Chapitre 28: Beneath the Gold
Homeless Harry didn't have the look of a warrior so much as a middling bureaucrat and dressed like a merchant. Whilst breaking our fast, he was sitting before me in a plush velvet doublet with a necklace of golden skulls around his stout neck. His beard had been recently cut but not completely, leaving a pale-grey stubble on his pudgy face. "I must congratulate you on your recent promotion," he told me, panting like a dog after a day of chasing a ball despite the only exercise he'd performed this morning was chew.
"I must congratulate myself as well," I humbly agreed as I cut the ribs and rewarded myself another mouthful. The cook had roasted the meat until it cracked and showered it with an assortment of spices like cumin, nutmeg, marjoram, thyme and various kinds of peppers each spicier than the last. It was overkill, but I loved spicy food and there was no food spicier than Dornish cuisine. So naturally Dornish food become my favourite which was just another point in Dorne's favour. As I licked my lips and felt my mouth burn, I did feel vaguely guilty about enjoying this meal. The amount of spice needed to season the meat could perhaps be better spent building a house or several in Westeros during reconstruction. Spices were ridiculously expensive after all. The lack of modern technology was made up by the fact Planetos had an advanced cooking scene. Thank you, George, for your vivid descriptions of food. Such a thing somehow worked its way into the taste. Not that I was complaining.
"Humble," Strickland muttered. Harry barely touched his meal and the few bites he'd taken made his face go red and sweaty. His cup, however, had been refilled numerous times with sweet vintage and a liberal quantity of ice. "Regardless, it was a most notable thing you had achieved. Risky, I must say, but it was fortunate you managed to get your hands on Arya Stark. We now have a useful hostage against Lord Robb and have undermined the Lannister position by stripping them of a prisoner they claimed to possess. That has made the Lannisters liars and strengthened our hand. If only the Spider can give us the other Stark girl . . ."
"Her name is Sansa and it would be nice, but I doubt even Varys the Spider can sneak us the girl now. She's in the Red Keep protected by Lannisters and strong walls."
"Just so, though there might be a chance to steal her as well. We'll be in a good position for the future invasion. Mayhaps you'll get proper leadership experience now you're commanding your own legion."
"Half legion," I corrected. "The Golden Company has only recruited an extra two thousand and a half men after refilling our ranks. Mostly fresh-faced youths who've yet to be hammered into proper order and that's not a job I'm excited for." The Fifth Legion it was officially called, though the nickname was the 'Dragon Legion.' Now I was a Blackfyre and known to all, it was considered unseemly I wasn't a legate. Now I was second in rank only to Myles Blackheart Toyne who commanded all the Golden Company as well as having personal command of the First.
"I do not envy your position. But that is something you need to do. It is your place by rights to lead and not follow, as did your ancestors since the passing of Bittersteel. Blackfyres all served as officers even if they didn't hold full command."
"I'm sure you'll find some talented officers to assist me in this endeavour," I smiled and refilled his cup with some Dornish red. "This is good wine."
"Rarely is Dornish wine so rich." Harry took a healthy gulp. He wasn't a man made for gentle sips and instead chugged his wine down, hinted somewhat by his generous girth. "I'm afraid to say we have other matters to discuss than choice wine or me congratulating you with your recent promotion. I am sure you're somewhat aware from recent reports that the lads have been growing restless. They swelter in the heat, growing soft and lazy if not for the constant drilling the serjeants subject them to. Connington says they've grown lax after defeating the Dothraki."
"It can be expected. When a sword is not oiled it begins to rust. When you don't strategise your mind begins to decay."
"Indeed. Westeros is engulfed by civil war with the wolves and lions tearing each other's throats. Myles claims there's no better time to invade. We have dragons - small ones mind you - but dragons that can grow and be used to bring other houses to our banner. The Company is stronger than it's ever been and will be supported by our Essosi allies. But even still, Westerosi is stronger and we would do better to wait for them to bleed further."
"I perfectly agree, Ser Harry. We just need to wait a little longer, and the Starks and lions are not the only players killing each other. I heard Lord Stannis and Renly are fighting the Lannisters and each other."
"I heard. Both Baratheon brothers are usurpers, desiring to steal their nephew's throne and that'll hopefully alienate many Westerosi lords. After all, one can't cut into succession while the rightful claimant sits the throne. It is like the time Aenys Blackfyre attempted to cut into the succession of Daemon the Third. He sneaked from the Golden Company to put himself forward in the Great Council after Maekar's passing. He was a skilled warrior and orator, and that was why Bloodraven murdered him. It was dishonourable, but it doesn't make Aenys any less of a usurper who tried and failed."
"Aenys made a few promises, didn't he?"
"He promised to put an end to the wars and proclaimed the line of Daeron the Second cursed. He said it could be seen with all the succession crisis' the Targaryens were having, be it Daeron the Second, Aerys and Maekar, the various deaths of the false princes, not to mention the Great Spring Sickness. A curse from the Seven, he declared, for the Targaryens in Westeros are not trueborn. Yet he promised to put an end to the conflict by marrying himself to one of the princesses. Vaella, it may have been, or Aelora. I don't remember so I could be wrong. Regardless, he promised to unify both claims as you have done, and that was enough for Bloodraven to execute him after promising safe conduct and Aenys' head was presented to the council as a warning."
"Trust Bloodraven to be subtle. But unlike Aenys, we need to wait and make sure we don't rush into anything that'll kill us."
"Easier said than done," Harry admitted. "Many officers are eager to sink their teeth into bleeding Westeros. They are still drunk off our previous victories and those who heard about the dragons early were not as closed lipped as they should have been, no thanks to Connington failing to burn the message in time. Others take the man. Now they desire, no, demand we strike Westeros."
"I'm sure Blackheart will dissuade them."
"I'm afraid he's sympathetic to their plight. He wants Westeros no less than they do, be they Black or Red, and our position is not as strong as you may think."
"Not as strong? Might I ask what you mean?"
Harry finished the rest of his drink and patted the beads of sweat on his forehead. "Do you know how hard it is to properly pay and maintain a host this size? We have more than twenty thousand men and that is not cheap. It's not only paying and equipping every man, but we must buy fodder for both horse and elephant, not to mention the upkeep for skilled labourers and that field artillery of yours. Not only that, but Blackheart orders me to ensure the locals stay on our side so no rape and looting but these are hardened killers so I need to bribe the locals to not voice their complaints to factions opposing our operations."
I knew a standing army was expensive, but it was worse for us because we didn't have the bureaucracy nor infrastructure to properly maintain such a force. Ransoming the Triarchy saved us money in some ways but restricted us in others. "I can understand the concern, paymaster. I can sympathise with these problems, but we need to wait for a more opportune moment to strike the Seven Kingdoms."
