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Chapter Text

1.

Daenerys

The breeze is pleasant at least.

The High Queen of Westeros and New Valyria was part of a seven-ship flotilla journeying from Dragonstone to Dragons’ Bay, once known as Slavers’ Bay. She stood in the forecastle of the flotilla’s flagship, the Sea Dragon, as it rested on the eastern shores of the Isle of Cedars, located at the junction between the Gulf of Grief and Dragons’ Bay.

Dany had officially begun the first progress of New Valyria with a stop of just a few days at New Ghis, to meet with the local nobility, merchants and shipping captains, and the local commanders of the Dragon Army there. After all the bloodshed to end the slave trade and realign the local economy to a worker-based rather than a slave-based system, she was pleased to see this transition move forward without backsliding.

The dragons which destroyed the old masters were a good initial enticement, but the better productivity from the workers as opposed to slaves, and the higher profit margins for the merchants, were more encouraging to them in the long term, Dany thought.

There was not enough time to undergo a tour of southern Ghiscar, just a collection of villages and ruined cities. They did sail past the ruins of Old Ghis, including the ruined Great Pyramid of Ghis, in route to Dragon’s Bay.

She glanced down toward the island across the port side of her ship. Sailors were traveling back and forth between the ship and the nearby forest, arms filled with logs and the carcasses of wild boars.

“Do you know how long we will be here?” she asked of the presence behind her and to her immediate left.

“From the progress of the men, I would assume we would weigh anchor within the next three hours,” she heard him say.

A distinguished man in leather armor and dressed for the sea took a place at the railing next to Daenerys. He was tall and lean, with silver-gold hair and a short beard on his chin of the same color, and grey-green eyes. This was Lord Aurane Velaryon, the onetime Bastard of Driftmark and the uncle of the young Lord Monterys Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark. As the Deputy Minister of Sail, Lord Aurane had taken personal command of the flotilla transporting the Queen and her family to Meereen.

“They harvest the timber to complete minor repairs on the ships,” Lord Aurane said. “As for the pigs… well, it will do the morale of the men no end of good to have fresh meat for the remainder of the trip.”

“It will raise my morale as well, never mind the men,” laughed Dany. “How many more days to arrive at Astapor, Admiral?”

“The winds remain favorable, Your Grace, so I would not imagine it would be more than a few days,” Lord Aurane said.

“And First Minister Missandei will meet us there?”

“This is the word we received from her couriers in New Ghis,” he replied. “She will be there with members of her household. From there, we will continue our travels to first Yunkai and then Meereen, where we will rendezvous with the remainder of our host.”

“Very well,” Dany said. She liked the former bastard, whom she had legitimized for his willingness to serve her claim to the throne six years ago during the establishment of the High Kingdom. Since that time, he’d served as the capable second in command of the royal fleet in service to the Minister of Sail, Ser Davos Seaworth, who praised the younger man’s intellect and knowledge of sea travel. “In all honesty, I am looking forward to returning to dry land as soon as possible.”

The admiral chuckled at the statement. “Understandable, for those not used to the sea. We will be at your… home, may I say, soon enough.”

She took a long breath through her nostrils before responding. “As an exile, ‘home’ was not a place I thought of too much,” she said. “I served as Queen of Meereen – I suppose I still do – but it was never more than a crossroads to another place. Home for me is the Red Keep, Dragonstone – more importantly, however, it is my family.” She glanced at the decks. “Speaking of which, where would my children be?”

Lord Aurane nodded. “The youngest is below decks in your personal quarters with his nursemaid,” he said. “Your twins are behind us on the quarter deck. May I say, Your Highness, the lad and lass have taken to the sea as well as could be expected. A right proper pair of sea dragons, those two.”

She glanced behind her and saw them, her beloved twins, now six name days, leaning against the railing and gazing off into the distance. There was Rhaegar, with his silver hair flying around his shoulders, but with his father’s long face. He wore a cotton tunic dyed crimson and matching trousers. Lyanna had inherited her father’s coloring and wavy chestnut brown hair. She wore a long sleeveless black satin dress, trimmed with silver.

Their lives have seen peace, but they cannot be merely children, because of who their parents are.

“I am always proud of my children, my lord, and for many good reasons,” she said as she turned to the stern of the ship. “Have no doubt.”

#

Lyanna

“You need to brighten up a bit. The sun is shining, the wind is brisk… It’s a lovely day,” she said to her twin brother.

Rhaegar said nothing, but his violet eyes stared out toward the island as the sailors did their work harvesting wood and wild hogs. Seems I spend half my life reassuring Rhae things aren’t as bad as they think.

“The day is lovely enough,” Rhae said. “At least we don’t have to step foot on the island and treat with the hogs. I barely knew what I was doing meeting with the lords in New Ghis. If it wasn’t for Muna being as persistent teaching us High Valyrian I wouldn’t know what anyone was saying.”

“You were willing enough to learn from her as well.”

“You speak it better, though.”

“You keep forgetting they speak different kinds of Valyrian here,” she insisted. “Even Muna needed the interp’ers help to unnerstand.”

He brushed his hair off his face and sighed. “Just want to do good. I know I represent Kepa and Muna, our family.”

“I know.” Lyanna patted him on the shoulder. “It’s tough.”

“And I feel bad always talking about it. I don’t want you to be sad about it.”

“I’m your sister, Rhae. I’m supposed to help you. You help me, too.”

“I feel like you help me more than I do you. What’s it like for you? You looked upset the last night we were in New Ghis.”

Her grey eyes closed at his words. “I heard one of the more important lords there, Lord Ozarro, saying something to Muna. Asking about bu..troving me to his son. That’s marrying someone, isn’t it? I no want to get married.”

“Not really marry, Lya,” Rhae said. “Betrothed like a promise to marry later. You’re six, Muna wouldn’t marry you away now. What’d Muna say?”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to find the words. “You know when Muna nice and polite but still tells people no thank you? She was like that.”

“Sure she was,” Rhae said, putting his arm over her shoulders. “Muna would never marry you to just anyone. Remember how she told us her brother married her to the Dothraki Khal? She’d be the last one to give you away. I wouldn’t stand for it, either.”

“Thanks.” She gazed behind them to the northeast, the sun starting to drift down closer to the horizon in the west and she saw Muna approach them. “Hello, sweetlings,” she said to them, standing between her and Rhae and embracing them on either side. “All is well?”

“Now it is,” Lya said. “We go soon?”

“After we load up on pork for the voyage,” Muna said with a grin.

“Which city we go to next, Muna?” Rhae said. “Meereen?”

“That will be later. First, we will go to Astapor, then Yunkai, and then Meereen. Lady Missandei will meet us there in Astapor with some of her children and accompany us on the voyage to Meereen.”

