "Lyka sir, ñuha rūs. Sagon iēdrosa jorrāelagon, ȳdra daor limagon."

Pushing aside the tent flap, he saw the most precious sight. His beautiful wife, stunning in a white silk gown held up by a leather belt round the waist and a single gold choker tied to the central strap of fabric. Easy to lower for feeding their babe, currently being softly rocked in her hands. Rhaegon serene as he made sleepy movements in her arms, held close to Dany's breasts.

Daenerys sang in Valyrian, her gentle voice one among the angels in his ears. "Ēdrugon hae ao sagon inditan ondoso se qelbar."

Swaying softly to her own tune, Daenerys suddenly spotted him. Jon watched as her smile only widened. Her violet eyes shifted between him and Rhaegon, then back to him. Sparkling with utter adoration.

"Ēdrugon se gūrēñagon," she continued to sing, eyes trained completely on Jon. Silently begging him to come to her. "...ñuha mōrī vāedar."

Wordlessly, Jon could only comply. Nothing could stop him as he bounded in large strides to close the distance between them, wrapping his wife in his strong arms. Pulling her close, kissing her forehead, and gaze dropping so they could watch Rhaegon together.

"Sīr nyke sagon lēda ao skori ao pendagon." Song finished, Rhaegon stretched out in Dany's embrace. Silver-white hair brushing against the skin of her arm as he snuggled to sleep. His soft breathing drove Jon to tears, eyes cloudy from the joy he felt. Our son… our beautiful boy… "I can't believe he's here, my love," she sighed, leaning down to drop feather light kisses on Rhaegon's head.

Jon hugged her even tighter, heart bursting with love and protectiveness for his young family. "He is here, Dany. He's alive and we will never let him suffer as…" He didn't need to say it - neither of them had to. "Let me." Gently, he scooped Rhaegon into his arms, carrying him to the bassinet perched close to their bed to let him sleep. "I love you, my son." One kiss upon his brow and then the true King of the Seven Kingdoms returned to the embrace of his Queen. It didn't take long for their lips to crash together.

Tongue battling hers for dominance, Jon found this to be his favorite spar. A sensual dance in which he usually won, his beloved allowing herself to surrender her body to his onslaught. But as his hands instinctively shot to her breasts, squeezing and kneading them through the thin fabric of her dress, she hissed - pulling back. His eyes widened in alarm. "Dany, are you alright."

Catching her breath, Daenerys chuckled. "Aye, I'm alright." Jon felt her thin arms wrap around his torso. "They're just sensitive, my love. Be careful… on second thought, you probably shouldn't touch them for a while."

Fuck. "You can't be serious."

"They're feeding our babe, Jon," she laughed. He mumbled something under his breath, drawing a look of incredulity. "Are you seriously jealous of Rhaegon?"

Sighing, Jon was certain that he was acting like a spoiled child. "Sort, Dany, but I can't help it. They're literally perfect." Even becoming the Mother of Dragons all over again, even blessed by a close and loving family… even after being worshipped by his mouth, tongue, fingers, and cock for nearly a year, Daenerys still surprised him by being shy and modest when it came to his unconditional love. "Oh, Dany." Another kiss, this one slow and sensual. "Besides," he said when they broke apart. "You know how I am when you wear those dresses." Her figure back, gowns showing off her creamy skin… Gods, she's magnificent.

She answered him with an eye roll and a smile. "Take me to bed, husband." Lifting her up, he did exactly that. Giggles coaxed from her when Jon tossed her onto the soft furs and attacked her midsection and inner thighs with tickles. The King relishing his opportunity to simply act as young lovers, free of duty and struggle for even the shortest moment. Eventually, she ended up half on top of him. Nuzzling his chest. "I love you, Jon."

"I love you too, Dany." He figured now was as good a time as any. "After we take Yunkai, I think it's time to go back to Winterfell."

He watched as she lifted her head, striking violet eyes staring deep into him. "Are you sure, Jon? We still have so much to do here."