Harry Strickland agreed, adding, "Not everyone will see it that way. The desire to cross the Narrow Sea is growing stronger by the day. Not only for the officers, but the common soldiery as well. Between all chances to attack Westeros, this is mayhaps the most opportune. The Seven Kingdoms are not united, instead in open conflict against each other. There is a newly crowned boy king who has proven himself incompetent and in his small council is a spymaster who desires our return. You are going to face an uphill battle trying to convince them to delay."
"I assume I have your support?"
"I'd rather not take risks, my prince. My tenure as paymaster has cemented my views that taking unnecessary risks will prove detrimental in the long term. Waiting for the Seven Kingdoms to cripple themselves further would prove beneficial due to our lack of manpower. I don't even trust the Triarchy to support us in Westeros. Their leadership would abandon us as soon as we join the war."
I took a sip of the wine, swashing it around in my mouth before swallowing. "I wouldn't be so sure of that. We offered plenty of promises for their continued support. Long term deals that'll benefit all parties. We'll have their naval support throughout the war even if they don't send men to fight alongside us."
"What if Braavos or Volantis intervene? Lord Tywin would be a fool to not engage them when we set sail. The Triarchy will be weakened by our absence and an attack upon them will cripple if not eliminate our logistics. Our supply lines are fragile to Braavosi piracy, and should the Disputed Lands be set aflame, we won't have the supplies to feed our army. That is why I fear them intervening on the Iron Throne's behalf."
"I understand the threats and we should do something about it. Do you have any ideas to migrate this potential crisis?" I could ask favours from Vaquo's father to hopefully keep peace with Volantis, but that may be a long shot.
Harry thought for a moment. "Maybe leave a legion here or establish another to defend the Disputed Lands, but under the complete command of the Triarchy. We train their officers and soldiers, but they raise their own force and finance them out of their own purse."
"That would bring with it risks." Such as stabbing us in the back.
"Everything comes with risk, Your Grace. But it's which one that'll be the least disadvantageous for us. The Triarchy of the Three Daughters will surely leave our influence once Westeros is ours, though they'll hold certain sympathies depending on which factions remain in power."
"I understand. We'll need to bring it up with the captain general. Maybe leave a few of our more senior officers here. The injured and old, the ones unable to properly command but with more than enough combat experience. They can train the Triarchy and provide them with some defence other than mercenaries. Lady Lynesse will surely agree to it. She holds much sway with Tregar Ormollen who can be aligned with our interests easily enough."
"She is cunning and holds limitless ambition," Harry muttered disapprovingly.
That was what I liked about her. Because she was a woman with some personal ambition it made her hated by nearly everyone else. For the Essosi because she was a 'foreign whore' and the Westerosi for being a 'whore' and having some self-interest and therefor standing above her assigned station. I had to credit her wit though. She easily discovered who I was but held it secret and used the threat of releasing that information for her own interests. Other than that, we did work closely with her within Lys, with House Ormollen receiving high degrees of influence and Hightower getting preferential treatment when it came to trade. With the death of her husband, Lynesse Hightower even mused about marrying Tregar Ormollen as a second wife – and maybe his only should the first one suffer an unfortunate accident. If so, I wished her a happy marriage.
"We need cunning allies and those who are ambitious do hold certain advantages as well. Lady Lynesse is a prime ally of the Golden Company and has aided us much in the governance of Lys. I pray the union continues to benefit both our parties."
...
After breaking my fast with Strickland, Dalabhar came forward with news of a guest that caught my interest.
Walking through the encampment, I couldn't help but feel proud as the men stopped to perform the customary salute of a closed fist to their left breast and a shallow bow of the head. Despite aiming to make the Golden Company more akin to the Roman Imperial legions, they didn't look dissimilar to a standard medieval army, though better equipped than their Westerosi counterparts across the pond. Only the leather pteruges hanging from their shoulders and waists looked anything Roman. While not everything happened the way I envisioned it – and I would admit that might be for the best – I let myself savour what was achieved.
Guarding Daenerys' tent were Targaryen loyalists of the Red faction and the small detachment I provided to both protect her and inform me who Dany saw and what she said. Inside, Queen Daenerys Targaryen was attended by her court of handmaidens formed of a mix of former slaves and the young maiden daughters and sisters of Essosi nobles and Golden Company officers who saw fit to get close to the queen for promises later down the line.
They weren't the only ones.
Standing behind them, in a traveller's cloak of undyed wool with the hood thrown back, stood a tall man with pale blue eyes. Long white hair fell to his shoulders and a silky beard obscured the lower half of his lined face. He pressed his weight on a hardwood staff as tall as he was as if to suggest he was just a frail old man. But he wasn't. One could tell he was strong despite his advanced age.
You have finally arrived, ser. Took you long enough. I took the knee for Daenerys who pulled me back up, kissed me on the cheek, and smiled kindly. "Your Grace, I received the message. I can only assume this is him? Mind if I ask who this fine gentleman is?" There was only one answer and it was Ser Barristan Selmy. The closest thing to an archenemy House Blackfyre had in living memory.
"Gentleman?" one girl with green hair asked confused, to which Doreah replied, "He makes up a lot of words. You learn to get used to it."
"This gentleman," Daenerys began, tasting the word, "is from the Seven Kingdoms. Your own father sent him to us, Egg."
The bearded man was staring at me so I met his stare with my own. "I see. Though I wonder. If my father sent you, why hadn't you shown yourself sooner? But never mind that. Introduce yourself. I wager you're aware who my wife is, and myself for that matter."
"I know who you are." Ser Barristan's voice was strained. He didn't like me, it seemed. I was a Blackfyre and he was a Targaryen loyalist to the core . . . well, when he wasn't switching sides that is. He would have been a Baratheon loyalist and totally would have served Joffrey to the death should the false king not dismiss him to put his cur on the Kingsguard. Barristan gave a hasty bow as if he was remembering he was meant to be playing a character. "Your Grace," he said to me in the same way one would say tapeworm. "My name is Arstan and I am a simple squire, though an old one in truth, for I could never afford to earn my spurs as a knight. Many have taken to calling me Whitebeard for reasons I don't believe need explaining."
"I have met a few squires who were older than eight-and-ten and couldn't afford to become knights, though none were as old as you. Tell me why you are here, Arstan Whitebeard. I'm assuming you know my father is Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos, so why would he send you, especially without consulting me first?" It made sense should he not be hiding beneath this foolish getup. Barristan the Bold was regarded as the best and most honourable knight in the Seven Kingdoms, one who added prestige and honour and standing to whatever side he fought alongside. He was hiding though, and I couldn't be seen to know that. Maybe he fears the Golden Company would slit his throat for killing Maelys . . .