“Lady Missandei, the Fiwst… First Minister?” Rhaegar asked, and Lya tried not to giggle at his twisted tongue.

“Aye, and one of my oldest friends,” Muna said, sighing. “Both of you were still in my belly when I saw her last. I know she is eager to meet you and introduce you to her children.”

“How many she have?” Lyanna asked.

“Around twenty she had accepted into her home, her and her husband Lord Grey Worm,” she said. “I am glad I wrote down all their names in my journal, or I doubt I would remember them all otherwise.”

“What’s Astapor like? You were there before, yes?” Rhaegar said.

She nodded. “Yes. It was where the Unsullied were once trained, those who later became the core of the Dragon Army. Pyramids much like what you saw in the ruins of Old Ghis, but intact. The walls of the city are made of red brick, and red dust seems to cover all the roads. ‘Bricks and blood built Astapor, and bricks and blood her people,’ is what was once said.”

“But you freed the slaves, Muna, didn’t you?” Lyanna said.

“We did,” Muna said. “The slave pits are gone and all the people of Astapor are free to make their living as best they can. Trade in grain, textiles, crafts, and wines has replaced the slave trade, although the men of the Dragon Army still begin their training there.”

Rhaegar took a deep breath through his nostrils as the last sentence reminded him of something. “When will we see Kepa again?”

“It will be soon,” Muna said, giving her son and daughter’s shoulders another squeeze. “Your father has business west of us, business long overdue. Once he and Uncle Grey Worm have settled matters, they will join us on our voyage.”

“Muna? Why Lord Grey Worm have his name?” Lyanna asked.

“The cruel masters gave him the name when they enslaved him and trained him as an Unsullied,” Muna said, and Lyanna was surprised a slow smile spread across her lips. “When we freed the Unsullied, I told them all they could choose their own names. Grey Worm said his old name reminded him of when he was enslaved, but he would remember Grey Worm was his name when he became a free man.”

“Wow,” a clearly impressed Rhaegar said. “Now he the Dragons’ Claw.”

“He is, sweetling, he is.”

“And he and Kepa be safe?” Lyanna asked.

“They will, children. They will. Looks like we will be weighing anchor soon. It will be a while before supper is well and cooked. Shall we see if Benjen is awake?” The twins eagerly nodded.

Chapter Text

2.

King Daenar Hozar

Why can’t things stay the same? Hundreds of years of history where nothing changes and now in a few years… it has all changed.

Those were the thoughts of Daenar Hozar, King of Mantarys and Guardian of Valyria, as he awoke from his canopy bed in the king’s chambers of the Great Palace. He was alone but for the next to youngest of his twelve concubines, a seven and ten silver-haired and blue-eyed import from Lys who tended to be more imaginative than the rest, much less his wife. Idly, he ran one long finger down the girl’s naked back as she lay sleeping and face-down in bed, drawing a sigh from her.

He sat up in bed and pulled on a gold silk robe. While the slaves would already have his bath drawn for him in the next room, he would insist on dressing himself when he was finished. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had teams of four slaves both dressing them and even helping bathe and clean him after going to the toilet, for example. However, he had done away with these extravagances when he took the throne. Too much luxury leads to decadence. It’s simple.

The king’s chambers were typical for the royal residence. The entire palace was built in marble, white with a subtle pink shade, shipped to Mantarys two hundred years ago from a quarry about twenty miles northwest of the city. The scholars said thousands of slaves had died in the process of transporting the stone. Gold leaf decorations were everywhere, and ornate ceramic tiles in intricate geometric patterns. A massive octagonal-shaped central dome covered the main section of the palace, and five towers were arranged in a five-pointed star pattern around the outer walls, each topped with an onion-shaped dome made of timber covered in tin and then gold leaf.

Seated at his dressing table in front of a polished bronze mirror, he selected an outfit of a crimson and gold silk tunic, velvet trousers of the same color, a dyed crimson wool jacket with gold braiding on the shoulders and sleeves, and black boots with pointed and upturned toes, made from the hides of a species of poisonous black lizards the size of dogs. Satisfied, he donned two thick golden bracelets and gold rings for all except his thumbs. Finally, he donned the crown of Mantarys, a gold diadem embedded with two dozen gems of all sizes and colors, including a large teardrop-shaped diamond in the front.

Now five and forty namedays, the King of Mantarys had ruled for fifteen years since the death of his father, King Doegnar. Average in height and build, he still cut a dashing figure with shoulder-length silver-blond hair done up in a multitude of braids (with the help of his body slaves) and violet eyes. He and the members of House Hozer were of the old Valyrian blood, one of what were called the Seven Brothers, the main noble houses of Mantarys. Perhaps ten percent of the population were of true or mixed Valyrian descent, while the remainder were a Ghiscari/native mix of peoples and slaves from all corners of the known world. More than half the population of Mantarys were slaves. All who saw him in Mantarys knew he was of the elite of the elite.

The king resented the fact he was forced to rule in such uncertain times after so many years of peace and prosperity. It had been more than four hundred years since the Doom of Valyria, and the Century of Blood that followed had left Mantarys untouched by conquerors. Its rulers had been free to build up the defenses of their city, and to expand on their slave trade and economy.

He passed through an archway with two of the royal guard on each side, leading to a patio overlooking south. One could see the northern tip of the Sea of Sighs and the Mantarys River feeding it water in the distance.

He saw his queen there, Sirrea, a member of House Gaeran. One away from her thirtieth name day, she had silver-blond hair and eyes a dark shade of blue. She wore a green and light blue gown, the colors of her house, at least a dozen gold bracelets around her wrists, and gilded sandals on her feet. The king considered her to be more of the supervisor of his dozen or so younger concubines than as an equal partner. She was picking at breakfast which consisted of two buttered biscuits, fresh grapes, strawberries, melon, and freshly brewed herbal tea.

“Where is everyone?” the king said as he reached for some of the other biscuits and a bunch of grapes.

“The council is waiting for you in the Great Hall,” Sirrea whispered to him. “Your temper in recent weeks has made them reluctant to approach you.”

“Approach me about what?”

“They say the Dragon Queen’s army approaches from the East,” she said.

“Ridiculous. Do these pretender dragonlords think they can capture this city? Even the Dothraki were turned away from this place. They couldn’t break through our walls two hundred years ago – gods help us, they couldn’t even manage it last week when they galloped back and forth in front of our walls to no effect.”

“The Dragon Army is not the Dothraki horde,” Sirrea said. “The reports say they are a disciplined force, comparable to the old Iron Legions of Ghiscar.”

“What would you have me do, woman?” he scoffed. “Flee this place like the false Valyrians, those slave lovers, demanded we do? We have fifteen thousand soldiers here behind the strongest walls in Essos.”