"I did it, Dany. I legitimized Alysanne, as we discussed." They had been talking about it since Astapor - bringing their remaining family within the fold of House Targaryen. Away from Aerys, she had flourished. Bright, charming, growing into her role as a leader. Once the babe was born… "She has a bond with Ragnar, and I've figured that with Ser Jaime, Ser Jorah, and her mother by her side… Alysanne can do as good work as you did in our past lives, my love. I trust her."

Smiling, Dany leaned up to kiss his lips. "I trust her too, as I trust you, Jon." She straddled his waist, beaming brightly. "I can't wait to go to Winterfell. There we can have the dragons grow with the spells you found in Old Valyria, train for the coming fight."

"There are abandoned castles at the Wall. Deserted islands isolated from the rest of the mainland - after I finally introduce you to my family, my… Uncle Ned, we can get the rest of the Wildlings south of the wall and prepare our unification of Westeros."

"Oh, Jon, I love you." She kissed him so deeply, taking charge like the fierce dragon she was.

Hands holding her waist… Jon's eyes darkened with lust. "Tell me Dany, have the healers said that we may resume…" By the cock of his eyebrow, shit-eating grin on his lips, there was no doubt what he meant.

Daenerys pursed her lips, suddenly looking like an innocent maiden. Fuck me… His cock strained his breeches, painfully hard. "I haven't heard anything from the healers, sweet husband." She giggled as his face fell. "But… I don't think I would be a dutiful wife if I didn't take care of that for you." Grinning wickedly, she slinked down his chest. A sultry apparition, a goddess of both beauty and sin. "It's time for the Queen," she husked, unlacing his breeches. "To pleasure her King." Daenerys took him in her mouth, licking and pumping with a furious enthusiasm. Doing what she set out to do, give her King pleasure.

Grey Worm

Helmet fastened to his head, Grey Worm grabbed the spear from where he had stuck it into the sandy soil outside the walls of Yunkai. Shield loops already tucked into his forearm as he made his way to the head of the line. One of four columns of Unsullied assault troops gathered out of artillery and archery range. Already, the Targaryen army's complement of trebuchets thundered, chains rattling as they hurled massive piles of stone and fire into the city. No one was taking any chances with the city of the Slavers.

Taking his position at the head of the column, the Lord Commander of the Unsullied stared with narrowed eyes at the glittering statue of the Harpy at the top of the central pyramid. Feeling an uncharacteristic hate burning inside of him. Being set free by the Targaryen monarchs… not only did it emancipate his body but also his soul. Recovering memories long suppressed of the brutality he had committed. The atrocities of corpses created out of babies simply to harden his heart and kill his soul… it worked far better than hoped, even now his lack of emotion and iron discipline remained.

Leaving only anger. Hate. Resolve to free the citizens brutalized in the city. His hands curled around the spear. Eyes meeting those of Robb Stark, overall commander of the assault force. The Northerner nodded, stepping into position besides Grey Worm. Standing, waiting under the late afternoon sun as the artillery continued to bombard the Ghiscari city.

A pitched roar shattered the din. Drawing the attention of the cluster of Westerosi warriors forming the honor guard of the column - men drawn from the Andal ships of the False King's brother, now loyal to the Onion Knight and as a result, the Targaryens - but the Unsullied remained still. Holding position as ordered, but listening all the same. Just a little bit of awe in their minds, at least in Grey Worm's mind, when the dragon Arogon landed upon the field. Ground underneath his feet shaking, eyes drawn to the slender form of the mighty beast's rider.

Daenerys Targaryen had recovered from her childbirth. In spite of the heat, she wore an all black leather battledress, hair pulled up in elaborate braids and a Valyrian steel breastplate now emblazoned with a painted red three-headed dragon stretched across her chest. Sheathed across her back was Dark Sister - looking every inch the Valyrian dragonlord from the scary stories that the masters often told their children. Only to all the Unsullied, this woman was their savior, not their monster.