Daenerys put a hand on my arm to silence me gently. "Pray, my husband is right, squire. Should Illyrio have sent you, why have you not come sooner? Why hasn't he told us about you?"
Whitebeard's face flickered. "I hoped to see you sooner, Your Grace," he said directly to Daenerys like I wasn't in the tent. "But I was not permitted to enter your presence with everything that was going on. The guards assumed I was just one of many wanting to see the dragons."
And not studying Daenerys from afar to judge whether she's got Targaryen madness? Not one to be rudely ignored, I said, "Tis a shame. Though I do wonder why my father would send us a squire and not tell us about him when he had many opportunities to do so."
That seemed to have caught him out and the old knight looked fit to restrain. As if knowing, Dalabhar brushed his hand across the pommel of his sword. I didn't know who I should fear for if the two came to blows. Dalabhar was massive and a skilled sword, but Barristan was Barristan, even if armed with only a cane.
"No doubt he had good cause," Daenerys answered for him, shooting me a warning. "Be gentle, the both of you. I hope you don't intend to fight because I will not tolerate it from either of you. Pray, Arstan, I admit to being unfamiliar with your accent. You said you were from Westeros but didn't say where."
"The Stormlands?" I asked.
Selmy caught the flicker of a smirk crossing my lips and Dany rushed to ask if it was true. "You are correct, ser. I was born on the Dornish Marches. As a boy I squired for a knight of Lord Swann's household." He held the staff upright like a lance in need of a banner. "Now I hope to have another master."
"A little old for a squire, aren't you?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. I looked him up and down in an extravagant manner.
"Not too old to serve my liege," he turned to Daenerys as if to tell me he served her, not me. I knew but I found the way he did so to be incredibly petty.
I must had been frowning, or at least showing my displeasure, because Dany butted in with: "Please be gentle with your words, husband." Her voice had an edge to it, however. "Arstan, this is my husband, and Aegon, this man came here straight from Westeros, and sailed across the Narrow Sea at the bottom of a cog. I expect the both of you to act respectfully towards each other."
Respect is earned, not owed. "Of course, Your Grace. Pray forgive me."
Ser Barristan gave me a slight nod and Daenerys continued in her sing-song voice, "Aegon Blackfyre is my ally here, squire. This is his army before us and his father's ships that'll be taking us to Westeros."
"Best remain cautious, Your Grace. We may not know who he truly is. He could be pretending to be someone else. Best not tell him our plans."
"Mayhaps, but Arstan claimed to know of my brother Rhaegar. He claims to have seen him in Harrenhal during the tourney. I want him close to me. But you two must act respectful towards each other or, Arstan, you might leave my service sooner than you wish."
Ser Barristan bowed his head but didn't look happy. It seemed few spoke against Selmy, especially petite young girls.
She gave him a smile to take the string from her words. "Now tell me, squire, why would the magister offer you to me when I am already surrounded by many swords who've sworn undying loyalty?"
"Protector and adviser, Your Grace. You have many shields around you, and some might be a better sword than I. But I would be surprised if they know the land. In my many years I've experienced much, and it seems few in your retinue have much in the way of understanding the lands and people. Most of your army are exiles and sons of exiles, and foreigners."
"Whitebeard may be offering himself as a mentor figure," I chuckled. "Long beard, staff, grey robes. May prove to be wise and full of little secrets. Looks to me an archetypal mentor if I ever saw one."
"Well, mentor, around me are people loyal and true," Dany smiled at her handmaidens. "It matters not what side of the Narrow Sea they were born."
"The lords of Westeros may disagree," Barristan replied softly.
"They are free to disagree. If they do, they'll learn the meaning of fire and blood."
I smirked. "I don't think the lords of Westeros are in a place to argue. From what we hear, they're busy dying on each others swords."
"Tis true," Selmy admitted. "I came to aid you and beg for your help. The Seven Kingdoms have need of you and House Targaryen once more. Robert Baratheon is dead and the realm bleeds. When I set sail, there were four kings in the land and no justice to be had."
Those seemed like the words to rouse Deanerys. She had in her a hero complex and whether Barristan knew it or not, he just stirred the embers. "We will! There will be justice once more. There are four dragons, and Aegon commands twenty thousand men of the Golden Company who have proven themselves the finest military this side of the Narrow Sea. We have goods and horses and ships. The cities of Tyrosh, Myr, Lys and even the power of Pentos to aid us."
"A mighty force," Arstan Whitebeard admitted sagely. "Though you need Westerosi armies as well. You need lords and knights. Knights especially for they are the cream of chivalry."
"They'll muster to their rightful queen," Daenerys Targaryen declared and turned to me. "You agree?"
"I agree." I wondered whether I should reveal Barristan's identity and decided to just go for it. Nothing like ripping the plaster off. "Knights are very skilled warriors and there is a reason they're the most highly regarded mercenaries in Essos. Should this squire take the knee, we'll be one knight richer. He is old, but if he fought he's no doubt skilled. Few warriors reach his age without learning a few things. Not to forget it would look better for a knight rather than a squire to take the queen's side. Few knights would be willing to be ordered around by one of lower rank."
Daenerys looked at me coolly but seemed to understand what I was suggesting. "My husband does have a point. Squire, take the knee and I'll have my husband knight you so you become a—"
"No."
The refusal shocked her, and I had my opportunity. "You refuse an order from the queen you proclaimed to serve? You speak not as a lowly squire. That much I can tell. Who are you, old man?"
"A truer knight than you, ser," Arstan said coldly.
"A knight?" Dany was confused. "You just said you were a squire."
"And hoped I would remain one for some time more." Barristan sighed and did take the knee. "I was, Your Grace. I am from the Stormlands and did squire for Lord Swann in my youth. But I am a knight and I never lied, only withheld certain truths and for those sins I beg forgiveness."
"What truths have you withheld, ser? You will tell me now, else I'll have my guards drag you out and question you sharply."
"I said my name is Arstan, and that is the name I used when I stole myself across the Narrow Sea to find you. But it is not my true name."
Daenerys looked more confused than angry. "You had grown your beard to hide your face. Just as my husband had dyed his hair and Arya Stark had cut hers. I am sick of deception. Tell me who you are, ser. Tell me."
"My name, Your Grace, is Ser Barristan Selmy."
Daenerys' anger flared. "Barristan? The lord commander of Robert Baratheon's kingsguard. The knight who betrayed my brother after the Trident and bent the knee to serve the Usurper instead of fighting for the house he swore to defend?"
Good on you, Daenerys. Taking a stand against unprincipled men.
But Daenerys seemed to see something because she spun around to face me, glaring darkly. "You knew something was off about him!"
"I never knew he was Ser Barristan Selmy," I lied.