She glared at him as she set her teacup down in its saucer. “As much as you call yourself Guardian of Valyria, Mantarys in truth is one city state,” she said. “All of the old territories of the Ghiscar Empire now bend the knee to her, and they also have the support of all Westeros, apparently. Even Elyria and Tolos have now agreed to their rule, and the Free Cities look out for themselves.”

“So, you would flee?”

She looked down at her lap, not meeting his glare. Fifteen years my queen, and she would throw it away, he thought.

He got up from the table. “Very well, do what you wish,” he grunted. “If you wish to leave, I’d suggest you go as soon as possible to avoid the Dragon Army. Unlike the Unsullied, their new soldiers are uncut, so they may show an interest in you.” He pointed his finger inches from her face. “Whoever wants to go with you may, but you will leave my eldest and second-eldest sons here. You would give up a crown for life as an exile?”

“I would rather be a live exile than a dead queen, Husband,” she said, staring up at him.

“And I will be either a live king or a dead king; there is no other choice for me,” he responded, lowering his finger. He searched his heart to find any love for the woman, but all he could find was disappointment. “We are at an impasse, then, and you are not a mere slave. Safe travels and farewell.”

With that, he turned his back on her and left.

#

He walked through the gilded doors to the Great Hall. The seven masters from the Seven Brothers that made up his King’s Council were gathered there, below the high throne of gilded wood and armrests featuring two gilded skulls, formerly belonging to two long-forgotten Ghiscari warlords.

One of his masters, Lord Ullar of House Toman, a forked-bearded man about his age who dressed in flowing white robes trimmed with purple thread, approached him. “Your Highness, we…”

The king said nothing, simply raising a hand as he walked past them and out onto the expansive patio overlooking the northern section of the city. The masters followed him outside.

Mantarys was shaped as an oval with a flattened southern end to allow for a harbor for fishing boats and pleasure yachts on the Sea of Sighs. While there were no walls around the Great Palace, two massive curtain walls, an inner and outer wall, ringed the entire city except for the harbor. The Demon Road, the old Valyrian Road which linked Volantis to Meereen, passed through the western and eastern gates of the city. Two smaller gates allowed people to either journey directly north or travel to the harbor to the south. The same Demon Road was the only one not precisely matching the layout of the other roads, which either extended from the Great Palace like spokes on a wheel or circled it in ever-widening ovals.

“Your Highness,” Lord Ullar tried again.

“What are the scouts saying?” King Daenar said.

Lord Ullar nodded. “The scouts say the Dragon Army host approaches on the Demon Road from the east.”

“How many?”

“They estimate at least twenty thousand, and some soldiers from Tolos, as well.”

“Barely enough to assault these walls, especially with our host,” the king said. “No sign of the Dothraki returning?”

“None at all, and there was no sign of siege equipment with them,” said one of his other advisers, Lord Goara of House Yaella.

“What of the Dragon Army host?”

“They apparently carry equipment for siege towers, Your Highness,” Lord Goara said.

“Do we have soldiers on the near side of the Mantarys River crossing?” the king asked. “We should give them a fight before they make the crossing, at least.”

“We do, My King,” Lord Ullar said, “but sadly those efforts have come to nothing.”

“What do you mean?” The king’s voice rose.

“It would be best if you looked for yourself, Your Highness.” Lord Goara pointed toward a specialized Myrish eye, covered in silver, mounted on the ledge of the patio.

The king approached the eye and glanced through the lens. “The bridge is empty except for our men on the near side.”

“Glance further upstream, Your Highness,” Lord Goara said.

He saw it two miles upstream from the bridge. A host of men were swarming over what appeared to be a floating bridge of solid construction, supported by pontoons along its length. There were two solid lines of infantry in formation on the near side of the pontoon bridge, guarding its approach from all comers. An even larger host of infantry gathered in columns to prepare to cross the bridge. Behind them were horse and oxen teams carrying what appeared to be sections of siege towers.

The king looked closely at the men. All wore the distinctive spiked helmets and short swords common among first the Unsullied and now this new Dragon Army. All along the ranks of the men on both sides of the river were the white banners displaying the red dragon flying free of black chains, the banner of the so-called “New Valyria.”

“Explain,” King Daenar said in a voice coated in iron.

“We believe they sent a whole legion across the river upstream in boats last evening,” Lord Ullar said. “Our sentries in the city and at the bridge did not see them – the clouds obscured the moon last night…”

“Not to worry of my wrath, my lord,” the king sneered. “At this point, punishment for incompetence, whether for you or anyone else, is a luxury for the future. They’ll likely be across the bridge in an hour, I think.”

“I believe that’s an accurate estimate, My King,” Lord Goara said.

“Do we attempt to attack their vanguard on this side of the river, drive them to the other bank?” another of the advisers, Lord Maenar, asked.

The king shook his head. “The men at the bridge will not be enough to drive them away, and by the time we can send reinforcements from the city, enough of them will have crossed for them to hold it. Signal the forces at the bridge to withdraw to the outer walls. And have our generals and warlords meet me here. We will have to defend our home and trust in ourselves.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the council responded in unison.

#

Grey Worm

As he watched the final companies of the army cross the Mantarys River, the thought suddenly entered his mind. More than a decade past, I was one of many eunuch soldiers in service to the “Good Masters” of Astapor. And now, I have a family and am a warlord over many more men than the Good Masters ever controlled.

Grey Worm of House Dragonclaw, Lord Commander of the Dragon’s Army and head of his house, felt self-conscious on the black stallion he rode as he observed his men. However, he found being mounted was essential for him and his senior officers to move quickly from one section of the army to the other, especially during battle. He was dressed almost identically to his heavy infantry soldiers. However, he only carried a short sword and dagger, forgoing spears altogether and carrying his shield strapped to his back. His spiked helmet sat on the back of his saddle. The lone signal of his rank was the wide gold medallion he wore across his chest. It was engraved with the sigil of New Valyria. Three stars were engraved over the sigil, indicating his rank as Lord Commander.

He now commanded a massive army, much larger than the standing Night’s Army of Westeros. In Westeros, the Night’s Army protected the realm along with the bannermen of Westeros’ nobles. In New Valyria, many of the former noble houses who had once traded slaves could not be trusted with large military forces.

Not counting the Dothraki under the rule of the Great Khal Jommo and the numerous Westerosi knights who had crossed the Narrow and Summer Seas to serve in New Valyria, the legions of the Dragon Army now numbered more than seventy-five thousand highly trained soldiers. The First, Second, and Third Legions protected Meereen. The Fourth and Fifth Legions guarded Astapor, which also was the main training ground for new army recruits. The Fourth Legion, which bore the responsibility for this training, was informally known as The Mother Legion by its men, a tribute to the First Legion of the Night’s Army which served the same purpose in The Northern Kingdom of Westeros.