"Dovaogēdy!" Her iron voice thundered across the fields, audible even over the sound of the trebuchets and catapults. Over the pandemonium within the walled city. "Barely two moons ago, King Aegon and I freed you from your bondage. Gave you a choice of whom you were to serve, and you chose to serve us." Unsheathing Dark Sister, the blade gleamed in the orange sunlight as Daenerys leveled it at the Harpy towering above the city of sandstone. "And we bring you here! To a city filled with your brethren… chained for the bidding of the so-called 'Wise Masters.' Wise for their decision to trade people as if they were mere chattel. You put your trust in us, Dovaogēdy, and now we repay that trust with the knowledge that you shall be the vanguard in the effort to break the wheel of bondage from this world."

Arogon hooting, Daenerys stood straight on his back. "ARE YOU READY?!" In unison, every spear in the entire column slammed into the ground. Boom echoing in all distances. Joined mere seconds later by the red dragon roaring at the very heavens. A twin roar a mere mile away signalling the King's similar address to the others. "Bring me the collar of every man, woman and child in bondage! We shall send them all to Meereen and bury it under the piles!" With that, Arogon spread his wings and erupted into the air.

Drawing his own sword, Robb leveled it at the walls surrounding the city. "Hedgehog!" Having learned Valyrian… at least a rudimentary form of it, Grey Worm was able to implement the order - his own Common Tongue quite weak even after lessons from the alluring Missandei of Naath. Shields clattering together in a scaled carapace, as if a massive wyrm, spears bristled the outside in a magnificent protective formation. "Forward!" No one needed to say anything else.

There were four columns surging forth towards Yunkai. Each targeting one city gate. The Masters had few soldiers to actually stand against the Targaryens and their Unsullied/Dothraki forces, but defending the walls was another story. Having ruled out a siege, the monarchs had orchestrated a lightning plan to blast through the walls for the Dothraki horde waiting behind to be let loose into Yunkai, and Grey Worm was determined to be the one to deliver it for them.

Legs pumping, Grey Worm kept his back arched as his shield provided a scale for the lower front line of the hedgehog. They were making great time, gate growing in size before them. Morale surged through the commander's heart as the grey dragon - King Aegon's - enveloped the base of the golden Harpy atop the central pyramid in dragonfire. Several seconds passed before the statue keeled over, scraping off chunks of brick and stone in its ponderous descent to the streets below. The two dragons roared, diving in mock terror attacks to strike fear into the hearts of the masters.

But all was not perfect. As the hedgehogs pondered closer, streaks of fire emerged from behind the walls. Hidden trebuchets and catapults waited until just that moment to bombard the attacking columns - at least someone within wasn't an arrogant fool.

"Faster!" This time it was Grey Worm that gave the barked command. Taking initiative on his own - unheard of before the Targaryens discarded the golden whip. Obeying, the hedgehog surged forward, practically lurching towards the walls.

It hit them with a thud, men beginning to spread around to use the walls as cover against the harassing artillery. Atop, Yunkish soldiers began hurling rocks and debris at the Unsullied… from the lack of pitch or burning oil, or massive boulders, it seemed as if this section of wall was rather unguarded. Perfect.

Stone slamming against his raised shield, Grey Worm anchored it against a chip in the sandstone walls. "Alright!" bellowed Robb Stark, shieldless and crouched underneath the hedgehog formation. "We need to get atop these walls!" In the distance a large projectile launched from one of the massive Yunkish trebuchets detonated spectacularly behind them. Showering bits of rock and flaming pitch in all directions, a large cluster of about forty Unsullied taking the brunt of it. Many crushed by stones or set alight - bodies writhing as they became awash with flame.

Echoing through the thick walls, Grey Worm felt the ground tremble as a dragon roared. Red beast soaring overhead with a greasy black pyre marring the blue and purple sky of sunset. Trebuchet destroyed. Undulating cheers came from the waiting Dothraki at the Queen's counter battery fire, while the Unsullied stayed silent and shock still. Incredibly disciplined, even as Yunkish archers joined the melee. Merely moving to patch in holes in the formation when one fell to an arrow.