"Do not lie to me, Aegon Blackfyre. I've had enough of deceivers and thought better of you. If you had any suspicions, you should have said."
"Without evidence? You would have dismissed it outright."
"But you would have been honest. A queen needs honest counsel. But of you, Barristan, are you Robert's man or mine? Are you here to kill me as Ser Jorah Mormont did with Viserys or have you remembered your vows to House Targaryen and my father? I want the whole truth now, on your honour as a knight."
"Yours, if you will have me." Barristan had tears in his eyes. "I took Robert's pardon, aye. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad. Those who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. If the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside, I would still be serving House Baratheon, it shames me to admit. But when he took the cloak the White Bull had draped about my shoulders, and sent men to kill me that selfsame day, it as if he had ripped blinders off my eyes. It was then I knew I must find the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. The true queen and place her upon the Iron Throne or die in the attempt. I am sorry I have misled you. I didn't want to show myself this way. If you refuse, I will understand and leave or join as any other knight who's taken up service in the Golden Company. Whatever you may wish."
"The Others take you, Ser Barristan. The boy on the Iron Throne throws you away so you come running here, hiding your name in the hopes of me accepting you after all you have done? All I see coming from you is falseness. Begone ser. Begone from here."
Ser Barristan rose stiff and slow and for the first time looked his age. "Where shall I go, Your Grace?"
"To hell and serve King Robert as you vowed to do!" Dany looked on the verge of tears and Rhaellon screamed, lashing his tail back and forth. All the dragons awoke and joined the call, flaring black teeth at the white knight. "Leave, ser. Now, else Dalabhar will drag you out."
It turned out Dalabhar didn't need to be used and the handmaidens followed Barristan so me and Daenerys were alone with the dragons. As she usually did when in need of comfort, she picked up black Rhaellon who wrapped himself around Dany's shoulders and nuzzled her neck. Daenerys smiled weakly, giving the dragon a pet.
We were silent for a moment before I asked, "Are you well, Dany?"
The smile forced out of her by Rhaellon disappeared in an instant. "Do I look well? Are there any more secrets people are hiding from me? Have I got more kin who are actually alive? Is Rhaenys alive and hiding in Dorne? No, Aegon, I am not well. Why did he have to come and act the false knight?"
"Mayhaps he was scared of the Golden Company. They hold little love for Barristan Selmy after the Ninepenny Kings . . ."
"What use is a scared knight to me? Viserys told stories of Ser Barristan saving father from Duskendale, cutting his way through Maelys Blackfyre's host to slay him and end the war then and there. He should have no need to fear anyone. But he did."
I had mixed feelings on Barristan. He was a good knight regarding his skill in arms and even those who hated Selmy couldn't question that. But Barristan was also a moral coward who hid behind his honour and many conflicting oaths, and only began questioning Joffrey's worth as a leader once he was dismissed. "I hold no love for him, Daenerys, and I'm one of the last to sing his praises. But was it a bit rash to send him away?"
"Rash? You think what I did was rash? The man is a traitor. Barristan's lucky he isn't being executed for breaking his oaths to House Targaryen and his king. He might not be as bad as the Kingslayer, I confess, but he is not much better. When Rhaegar died on the Trident, Prince Lewyn Martell and Ser Jonothor Darry perished as kingsguard should, fighting to the death for their prince and liege. But what does Barristan do then he gets injured? He instead accepts Baratheon's pardon and becomes Lord Commander of his Kingsguard. He should have come to Dragonstone and serve Viserys – his rightful king. If Selmy was here, if he was loyal as he should have been, my brother might still be alive. Viserys might be standing in this very tent and Jorah Mormont would have been stopped. Yet you stand here and accuse me of being impulsive?"
Looks like I've awoken the dragon. I felt like I needed to be the calming voice here. "You are angry, and I understand that. Ser Barristan betrayed you and House Targaryen—"
"You understand then. You understand how I feel when he hides himself and comes begging for a pardon once he loses his position?"
"No. I do not understand what you are going through and hopefully I never have to. What I'm going to say is that you might consider how Barristan is regarded in Westeros. To many knights and lords of the Seven Kingdoms he is seen as such a pillar of chivalry and knighthood that he's the kind of man that lends honour to anyone he rides alongside. You may disagree and are more likely than not correct. But if Westeros sees him standing alongside you, they'll believe you are honourable by association. That is how great Barristan's reputation is, and it would be foolish to ignore it."
"You think I should just forgive him? Is that it? That I should forget everything he has done and, what, abandon my morals just so I look better for some Westerosi lords who look past him being a turncloak? If they are the kinds of lords I'm going to attract, I might as well not have him."
Got a point there. Just a shame Westerosi principles regarding honour are not consistent. "That does not change the fact he is still the most famous knight in the Seven Kingdoms." Daenerys, if there's one thing I learned from politics, it's that you need celebrity endorsements to bring about the support of the fickle masses. It's a sad state of affairs that. "He is still a master swordsman, a competent general, skilled in the use of several weapons and, as evident from the Defiance of Duskendale, a decent hand at stealth. Not someone you want to be against you in any case. I do not know what will happen to him should he leave. Barristan won't take up service with Joffrey because he left, nor Renly because a younger son can't inherit. Though he might join sides with Stannis, and I would rather that not be the case."
"A traitor. A traitor you want me to throw a white cloak around his shoulders. The man who'll be guarding my chambers and person. A man who'll be carrying a sword beside me."
Consider it a political appointment to ensure the other claimants don't get their hands on him, I could have said but instead, "Like I said. I love the idea as much as you do. But we cannot be blind to the political repercussions. If I'd the opportunity, I would destroy the kingsguard as an institution and replace it with a more flexible outfit if the White Swords weren't such a powerful cultural tool. Okay, what about this then as a compromise? Do not exile Barristan. Let him serve and fight for you if that is what he wishes. You don't have to have him as a member of your Queensguard, and he can just be one of many knights in your service. We need every sword and, honestly, you could do worse."
Daenerys stared at me. Her lips tight and eyes unblinking. She could almost freeze water with that look. Then she relented. "I won't banish him, but nor I will drape a white cloak across his shoulders. I disagree with abolishing them. I need a Queensguard, and ones who are not accused as oathbreakers. I'll think about what you said and come to conclusion later. I do not think I'm in the right state of mind."
I allowed myself a soft smile. "A wise choice. There are good uses for emotion but using it to make important decisions is not always the wise thing to do. Think long and hard on it."
"For you, Egg, I will." The words seemed to drain the life out of her and now she looked tired. "Westeros is so close, but each day is growing harder. And I'm weary of it all. I want to laugh, to plant trees and watch them grow. I am only a young girl."