As for the remainder of the formations, the Sixth and Seventh Legions guarded Yunkai, the Eighth and Ninth Legions guarded Ghiscar, and the Tenth Legion was split between New Ghis and the island city of Elyria. The Eleventh Legion guarded Tolos, although select detachments from them now joined the Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Legions which had now crossed the River Mantarys.

A group of eight Dragon Army officers approached him on horseback, Some wore similar medallions as him, some with single stars signaling their status as legion commanders. One wore a medallion with two stars, indicating he was a senior general. Red Flea had been an officer serving underneath Grey Worm since the Unsullied had crossed the Narrow Sea and helped the High Queen first conquer the Others and then Westeros and had become one of his most trusted commanders. He was in name the overall commander of the force attacking Mantarys, but Grey Worm’s presence on the battlefield meant he was in practical terms a second in command.

“All of the legions have now crossed, Lord Commander,” Red Flea said.

“The men guarding the Demon Road bridge?” Grey Worm asked.

Red Flea looked to the city with sea-green eyes, the inheritance of some nameless past slave owner or one of their sons. “They have withdrawn from the end of the bridge and entered the city through the eastern gate and secured it. No sign of any preparations for a counterassault.”

Grey Worm nodded and withdrew a map of Mantarys and its immediate surroundings from a leather map case carried by one of his staff. The young man also carried the sigil of Grey Worm’s new house, a red dragon’s claw on a black background.

“We will position the legions as we discussed,” Grey Worm said as he unrolled the map. “We will anchor our lines here and here.” He pointed to a point west of Mantarys touching the Sea of Sighs and the Demon Road bridge just east of the city. “Make sure those flanks are guarded properly, again as we discussed. Once they are in position, assemble the siege towers. I want this assault to begin by midday, and we will have the city by sundown. Understood?”

“Understood, My Lord,” they said in unison.

“Go to your men.” They saluted him and rode for their legions, except for Red Flea, Grey Worm’s banner carrier, and their bodyguard.

#

Grey Worm and his party now stood on top of a modest rise of land immediately northwest of Mantarys’ outer walls, gazing at both the city and the Dragon Army surrounding it with Myrish eyes.

The four legions were stretched end to end for miles around the walls of Mantarys, from the Demon Road bridge to the east to the position on the Sea of Sighs the right flank established west of the city. All the legions were organized similarly before the city walls. Two regiments of 1,000 heavy infantry each occupied a front line while a third regiment of heavy infantry stood behind them in reserve. A fourth regiment of light infantry, primarily crossbowmen, were put behind in a third line so they could provide protective fire to their legionary brothers.

At the all-important flanks, there were light infantry men from Tolos known throughout Essos and beyond for their skills with the sling, who used lead shot for their weapons. They proved effective providing cover for heavy infantry in defense, and they joined the light cavalry not undertaking scout duties in protecting the Dragon Army’s flanks.

Both within and between the legion ranks, the siege towers expected to be used against the city’s walls were almost fully completed, well tall enough to reach the top of the outer walls and armored in front from possible ballista and fire projectiles by copper cladding covered with sealskins in their fronts. A roofed contraption with a solid battering ram was also being readied, the better to demolish the gate on the Northern Wall and destroy them all. The trebuchets being gathered on the northwestern heights were intended not to harm people or to shatter walls, but to sling missiles against any ballistas, catapults, or fellow trebuchets that dared attack the towers.

They think they will be able to smash us or let us smash ourselves onto the stalwart walls of Mantarys, Grey Worm thought. But they do not know what they face.

As a slave with the Unsullied, he had been trained well in the art of warfare, combat, and killing, and few knew as much as he had been taught on the barren training grounds of Astapor. Their generals, however, were free men, and those of the Unsullied were not trusted to be much more than minor officers compared to the masters who controlled them. As such, he had not been trained in the arts of generalship, in the tactics and strategy of leading large numbers of men in combat.

Some of what he had learned of these arts, he gained through experience on the battlefields fighting alongside the Dothraki in service of the Dragon Queen, then in the North of Westeros, and then later in the Riverlands and outside King’s Landing. Other things he had gained from his brief conversations with the High King, who had been trained in such art in the Old Watch standing guard on the Wall, and from his adoptive lord father.

“When you look over a battlefield, what are the most important of things to observe?” he remembered the High King asking him once, before the massive Final Battle of Harrenhal (to distinguish it among the other battles fought there.)

He went deep into his thoughts for the answer. “The positions of the enemy troops,” Grey Worm responded. “How the land lies, and what advantages it might bring for one or the other side.”

The High King nodded and swatted him on the chest. “These are all important things,” he said. “However, what is of equal or greater importance is what you do not see, or even what you cannot see. Knowledge and intelligence are most important to a commander, and a lack of knowledge can be fatal to a commander’s chances.”

Here, as it was with The Last Battle of Harrenhal and the capture of King’s Landing, what could not be seen was as important as what the defenders of Mantarys could see. He now knew these would be as important to victory as the legions now gathered outside Mantarys’ walls.

In the off chance he was being watched by scouts, he restrained himself from gazing behind him at the hills immediately to the northeast of the city, nor anywhere toward the Sea of Sighs. They can’t possibly see what is hidden, he tried to reassure himself. And when they do see… it will be too late.

#

King Daenar Hozar

The king looked out as the siege towers began to rise among the legions. His knowledge of warfare was not quite the equal of those of his main general, Lord Iashar Ullar, the older brother of the other Lord Ullar. However, he did realize the danger Mantarys would face if the Dragon Army successfully escorted the towers to the outer walls.

“We need to assault these lines now,” the king said. “This is the best chance we’ll have to break them before they have a chance to climb the walls and put us at threat.”

“The infantry?” Lord Iashar said.

Daenar shook his head. “Not enough time, and we’ll need them for the defense of the walls,” he said. “No, we’ll send the elite cavalry, and the sellsword horse companies as well.”

“On the flanks against the banks of the sea?” Lord Goara said.

“They are too well guarded,” the king noted. “I say right in the center, one closed fist aimed right at the heart of their lines. You see how they are less tightly packed in the middle of their lines there, where they have made way for their siege towers and that battering ram? Our cavalry will split right through, around the equipment, and then we’ll split their entire army in two and send them running,” he concluded, moving his arms apart in front of him as he gazed onto the battlefield.

“This is not surely their entire army, though,” Lord Ullar said.

“No, but it is as much as they can spare to attack us without leaving their territories undefended,” the king snorted. “I am not under any illusions we can destroy such an army claiming so much land and people, but we can prevent them from destroying us and discourage them from trying again.” He turned to Lord Iashar. “Send the orders. Have our catapults begin to fling their missiles at the slave army’s lines to help the attack. Make sure the walls and gatehouses are fully manned.”