Robb struggled to be heard over the cacophony. "They may look huge, but those fuckers… can't blast the walls all over. They only have a limited… fire." He pointed to the walls before them, lifting up an unfurled Targaryen banner, the banner of the Breakers of Chains themselves. "Someone needs to take this and signal at the top. Then, they'll blow the wall and the Dothraki will rush in." Only one of the assault points could be targeted, and the first to have the signal would be the lightest defended.

In hindsight, there was no surprise that Grey Worm volunteered to be first. "I'll go, Lord Stark."

No later than sooner did Grey Worm find himself with his hands and feet wedged in the cracks and chips in the wall. Spear and shield strung against his back, normal men would have been terrified - shaking uncontrollably and praying to whatever deity would hear them. Not the Lord Commander of the Unsullied. Fearless in the face of danger, only emotion the same burning anger from before, he braved the falling stones to blaze a path for Jaime Lannister, Nymeria Sand, and the other Unsullied scrambling up beneath him.

Hand finding purchase on the lip of the battlements, he hauled himself up. Fist flying to slam a right hook into an unsuspecting freeborn soldier. The same sadists that were used for slave control - two bit overseers dressed up as soldiers. Eyes sparkling in a rare show of emotion, Grey Worm knew he would enjoy this.

It didn't take long for the Yunkish troops - the several dozen that manned this section of the wall - to notice the black-clad Unsullied leading men atop the battlements. Swords and bows drawn, they weren't given the chance to begin the attack as Grey Worm charged. Spear thrust through the leather armor of one overseer, his shield smashed into another that tried to rush him. Arm drawing out the smooth spearpoint to slash across the shoulder of another. Fluid and graceful, as much an art as the expert swordsmanship of the Kingsguards and their Valyrian steel swords.

Stabbing a man in the gut as he tried to bring up his sword, Grey Worm's shield slammed into the back of an archer. Arrow flying wildly as he pitched over the side onto the waiting spears below. "DO IT!" yelled Jaime Lannister, parrying a blow before Brightroar twirled in his hands to decapitate another overseer.

Knowing enough Common Tongue to understand that command, out of the sling he carried came the banner. Grey Worm quickly affixed it to his spear, arms straining as he waved it through the last tendrils of sunlight. Hoping that the King or Queen could see…

Somehow, by providence or simply chance, the King did. Sarogon shrieking in an attack run. Gout of orange-red dragonfire lancing out from his maw to envelop and shatter the gate. Arogon and the Queen weren't far behind, their dragonfire finishing the job and leaving a gaping hole into the heart of the city. "FUCK YOU!" shouted Nymeria Sand at the heart of the city as the echo of horns bellowed over the din of battle. Unsullied pouring into the breach… followed by the beginnings of the thundering hoofbeats of the Dothraki horde. They had done it… they had opened the city of the Wise Masters for liberation. The dozen or so climbers had earned a well-deserved rest.

Grey Worm scrambled for a set of stairs leading to the streets below. His fight was not yet over. No rest until the last chain was struck off.

The histories would say he was the first to coin the monikers. "FOR MHYSA! FOR VHYSA!" By the dark of night, all the slaveborn of Yunkai would be howling those titles into din.

Notes:

CastleColin: With all the different POV characters going around, it can be tricky to keep their storylines sorted. Each chapters' sections run either sequentially or concurrently to each other. Hope that helps.

Longclaw: Catelyn got screwed by Walder no matter what. Her impulsivity is... a problem

Who could that healer be? ;)

The Battle of Yunkai was based on the Storming of Peking during the Boxer Rebellion, with Grey Worm playing Calvin Titus. It serves well, cause Daenerys and Jon will be heading to Winterfell now! And in Essos rises Princess Alysanne Targaryen, Aunt of Mhysa and Vhysa and Defender of the Free.

The song lyrics were adaptations of the song "Deliver Us" from the Animated classic Prince of Egypt.

Till next time!