"A young girl who'll be queen. It may be tiring but it'll be worth it."
"Will it?" She looked at me doubtfully. "My mother's crown is light, but whenever I place it atop my brow it weighs heavy upon my head. Haldon and Septa Lemore are teaching me what they know, and Connington as well. It isn't becoming easier, but more complicated."
"It will seem so now, but it'll get easier. You'll be ready when its time. We just need to prepare a little more. And once we are, Westeros will be ours for the taking."
"When we are ready . . ." she almost smiled a forced smile. "Many believe we are. There are many officers who think we should strike Westeros. Though a fair number stress patience, I believe the winds are turning. Connington's been riling up the Reds who desire nothing more than to return home, and the Blacks are no different. Sooner or later I'm sure he'll force the captain-general's hand. I do find myself in agreement, but I do have reservations. The Golden Company may be skilled, but we still number less than what some lords can call upon. Not to mention the Lannisters. They're rich. Fabulously rich. Richer than your father"
Damn Connington and the fools who follow him. "War is a breed of conflict decided by the allocation of resources. Through better apportionment a lesser nation can defeat a greater, but never if decision-making is of equal standing on both sides." And we know Westeros lacks skilled decision-making.
"Learn that from one of your books?" A flicker of a smile broke through her solemnness.
"You could say," I mused aloud.
"Viserys taught me much of what I know. If he lived . . ."
"He would be king and married to a Dornish princess or a lady of the Reach. We'd still be married, and you would have taken the name Blackfyre."
"And now I'll be queen. The queen. Not a consort and our children will be taking my name."
"I believe the Westerosi would be more receptive to a Targaryen queen than a Blackfyre king. After all, you're the daughter of one the most impressive bloodlines in the world. Your father was the King of Westeros while my father was a simple bravo who lived on the streets of Pentos. Your mother was a beloved queen while mine was a whore." There was no way the lords of Westeros would accept me, and I made peace with second place. The lords would rather have the daughter of a tyrant than let someone they see as their social inferior tell them what to do. Let Daenerys deal with frivolous courtiers begging for royal favours. While Dany was doing that, I could work on my own things behind the scenes.
"Aegon . . ."
She moved to touch me but I beat Dany and cupped her cheek, enjoying the smoothness of her skin. "It matters not. Daemon saw himself as the true Targaryen and Daeron the bastard. The name doesn't matter for I wager he would title himself Targaryen should he have won his little rebellion. All that matters is you being a good queen."
A blush warmed her cheeks and her smile was shy. "I want to be a good queen. I have been learning about Queen Rhaenys and Alysanne. Did you know Good Queen Alysanne had a bodyguard who was a woman? Jonquil Darke was a bastard daughter of Lord Darklyn of Duskendale and had been a mystery knight called the Serpent in Scarlet. She would later become the queen's own sworn shield!"
"I know. I gave you that book."
"I want to be like her!" Daenerys declared. "I want to be a good queen. I want people to call me Good Queen Daenerys. I'll rule kindly and justly just as a queen's meant to be. I want to be loved."
I smiled sadly at her. "Daenerys, even the most kind-hearted of kings and queens stand over vast graveyards."
She looked down at her feet, all her happiness evaporating in an instant. "You're right. We need to sail across the Narrow Sea. Our army needs to bleed and bloody." She took a breath. "We're in the same boat now. If it had gone differently, if the usurpers didn't rise up or win, we'd be enemies staring at each other from across the Narrow Sea. But now we stand united in common cause. Seeing what you've achieved . . . I'm thankful we're on the same side. I want to be a good queen. A just ruler. When Viserys died, I . . . I've supped enough on tears."
Once more, I smiled sadly at her. "Ruling a kingdom is like making an omelette, and you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, executing the hens who laid them on trumped up charges, and setting the most rebellious henhouses on fire as an example to the others." She looked up at me, shocked, and I patted her hand and smiled to take the edge off my words. "I only speak from practicality. A ruler needs to be both feared and loved. Feared enough so the lords won't rise against us for fear of their lives and loved enough so they have no reason to. It's a thin line. A delicate dance that needs to be played. We can dance that dance together if you like. Dancing with a partner is better than dancing alone. You can be the good queen everyone will adore, the gentle shepherd who'll look after everyone. I'll be the queen's sword. I'll be the general, the protector, the one who does what needs to be done. I agree with what you said. I want something similar. I want Westeros to be peaceful. Where a trader can go from one end to the other without risk of bandits and cutthroats. Where farmers need not fear an army stomping through their fields and stealing their grain. I want Westeros to be powerful, as by rights it should. Together we can bring a new era to Westeros. Achieve what Aegon the Fifth tried and failed to do. Rise up the smallfolk, depower the lords and, if we play our moves right, build the foundations of a modern autocratic state."
...
Compared to Daenerys' tent, Lyra's was much less ostentatious but in no way could it be considered spartan. Inside was a laboratory with chests filled to bursting, tables lined with potions and books, alchemy and surgical equipment. Only a small corner was reserved for her personal accommodations with a simple mattress and wooden tub just large enough to bathe in should you fold yourself tight enough. Stretched across the table she usually reserved for writing were three frogs emptied of their organs, and the air was thick with strange eastern spices I didn't recognise but were laid on so thick I nearly gagged.
Then there was her greatest procession proudly on display: the glass candle that'd been the price of her allegiance. Tall and black it was, twisted and warped with sharp edges that could easily cut your skin and was clearly meant to do so if Lyra's bandaged hands were any indication. It was an ancient artefact of Valyrian origin, a powerful magical device used by the extinct Dragon Lords and the Sorcerer Princes to see across mountains and rivers and deserts; to send messages into the minds of man and control the endless slaves in their mines and tending their estates. A most powerful tool for those who knew how to wield it.
"Desire to try it out for yourself?" Lyra asked, looking over her shoulder at me staring at the device. "I recommend you be careful."
"I have no desire to cut myself."
"Best stay away then. You won't want to scar that lovely skin of yours."
She stopped rummaging through her chests and brought out four books she'd 'borrowed' from Vaquo's family inside the Black Walls of Volantis. Books reputed to hold considerable knowledge of dragons: Dragonkin, The Dance of the Dragons, Unnatural History, and Fires of the Freehold. Me and Daenerys needed to read through them in the hopes they helped with bending the dragons to our will. The last thing we needed was to have some rebellious teenagers burning alive the men.
I gave the mage a quick thanks before scanning through the dusty pages that'd been written a few hundred or so years ago. These were no doubt copies so alterations might have been made and not for the best. "I thank you for giving me these. The dragons are only getting bigger and more wilful."
"You need to tame them. They're only hatchlings now, but they will grow large as warhorses and become independent as creatures do. They'll no longer climb your shoulder asking for cuddles, but will fly away and only return when they will it. Not to mention be a thorn in your side."