“At once, Your Grace,” Lord Iashar said, saluting and kneeling before leaving to join his men.

“This will work,” the king said. “Trust me.”

#

They managed to launch the attack within a half hour.

The timing of the attack was superb, just as the slave army was making way for the towers but before they had finished assembling the siege towers. Thundering through the massive Main Gate of Mantarys, with its massive quartet of squared towers and no less than three separate gates, three thousand elite Mantarys heavy cavalry and crack sellsword horsemen from Volantis, Myr, and Lys vomited forth from the gate and hurtled as a mailed fist at the enemy formation.

Only a few trusted nobles remained at the castle with the king to watch the display. Many of them had left to join their men in preparation for the charge or to stand watch on the walls or the gates. He knew a few had thought like his wife did and escaped before the false Valyrians sent their army, but their numbers were too few to be of consequence. He would win today and fully earn the title of Guardian of Valyria.

“Close the gate! Close the gate, by the gods,” the king howled as if the men at the gates could hear him from the center of the city and above the din of fighting, but the gates closed anyway. He was gratified to see this, as well as the steady stream of regular and flaming arrow shot from the outer walls of the city and the missiles from the catapults behind the inner walls reaching their mark on the slave soldiers and their equipment. One of the siege towers has already been set partially on fire, one of the catapult missiles knocking a sizable hole through its front and back.

“By the gods, it’s working,” the king said. “The horsemen begin to swarm the towers and their ram. Look at the rabble beginning to fall.”

“Sire! Your Grace!” one of the officers of his personal guard called out. “Our scouts have brought in a prisoner, one of the enemy scouts!”

“Bring him in,” the king said. “Let’s see if he has any idea what his fellow slaves are up to.”

Two guards brought the man to him on the balcony. He was short and wiry, clad in the lighter mail armor of the typical Dragon Army scout cavalry, but without his helm or any weapons. He regarded the king with narrowed dark eyes, a flinty fellow of perhaps thirty namedays.

The officer shoved the man to the ground. “You need to kneel in the presence of Daenar Hozar, Grand King of Mantarys and Guardian of Valyria.”

The man looked up at the king with a snort. “Guardian of Valyria, is it? Then why do I only see your banners in this city and not Tolos or Meereen?”

The captain smacked the scout on the back of his head. “Who are you to claim such lies?”

“Chorrin, a soldier of the Dragon Army, the 13^th Legion,” the man said in the bastardized Valyrian of Dragons’ Bay. “And my comrades are preparing to pay a visit.”

“How do they plan to do so?” King Daenar asked.

“They’ll be here soon enough. Where’s Corram?”

“Who are you talking about?” the captain asked.

“My brother. He was one of those men your slavers seized from our lands. His wife and children cry every night for his return, so I volunteered to be among those to return him and all the lost children of Valyria to their homes.”

“How am I supposed to know where some slave is? Likely bringing water to our soldiers or being kept in our slave pits. Perhaps you can join him, if we don’t decide to put you to death instead.”

“Hah,” he scoffed. “I am a soldier and prepared for a soldier’s death. If you send me to the pits, however, I’ll only be there for a single day, for my comrades will free me.”

“Your friends are on the verge of being split into two,” the king barked. “This business will be settled today for sure, but not in your favor.”

Chorrin looked up at King Daenar and burst out laughing. “You have no idea who you face, ‘Guardian?’”

“Insolent slave,” the captain said, and prepared to slap Chorrin again, but the king raised his hand to stop him. “What do you mean, slave?”

Chorrin sighed as he looked up at Daenar with what seemed like… pity?  “Mantarys is a misbehaving child who delights in its transgressions,” he began. “Despite this, our beloved Auntie Missandei and Uncle Dragonclaw pleaded all would be well if you would repent and misbehave no more, and yet you continued to snatch men, women, and children from their families. Then the Mhysa, the mother, she pleaded for you to return our people, but you were disobedient even to her and brought shame to yourselves.”

“Is there a point to this fairytale?” Lord Ullar said.

Chorrin snorted and shook his head in disbelief. “What happens to any disobedient children who do not listen to their beloved aunt or uncle, or even their beloved Mhysa? The Vhrysa, the father, must return home to punish the spiteful and disobedient children and get them to mind their parents.”

Now the king laughed aloud. “Of course, this father comes here to Mantarys?”

But then, Daenar Hozar heard something in the distance. It was a sound he’d never heard before, a rumbling pair of shrieks from the south, over the Sea of Sighs, with such volume they carried across the city. Despite never having heard the sound in his life, somehow, he sensed immediately what the sound was.

Chorrin doubled over in laughter before glancing back up at him. “The Father does not come to Mantarys, ‘Guardian of Valyria.’ The Father is here.”

Chapter Text

3.

Jon

If he was fighting for his life, he would always choose Longclaw.

With two Valyrian swords to choose from, Longclaw and Blackfyre, he used them for different occasions. At official ceremonies, especially those honoring him and his family, he chose to wear Blackfyre, which had a longer history with House Targaryen. He had chances over the years to spar using Blackfyre, but Longclaw, which he’d wielded for several years before becoming high king, was far more familiar to his hands than the other blade. He’d fought against many foes, even the darkness itself, and it had helped preserve his life. If he knew he would have to fight, he always had Longclaw strapped to his waist.

For the High King, there was always a regret Longclaw was not with its former home with the House of Mormont, despite the one-time Lord Commander of the Old Watch, Jeor Mormont, gifting it to him. It had been three years previously when he’d finally resolved his personal regret. It was then he had commissioned his goodbrother Lord Gendry Baratheon to craft a Stormlands Steel bastard sword with a bear’s head carved into the hilt. He’d gifted the blade to Lord Stannis Seaworth and Lady Lyanna Mormont as a wedding gift. Now known as Bearclaw, Stannis currently wielded the blade but would eventually pass it down to his Mormont children.

Now, Longclaw sat at his hip as he rode astride the sleek emerald-green Rhaegal, who accomplished with speed and ruthlessness what his elder dragon brother Drogon, the Black Dread Reborn, did with size and power. Jon was dressed in his preferred black steel scaled armor, complete with a red Targaryen sigil on the black surcoat he wore across it. Cloaks could be a dangerous inconvenience in battle.

Rhaegal with his rider skimmed over the light waves of the Sea of Sighs, Drogon right behind him and off to his right. Usually, the bigger brother led the way in combat, but today he was following the orders of his mother, who before they had left the flotilla had given him instructions. Listen to Kepa. Help him and your brother but watch out for yourselves and them.

Nothing will happen, Muna… but I will, the still growing dragon insisted before swooping away for a quick meal of dolphin before following his kepa and brother into battle.

He surveyed the small group of boats scattered in an undulating line running west to east perhaps four miles away from the Mantarys docks. He observed closely the fishing nets and traps hanging from the boats’ rigging. Jon circled around the boats to the right, both dragons staring down hard at the wooden vessels.

As Drogon continued to circle overhead, Jon took Rhaegal down until they were just underneath the top of the vessel’s mast. As Rhaegal beat his wings so he could hover in place, Jon saw an older man in white and tan linen clothes who appeared to be one of the ship’s captains climbing up to the top of his boat’s mast, in the observation nest.

“Dragonlord, please, please, mercy on us! We have no arms here!” the man called out to Jon.

“My fight is not with you,” Jon called out in High Valyrian marked with an unmistakably thick Northren brogue. “Stay here on the water, away from Mantarys, and you will not be harmed. Stay away until the fighting is done.”

“When will this be, Dragonlord?” the captain called out as he glanced at the dark smoke beginning to rise from around the city.

“You’ll realize it when it happens.” With that, he nodded to the captain and Rhaegal sped up his wings so he rose to meet his brother above.

#

Within minutes, he was in close sight of the docks. Jon estimated two-thirds of the moorings were absent of ships. The few which remained were large merchant vessels, with enough gold leaf and brass decoration he rightly assumed they were the property of the highborn slaveowners remaining in the city.

They had their chance to run before we arrived, he thought as he approached the docks. Now they have to face the consequences of making war on our people.

He could see the men starting to scurry out on the decks and the whites of their eyes as they began to stare up at him. With a word to Rhaegal, he began to hover over the largest of the merchant vessels as Drogon began to circle above.

“RUN! FLEE!” Jon yelled at the men below in High Valyrian, the Ghiscari dialect and even Common Tongue. He was relieved to see the men begin to either dash down the gangplanks or dive directly into the waters below.

He urged Rhaegal up into the air until he was the same height as the circling Drogon. When he was satisfied with the lack of people on the boats and ships below, he called out to both of his scaled children, “Dracerys!”

Drogon and Rhaegal swooped down from opposite directions, sheets of flame from both dragons arching down and washing over the ships and boats. One pass from them was all it took for the entire fleet and the docks to begin their immolation.

As he and Rhaegal pulled up from their dive, he saw a single arrow streak from above them and bounce off Rhaegal’s shoulder. He looked up to see archers lining the outer walls in between its massive rectangular crenellations. Too distant to be a real threat, but we need to silence them anyway for the sake of our people. Rhaegal, Drogo, with me! Cross each other like before, see?

Yes, Kepa, he heard Drogo say in his head. Rhaegal’s beating wings as he gained altitude were all he needed from his bonded dragon.

They crossed paths briefly and swept away from the walls, arcing high above, as the archers sent a cloud of arrows skyward in a failed effort to wound the great dragons.

Now, Kepa? Drogon said.

Now. Fly swift, boy – don’t forget.

Of course.

Now, everyone!

At Jon’s command, Drogon and Rhaegal dipped their noses below and began a steep dive in opposite directions toward the top of the outer walls. If the Mantaryan archers had their bows already nocked with arrows and aimed rather than fumbling for fresh arrows, they might have gotten at least one shot against Drogon and Rhaegal, but they had already loosed them as they were climbing. Now, as the dragons dove at lightning speed, even the more massive and heavier Drogon, there was no chance of any but a handful of archers getting off a single shot before they completed their dive. Barely any of those hit their mark, and none did anything more than bounce off Drogon and Rhaegal’s scales.

“Dracerys!” Jon shouted.

Their fire glands generated maelstroms of flame that began to envelop the Mantaryan archers and men at arms on top of the outer wall. The dragons crossed each other’s paths and curved in the opposite direction, skimming so close to the tops of the walls a spearman might have been able to attempt to thrust a hand-held spear into one of the dragons’ sides.

All the while, their inferno breaths drew a long oval around the city of Mantarys, immolating the tops of the wall. The archers further along the wall attempted to shoot at Drogon, Rhaegal, or Jon, but they were moving too fast for any arrows to find their mark.

#

King Daenar Hozar

The king watched as the fiery oval glowed and belched black smoke around his city. “Your Grace,” Lord Ullar began, “how will our men find protection…”

“Send orders for them to abandon the tops of the walls, but remain near them for when the siege engines arrive,” the king retorted. “Order those outside the walls to close in with the enemy formations; don’t give them any space.”

“Closer, My King?”

“The dragonlords cared enough about these slave scum to set them free,” the king scoffed. “It would make no sense for them to be willing to torch these men just to get to ours.”

Daenar glanced at the half-dozen siege engines. His men had collapsed one of them to the ground and had managed to set fire to the second. The catapults, ballistas and trebuchets tucked safely inside the inner walls were still loosing missiles which were crashing into the rear formations of the slave army with good effect.

We can still win this day, the king thought to himself as he saw his men topple a third siege tower to the ground. At worst, we can still earn a stalemate against the dragonlords… if we can destroy a few more of the towers… kill a few more of their men… even the dragons will not be enough…

It was right then, even over the din of the burning on the walls, the rumble of thousands of footsteps, the continuous clanging of steel weapons against armor, and the shouts and screams of men both killing and dying, that the king heard another sound. As unfamiliar as the sounds of the dragon were to him, the rapid sound, part clop and part thud, was all too familiar to him.

Horsemen? The Dothraki returned? Damn the scouts to the hells anyway… but how?

The king now noticed two district dust clouds rising from either side of the raised plains northeast of Mantarys. He now returned to the Myrish eye mounted to the balcony. He trained the lens onto the leftward column of dust.

Sure enough, there was a column of horsemen emerging at full gallop from the dust cloud, but they were no Dothraki. The helmeted riders gleamed in full plate armor or a mix of plate and mail armor, and even the horses sported some armored protection as well. Their surcoats and shields boasted a dizzying array of colors and sigils. Galloping toward the slave army and the Mantarys cavalry formations, the men were armed with lances one and a half times the length of a normal man’s height.

At the head of the column, he noticed one banner at the head of the formation and the similar one to the right of the rise. It was a black banner picturing a white tree with rounded red leaves. From his earliest education, he correctly deduced it was a representation of the weirwood tree native only to Westeros and found only there. However, instead of a carved face in the center of the tree as he knew was the custom among the earliest human visitors to Westeros, this tree had a black horse’s head carved in it. Who are these people…?

The two columns started to spread out from their initial formations into narrow pointed chevrons, and the men lowered their lances as they prepared to attack. The real lines of the slave soldiers, somehow sensing the impending horsemen, split into three separate sections to allow the horsemen a clear shot at the Mantarys formations. As the riders approached, the king and his lord began to hear a chant arising from the slave warriors:

AN-DALS!

AN-DALS!

AN-DALS!