"The cost of dragons," I mused, slamming Unnatural Histories shut and grinning. "I hope you're not in the midst of researching these, but I suppose once you lit the candle you haven't found enough time to read. Did you see anything useful? I know you've been searching the world for something. See anything worthy of note?"
Lyra stared at the oily black glass, her cold eyes hard like chips of onyx. "Recently, when I was searching Westeros to scout the land and see what was happening, I saw something. What I saw . . . the gods only know. My eyes found the abyss and the abyss stared back. It was . . . wanting. I have jumped into the sea and swam so far I no longer see land. I can continue paddling or risk sinking."
"As have I. Since finding myself in this world I've been in the sea, lost and trying my best not to drown. To remain in one place can only guarantee it. The reasonable man adapts himself to the world while the unreasonable man persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. I have proven myself to be neither completely reasonable nor completely unreasonable. I thank you for giving me these books and I wish you luck for—"
"I do have something to gift you. As thanks for all you have done. I know I'm not the most grateful person around, and it may be uncharacteristic of me to say that, but you have helped me quite a bit with your patronage. I didn't know how advanced the glass candle was, nor am I scratching the surface with what it's capable of." She pulled out an iron key and began savaging through another one of her chests.
I walked over to her, glimpsed down and raised an eyebrow. "What is that?"
She peeked up, her eyes level with the table. "A book. Never seen one before?"
"Are those pages made of animal hide?"
"Human skin. And the words are written with human blood. The Church of Starry Wisdom don't do half-measures, I'm afraid. They have their rituals and must be done completely by the book. Forgive my little jest."
Is the Church of Starry Wisdom this world's equivalent of a Satanic cult? "I'll remember not to use this book for bedtime reading. I don't want nightmares."
"Nightmares will be the least of your fears." She stood up and laid a black steel gauntlet on the table. It looked no different from one of my gauntlets with its draconic motifs and fluting. But as I picked it up, I noticed three milky stones shining like rainbows pressed into the back of the piece, striking against the darkness.
"Are these moonstones?" I couldn't help but ask, though my face was a grimace and her smile quickly died. "I mean, I'm thankful for the gift. You didn't need to. But I've already got a gauntlet. I've got two in fact."
Lyra rolled her eyes, losing the appreciative expression and regaining her derisive air. "You think I'd simply give you a fancy steel glove? No. I'm not that simple nor would such a gift be worthy from myself. For someone as smart as you, I did think you would understand without being lectured to."
"Then lecture me. I'm sure you've been waiting for the opportunity. I know you love the sound of your own voice."
"Then sit, young dragon, and I'll enlighten you. You know how rubies are used by the red priests for use in glamour? That's because precious stones have magical properties depending on what they are. So it's understandable that there are some that can be described as carrying anti-magical abilities. Stones such as the moonstone crystals used by the Faith of the Seven." She grinned wickedly. "Seems there was a reason the Faith could so easily kill skinchangers and why the Warrior Sons, before becoming a knightly order, slaughtered their way across an entire continent despite the dragonlords of the Freehold refusing to cross the Narrow Sea despite being at the height of their power. I was told by Septa Lemore that the Warrior Sons wielded swords with crystals embedded in their pommels. They used an assortment of different stones, but moonstones were among the most common and should the right spells be cast, they have the power to dispel glamour. I've taken the opportunity to have one of the blacksmiths forge you a new gauntlet with three of them on. And before you say anything, they work. Should someone try to deceive you by coating themselves with magic or hire a Faceless Man, you'll know when their face begins to flicker into something else and reveal the true being underneath. You can thank me now."
I inspected the gauntlet more closely. They looked just like the precious stones used to decorate armour to show a noble's wealth, but there might have been another reason for such a tradition besides the obvious before magic disappeared. Thinking about the Warrior's Sons for a moment, it seemed likely they might have used such weaponry. I knew they were the elite soldiers used by the High Septon before their order was abolished by Maegor the Cruel, and much had been spoken of their valiant history battling the monsters inhabiting Westeros when it was brought into the light of the Seven. The Swords were monster and demon hunters, holy warriors completely implacable in their hatred against all enemies of the Faith. As I thought deeper, Lyra's words helped to paint a different picture. The Poor Fellows served as the common foot soldiers, the High Septon's army and the folk tasked to patrol the roads and protect the septries, while the elite force that was the Warrior Sons had a darker and more specialised purpose. If I was right, that knightly order were less of a force of bodyguards and more a brotherhood of assassins.
"You got any proof of this besides your words?"
Lyra smirked and pulled out a ruby identical to the one Daenerys had been wearing during the wedding. "Observe." She took a few steps back, gesturing me to do likewise, then wrapped the slender silver chain around her neck. Then her face morphed before my eyes. At first Lyra remained gaunt like Stannis after the shadow baby, having never recovered her healthy glow and instead looking half a corpse. But when she put the necklace on, her face shifted.
It wasn't sudden. She didn't look like a different person as most illusionary magic in the books went. But she looked fairer. Her dark eyes glowed with wit, her cheeks became fuller and gained a rosy glow while the spots and imperfections of her skin disappeared. Before the hatching she was an attractive woman, but now she was positively striking. Was Daenerys using such glamour when I wed her? If so, it might have explained some uncomfortable feelings . . .
"Step forward two steps."
I did so and the illusion began to flicker like a television suffering from a terrible signal. Like static, her face flashed from glamour to its natural form, melting and merging into something completely unnatural and surreal. I stepped back and her face reverted to its glamour.
"To tell the truth, I do prefer you like this." Very short range though.
"As do I. Granted, I cannot see the changes myself but with how your eyes suddenly flared up, I can tell this form is one you are more comfortable with. More so than your little queen? She's a pretty girl, even for a Valyrian, but the glamour gave her further refinement to sell her to the hearts of the Golden Company. Before you ask, it was your father's idea."
I looked down at my gauntlet, tapping the stones before asking, "How do you know even half of this?"
"Connections. Archmaester Marwyn is very skilled at what he does and made a point of retaining various connections around the world. In doing so he provided me a great many contacts to exchange information. When you get the patronage of a powerful son of a wealthy magister, said connections have a habit of showing themselves and offering favours for favours."
I supposed so. I knew Marwyn went around the world and that was how he and Lyra met. With just how the state needed monopoly of force to dissuade armed rebellion, we needed monopoly of magic to ensure we had enough defences against whatever the increasing supernatural threats of this world had to offer. I cared little for the necklace, but the threat of glamour was considerable on the intelligence front. We needed ways to combat that, especially if we needed to destroy the Faceless Men as an organisation. "If these crystals can disrupt glamour, can you produce more of them?"