AN-DALS!

Jon

From above, he saw the attacking Mantarys troops, elegant in their crimson tunics, thick knee-length chain mail shirts, and rounded iron helmets with eye coverings, notice the mounted columns of knights bearing down on them from behind the high ground to the northeast of the city. They turned away from the Dragon Legion troops and face the cavalry with spears and shields raised.

If they had a minute’s time, they might have attempted to countercharge the attacking Westerosi troops, even though the latter had the advantage of attacking from higher ground. Even if they had less than half a minute, they might have had enough time to at least turn around and retreat for enough time to mount a successful countercharge or escape.

They didn’t have enough time.

The two columns smashed into the lines of Mantaryn and the more motley-dressed sellsword horsemen like two mailed fists into an exposed stomach. Men and their mounts alike flew backwards from the impact of the clusters of lances and weight of the horses, and the blood began to mingle on their crimson tunics and the hides of the Mantaryn horses. And there was nowhere for the Mantaryn troops to flee.

As the mounted warriors eventually shattered their lances, they began to draw their swords and continue to ride down the Mantaryns as they attempted to run away.

Jon spotted one knight with a distinctive black horsehair crest on his helmet and a green surcoat looking on as the left-hand column continued to force their way through the now panicking men of arms of Mantarys. With a thought to Rhaegal, he began to wing his way down toward the ground. “Ser, a pleasure to see you.”

The man removed his helmet to gaze up at him. It was a man perhaps a few namedays younger than himself, somewhat undersized for the armor he wore, with dark chestnut hair, sparse beard of the same color, and black eyes.

“Your Grace, I present the compliments of the Andal Legion of Horse,” Ser Benjen Hill proclaimed. The legion was so named due to the Westerosi origin of nearly all its men. Although there were a certain number of those descended from the First Men among their number, the tendency of most Essoi to call those from Westeros Andals lent the horsemen their name. Ser Benjen was the leader of one of the two groups, the other being Ser Walter Rivers.

“Your intent to mop up these attackers?” Jon asked.

“All due respect to these men, but the dragon soldiers can handle them fine now,” Ser Benjen proclaimed. “We have them surprised, and we should use our momentum to end this thing as soon as we can.”

Jon pointed to the siege engines and the battering ram behind them. “It will be some time before they can get into place.”

“Begging your pardon, My King, but I think your scaled children might be able to speed up the process.”

Jon immediately sensed his intent. He glanced up at the top of the outer walls and the main gatehouse. It was still aflame, and no men of arms had returned to the top.

Drogon, the gate! Jon thought, glancing at the heavy wood and bronze portcullis in front.

Yes, Kepa, he heard Drogon respond.

Rhaegal lifted off and glided just in front of the main gatehouse as Drogon landed just a few paces away from the portcullis. As Jon directed Rhaegal to douse the top of the gatehouse and any open windows, Drogon loosed a long, superheated blast at the gate and the other doors behind it. After a few moments, Drogon wheeled around and smashed the gate into glowing splinters with one swing of his tail.

Drogon had grown so much he was unable to squeeze his entire body into the passageway through the gatehouse. However, he could stretch his neck down the corridor and pushed through the central portcullis and then burned the inner doors as well.

Drogon, there’s another gate on the other side! Burn it – Rhaegal and I will protect you!

Pulling his head out of the outer gatehouse, Drogon more leapt than flew over the outer wall and landed with a massive thud into the outer courtyard. The odd ballista and missile from inside the city flew into the courtyard, but none came close to Drogon as he stretched his wings and regarded the inner gatehouse.

Jon landed Rhaegal on top of the outer wall on a portion where the fires had died down. Seeing archers on top of the inner gatehouse, he shouted “Dracarys,” and Rhaegal sent a long arc of flame towards them. Even from the distance, he could see some of the immolated archers falling from the gatehouse and others who had escaped the flames were now trying to get out of the gatehouse altogether.

He could sense Drogon’s joy in being unleashed, swinging his tail once more to shatter what remained of the inner door of the outer gate before crouching down and sprinting on foot toward the inner gatehouse. Reaching the inner gatehouse and the portcullis, he bathed it in a bloom of flame, then sent it flying into splinters with another swing of his tail.

As Rhaegal continued to cover his brother, Drogon managed to fit his shoulders through the larger passageway. As he set each gate on fire, a quick shove through each gate with his head sent each gate flying. When he nudged through the last gate, Drogon saw a pack of terrified spearmen and archers gathered in a thick arc of men around the gate. He sent a quick fireball at them to disrupt their aim and then pulled his head back through the gate before the Mantaryn troops could send any arrows or javelins his way.

Jon looked behind him and fumbled for a horn crafted from a ram’s horn and blew three long, low blasts. “Andal Legion!” he cried from the top of the gatehouse astride Rhaegal. “The path to Mantarys is clear. The path to the city is clear. If you wish to take this city for the High Kingdom, then charge and take it!”

He saw Ser Benjen raise his sword and point it toward the outer gatehouse. “ANDAL LEGION! Ride to glory! Ride in the name of our people! RIIIDE!!!”

With that call, the left and right columns from the Andal Legion reformed, leaving the remains of the Mantaryn and sellsword cavalry to be mopped up by the dragon legions. The columns merged just in front of the outer gatehouse as they began to charge at full gallop through the corridor.

How are you doing lads? Your fire glands getting exhausted? Jon asked.

We can set this entire city on fire if we have to, Kepa. Don’t doubt it. He could hear Drogon’s haughtiness at his strength and endurance being questioned.

Think you can manage the top of that inner wall at least? I want to make sure our horsemen won’t have to dodge their missiles on top of everything.

Lead the way, Kepa, Rhaegal insisted.

The maneuver was the same as they used to attack the outer walls, except they climbed up and around the city before diving down at the southern side of the walls to make their run. The effect was the same as before, except for creating a smaller ring of fire around the city, lit with the burning and smoldering bodies of its defenders.

Good, lads! Let me down there and go to the rear. You’ve done your job today, Jon told the dragons.

Just when I was starting to have fun, Drogon sighed, but despite his sentiments, he followed his kepa’s command.

Before Rhaegal joined his brother, he let Jon down on the round just outside the inner gatehouse. Good luck, kepa.

Get your rest, you’ve earned it. He looked around at the Westerosi horsemen pouring through the gatehouse. “A ride for a king! A ride for a king!”

Eventually, one of the knight slowed and offered Jon space behind him on his mount. “Let’s get into the fight,” Jon said, placing his helm upon his head and drawing Longclaw.

#

King Daenar Hozar

All was silent among the men observing the actions of first the Andal cavalry and then the dragons. They could observe the Andal cavalry colliding with the defenders inside the inner wall, straining to keep them from breaking through into the city proper.