Lyra's smile was all the confirmation I needed.
...
As we entered the command tent, the General Staff of the Golden Company rose from their stools. Some greeted us with smiles and friendly nods while others remained expressionless. No one frowned for they couldn't afford to, no matter how much they disliked Daenerys or the idea of a woman joining to talk strategy. Even some who were friendly bore no love for Dany. There are daggers behind their smiles. The officers forming the Black faction all stood on the right, slightly bigger than the Reds but both smaller than the Moderates who held the reins. It was fortunate the ones willing to compromise were the majority that held the support of most of the army. The hardliners on either side would surely kill the other half if they had the opportunity.
"Your Graces," Lysono Maar drawled in this thick Lysene accent. He smiled thinly, lilac eyes shining as he played with his straight white-gold hair. "For the first time in quite a while it seems the Golden Company has got a queen."
"The queen," I said before anyone else could say anything. "She is the queen of the Seven Kingdoms. No mere consort. I hope you understand."
"I didn't mean it like that. The last Blackfyre queen was Queen Daena Blackfyre, daughter of Daemon the Third and mother of your grandsire, the Daemon who'd been killed by King Maelys. Maelys never married and Daemon the fourth was never crowned."
"You have a queen now," Connington declared authoritatively. "Our young Targaryen for your young Blackfyre. Two sides of the dragon banner to unify Westeros."
"First we need to conquer Westeros," grunted Commander Kojo, eyeing us both with narrow slimy black eyes. The officer was a tall lanky man with the dark copper skin and thick black hair of the Dothraki, though his were braided and full of bells he looted off Khal Drogo's Khalasar so he tinkled whenever he moved. "My own riders will have no love sailing across the Narrow Sea whenever that may be. They love not the salty sea, and many have in their mind Westeros as a collection of isles not unlike the Stepstones."
"They will be dissuaded of that notion, my friend," Ser Jon Hawkwood grinned thinly. Otherwise known as Jon the Astute, this knight was a thickset man with shoulders like a young ox. His brown eyes were large, calculating and set wide apart under heavy brows. His nose was long and beaked while his greasy chestnut hair was straight and clung carelessly. "Westeros is large as Essos but goes north to south rather than east to west. Your Dothraki will find plenty of fodder in the Reach which is perfect for horses."
"This one hopes so. Me and my own joined the Company to blood our swords. I was told much battle awaited us across the world but other than a few battles, we mostly sat around. I dislike staying in one place. It breeds corruption."
"You will blood your swords soon enough," Daenerys informed him.
"We will?" Harry Strickland asked, obviously not liking the suggestion.
I rose an eyebrow at my young wife.
"We will," she repeated though hers was a statement that barked no opposition. "I know you denied my brother when he came forth and provided you food and festivities and promises. No doubt you had your own reasons for refusing him. No doubt you wanted more gold than he could offer with the Usurper sitting strong in Westeros. But now is different. The Starks and Lannisters and Baratheons are tearing each other apart. Sitting the Iron Throne is a child whose tales of cruelty are spreading like wildfire. A boy who's spoken of in the same vein as Maegor the Cruel and Aerion Brightflame, with a mother who indulges these base instincts. Against him is an uncle who fights not under the Seven, but the banner of the red god who holds no love in Westeros. Then to the north is a boy—"
"A boy who's been running circles around Lord Tywin Lannister," Myles warned her. "And another uncle whose wedded Margaery Tyrell and commands the power of Highgarden. I see what you are doing, and I'll not be fooled by pretty speeches."
"I am not making speeches; I'm making informed statements. While Westeros is tearing chunks out of itself, we have gained the Triarchy, fleets as large as all of Westeros' combined, and an army double it was only a couple years ago. With me and Aegon are four dragons. Some of you, I know, speak of patience. That we should wait for them to bleed each other dry before launching our invasion. I say no. I say we strike now."
I frowned and Ser Harry Strickland looked like he'd been slapped across the face. "Your Grace," the paymaster said quickly. "Your dragons are only hatchlings and can easily be felled by a bowman. Not beasts that can be mounted and be used for war."
Nodding, I said, "Best we wait, my love. Wait for them to get larger so we can use them to bathe Westeros in flames."
"No," Connington growled and getting everyone to face him. "We have waited long enough. How long must we wait for you to believe we are strong enough to fight the armies of Casterly Rock and Storm's End? We have more than twenty-thousand men. Four thousand cavalry and a couple dozen elephants. We have the fleets of Lys, Tyrosh and Myr at our command. No doubt the pirate lords of the Stepstones will offer themselves to us for a share of the plunder. We have in our hands a greater host than Maelys and we're in a more fortunate position with Westeros growing weaker by the day."
"Then let the days pass and the Andals grow weaker," Lysono Maar said gracefully as he fingered his drooping earring. "Each day that passes they'll lose more men. They might lose more commanders and lords. I stand with our paymaster and say we be patient. We have nothing to gain from rushing but everything to gain from prudence."
Black Balaq shouted his agreement. "We are in a good position so let Westeros burn. Makes no sense to set sail when we have no need to. Once they've murdered one another, we disembark and clean up the survivors. We'll have enough castles for everyone in the Company."
"And we're making good coin," added Ser Marq Mandrake. "We are sellswords. We shouldn't throw away lucrative contracts; especially when we're not risking our lives."
"Some contracts are written with ink, and others with blood," argued Ser Brendel Byrne with derision. "The duty of the Golden Company is to put our dragon on the Iron Throne, not sit around growing fat. We're above rabble like the Second Sons and Brave Companions."
"To those who claim we should stay, I ask you what would happen should we wait too long and one side bends the knee?" Connington questioned. "They'll merge their strength with the winner and we'll be the loser. Stannis and Renly will no doubt fight amongst themselves. They both want the throne but first they'll desire the Stormlands. They'll fight over that before marching against King's Landing. We strike now, we strike fast, we strike hard. Westeros is unprepared for an invasion and with their armies slaughtering each other, their castles will be undefended. Seldom is there a better opportunity."
"Should we strike before they suspect our intentions, we can easily capture ourselves a few keeps," Ser Franklyn Flowers acknowledged. "Maybe one strong enough to serve as a base of operations. The Riverlands are in a sorry state."
"That may be," Myles Toyne allowed. "But we are still outnumbered quite substantially. The North has double our number. Lord Tywin similarly. Then there's Lord Renly who commands both the Stormlands and Highgarden which makes him the most dangerous with an army that numbers a hundred thousand should all the Reach declare him their king. More than five-times our number."
"Rarely does the Reach do such a thing," protested Ser Pykewood Peake. "While the Reach can field as many knights as we can sellswords, the only time they stood united was during Robert's Rebellion. They prefer to fight amongst themselves and send only a token force to their overlord."
"Not to mention Lord Tyrell will withhold his forces should Dorne or the Westerlands send raids into his lands," quickly added Tristan Rivers, grinning dangerously. "He cannot afford to lose the support of his bannermen to Lannister incursions. The Reach is notorious to defend."
Dany faced the captain-general, all smiles and warmth. "I do remember someone telling me something about the nature of war. How it is a conflict not decided by who's got the most resources, but how those resources are fielded." She flashed me a teasing smile and I just felt icy claws grasp my chest. "The Golden Company is the finest army in the world even before the legionary system was implemented. I know many here are veterans of hundreds of battles so what have you got to fear from farmers armed with pitchforks? To be sure, I am only a young girl and do not understand the ways of war, yet it seems to me few Westerosi are able to rival the Golden Company on the field. What do you think, sers?"
Bloody hell. I looked around the table where a surprising number of officers were nodding along with her. More than expected. It seemed I'd underestimated Daenerys' charisma. Harry shook his head and looked to me for support. I wasn't going to let her win. "Such a thing only works should we be very selective with our moves. Should we strike now, we'll be isolated and surrounded by enemies." I hoped my Blackfyre heritage would make them heed my words more than a copper counter who was the most steadfast while others who previously urged caution for their own material interests seemed to be switching sides. "Let's not discount the fact many houses might still remember the Blackfyre invasions and decide we're the greater threat."
Blackheart scoffed; pale eyes boring into mine. "They won't put their current war on hold to march against us. Most in Westeros have never seen a Blackfyre and we're putting your little wife on the throne. There are many houses who fondly remember the Targaryens and desire to install Prince Rhaegar's young sister as queen."
"Just as there are those who fought and died fighting the Targaryens during Robert's Rebellion and may still carry past grudges," I snarled back. "I may not be Haldon Halfmaester, but I remember the loyalists losing the war and being forced to flee across the Narrow Sea. Some of whom are in this very tent. I do believe the Targaryen loyalists will be outnumbered."
"You are underestimating us," Ser Laswell Peake told me with an unamused expression. "The boy who urged us against Khal Drogo suddenly has milk in his veins. After all these years, some of us still have friends in the Reach, and many have kin besides. The power of Highgarden may not be what Mace Tyrell imagines and no doubt Connington has a few friends in the Stormlands just as there are those in the Riverlands, and that's not discounting Dorne. The Martells scream for blood and I'm more than happy to give them their price."
"Numbers do not matter should we concentrate our forces where they're most effective," the captain-general told me after patiently waiting for Peake to finish his ramble. "Her Grace may have a point. I'd questioned Connington when he said I should allow the girl here. Seems I was wrong. She might not have a cock, but she's got a head for strategy." Blackheart pondered for a moment. "The lords of Westeros will be required to defend their own lands so we can accurately assume they won't fight us with all their strength, and they'll be limited by multiple factors. Whatever army we send against them can push above its weight and should we concentrate our forces against strategic objectives and defeat their armies in detail, we can use overwhelming power to destroy their will to fight. Is that what you were saying, Your Grace?"
Daenerys agreed and many of the officers were nodding along and trading thoughtful looks. I grimaced and Harry shot me a concerned look. "We wait," I urged once more. I could feel the tent going against me. "We're in a good position. We need do little but get wealthy through tribute and invest said wealth in strengthening our host." But it seemed everyone was ignoring me. These were warriors, and idleness was not for them.
"We have been exiles for too long," Connington announced. "We can either wait here, swelter in the Disputed Lands and wave away flies, or we can win lands and spend the rest of our lives in the castles that are rightfully ours. Or, if you are not of good houses, win yourselves some of your own. Every man here will have their name remembered in song."
Torman Peake chuckled. "The griffin has the right of it. At this point waiting here is little more than cowardice. I would sooner die in Westeros retaking my home than fight some merchant's personal wars. The Triarchy and cheese sellers and perfumed merchants can continue their disputes. I'll be in Dunstonbury or Whitegrove or another castle altogether, living off the land and enjoying my days in peace."
"A holdfast? Why not?" Ser Franklyn Flowers slapped his jewelled sword. "As long as I get to kill myself some Fossoways, I care not whether we sail to Westeros. Let the young queen take us home. She's got more courage than some in this room. She's got fire in her alright."
"A real dragon," Ser Robin Blackstone said with a thin grin aimed in my direction but earning him disapproving curses from the Blacks. "I can speak for some here in that I'm sick of waiting. I'm sick of watching Westeros be corrupted by the Baratheons. I'm with the queen and Ser Connington. Let us sail and put the usurpers to the sword and return House Targaryen to its rightful throne." That caused a roar of agreement among the Reds. Ser Jon Hawkwood clapped him on the shoulder, Staffon the Long nodded while John Harpenden declared the Lannisters would suffer their own Castamere.
I cursed internally and Ser Harry fell back into his chair. If we had any chance to dissuade the General Staff, we had failed and the ones on the fence now supported attacking Westeros. I expected more of these men. I expected them, after so many defeats, to be prudent. But they were tired of prudence, sick of waiting. Many wanted vengeance and had been growing restless. They would get it, even if it meant marching into the jaws of defeat.
"Your Grace," Blackheart turned to Daenerys, smiling. "It seems you managed to rally the Golden Company to your side of this issue."
"No, commander," the queen said, surveying the tent at the officers who commanded her army. "The men always wanted Westeros. How can I persuade those with their minds set? The men of the Golden Company have waited a long time. But now's the hour. This is when the Golden Company will achieve what it's been made to do."
"Installing a Targaryen on the throne?" Ser Petyr Bour asked with a slanted grin.
"A dragon." She looked at me, her soft features relaxing for a moment. "Two of them. Red or black, a dragon is a dragon. It matters little what colour its scales are. Under this roof are those who served the red dragon and those the black. Both exiles, both homeless, supported by houses carrying what remains of their dynasties on their shoulders. If we strike fast and strike hard, resistance to our invasion will collapse. Let us set sail. Once the Iron Throne becomes aware of our intentions – and they surely will – they'll prepare. We don't want that."
"But where to, Your Grace?" asked Gorys Edoryen.
Daenerys thought for a moment. "Dorne is undeclared, though it's not a good place for launching a rapid invasion. Viserys told me it is mostly desert though books say differently. Its only across the Narrow Sea, but the southernmost kingdom is far away from our objectives and isolated. Even if they're allies, Dorne is not the place to disembark. We need to strike closer to King's Landing. Somewhere that can be supplied easy and has a decent port . . ." Daenerys Targaryen grinned and we all knew what she was thinking. She pointed to where Flowers suggested. The Riverlands.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
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