“Your Grace,” Lord Ullar said to him. “What shall be done now?”

The king took a deep breath and then moved to leave the room. “Commit all reserves to outside the gatehouse,” he said. “In the event the enemy break through, all forces need to withdraw to the palace and defend it at all costs.”

“Where are you going, sire?” Lord Ullar said.

The king wheeled around. “I prepare to arm myself to fight in the battle ahead,” he huffed. “If you are true Lords of Valyria, you will do the same. Do not expect this slave king to offer you any terms except the sword. Good fortune in the battle to come.” With that, he turned on his heels and stalked out of the room, leaving his lords to murmur amongst themselves.

#

Grey Worm

Red Flea rode up to him as he observed the High King ride with his fellow Westerosi into the city. “Lord Commander, your orders?”

Grey Worm nodded. “Events have changed.” He looked to his left and right flanks. “The Twelfth and Fifteenth Legions have been the least heavily engaged of our men. We will lead them through the gates and into the city to support the Andal Legion, with the Fourteenth behind them as a reserve. The Thirteenth Legion will scale the walls using the siege towers as planned and secure the outer gates. The detachments of the Eleventh Legion and our scout cavalry will remain outside and near the gates to watch for any attempts to surprise us.”

“But Lord Commander, is it not a risk for you to lead our legions into the city yourself?”

“It is not a greater risk for the High King to enter the city and join the assault then?” Grey Worm pointed toward the city.

Red Flea sighed and looked at the ground. “It could be, but our High King may have a different view.”

Grey Worm drew his sword. “Perhaps if we both went in and advised His Grace, we could convince him to retreat to safety.”

“Do you believe it would work?”

Only then did Grey Worm betray his feelings with a grin. “We should at least make the attempt, I think.”

Red Flea drew his own sword and put on his helmet. “Perhaps, My Lord. Would you allow me to lead the Twelfth into the city first, while you bring in the Fifteenth?”

“As you advise, my lord,” Grey Worm nodded as he finally donned his helmet and commanded his buglers to sound the orders.

#

King Daenar

As his main body slave helped him don his armor, Daenar observed himself in the bronze mirror of his sleeping quarters.

Over his crimson tunic and gold trousers, the king wore a mail shirt reaching to his knees, small, segmented plate armor covering his torso and shoulders, mail gloves, thigh and shin plating, and an elegant iron helmet covered in gold leaf and sporting a distinctive red dyed horsehair crest. Over this he wore a surcoat with the Mantaryn sigil of a white dragon in flight. It was a worthy ensemble for the King of Mantarys and the Guardian of Valyria.

On his waist was clipped the three-foot Valyrian steel sword known as White Dragon, as well as an unnamed Valyrian steel dagger. He tried to remember the last time he had trained at swordsmanship or fighting and knew it had not occurred during the last moon. It matters not, he thought. You know how to fight. You have to fight on this day. There is no other way.

He stared down at his slave, a young man of one and twenty with the complexion of light tea named Ezzar. The slave glanced up at him. “What do you command now, Sire?”

He looked around. “See if you can arm yourself and join the defense of this palace. If you cannot find arms, flee and hide.”

“Your Grace, I fear I will not be able to find arms here. And I fear for my wife, in the city… Your Grace,” he said, kneeling before him.

Him trying to find a sword or even spear will probably be too much trouble, he thought. “Go and find your wife. If I win this battle, you will serve me well enough in times to come. If I am defeated, your service to me will be at an end.”

He bowed once again before the king. “I thank you for your generosity, Sire. The gods bless you.”

We shall see who they bless, the king thought to himself.

Lord Iasher Ullar

Our king went from insisting we would crush these slave soldiers to now exhorting us to fight to the death, the Mantaryn general thought as he led reinforcements to the main gate of the inner walls. He was a fool. Or were we the fools for believing his tales? But perhaps no one could have predicted the presence of the dragons.

Lord Iasher stood well above six feet, wearing a mail coat over leather armor and wielding a two-handed sword at least four feet long. He was used to fighting rebellious slaves or the forces of disobedient minor lords. Taking on the men at arms of the so-called High Kingdom inside the walls of Mantarys itself was an entirely different undertaking.

I am a lord of Mantarys, he thought to himself. If I do not stand for who I am, I will be nothing. I had less of a choice than the slaves.

“MEN!” he called out to those surrounding him. “We charge to save Mantarys! We charge to save our families and our sweethearts! We charge to save the true Valyria! In the name of all these and the gods, CHARGE!”

With a great cry, the Mantaryn men of arms raised their weapons and charged toward the northern gate.

His apprehensions he kept to himself. Lord Iasher had no idea how many of the enemy had entered the city or how many currently opposed them. There had been 15,000 regular soldiers in the city, supplemented by another couple thousand sellsword cavalry companies. However, those sellsword and the elite native cavalry were now trapped and dying outside the outer walls, and the gods only knew how many had perished helplessly on top of the inner and outer walls due to dragonfire. He estimated he led only one thousand men toward the gate. He was just thankful their soldiers were free men, for it would have been impossible to maintain order among them now. If slave soldiers sense the end of their masters, they have no motive to fight.

He was relieved to look skyward as they charged down the road and see no sign of the dragons above. However, he then considered the stories he had heard of the dragonlords’ capture of the capital of Westeros. The dragons did not burn the city, for they wished to hold and rule a city, not a mound of ashes. Yet being conquered will be no better than being a pile of ashes.

He and his men reached the gate to find sheer chaos.

The road to the north gate was ironically named Ullar Way in honor of his house. For what was the main north-south thoroughfare in the city, it was narrow – in most of its path, no more than three wagons could pass through side by side. The shops of the modest but run-down area of the city leaned over the road, hemming all in. The fighters wearing crimson surcoats with white dragons were packed around the gate opening shoulder to shoulder, but they were beginning to give way.

The Westerosi knights were squeezed together, pushing to get out and into the city. Many still were mounted and were urging their horses to lash out with their hooves or in some cases with their teeth, while others had either lost their mounts or dismounted on their own accord to get closer to the enemy. The Westerosi wore either full plate or a mix of plate and mail armor, and were well-equipped with swords, battle axes, and war hammers.

The Mantaryn warriors thrust at the knights with their spears, but in the crowded boulevard next to the gate, it was difficult for them to land effective blows against the more heavily armored Westerosi.

The general could see what the men already there and his men reinforcing their position faced. Within a large city block, the Westerosi knights, both mounted and on foot, were pushing down the road and further into the city. There was a sizable market square at the other end of the road, and the existing Mantaryn troops were blocking the knights from entering the square. If they managed to break through, from there they would have the freedom to travel anywhere in the city, including the palace. We need to stop them here or they will not be stopped.

“Men! Forward, forward! Make sure to block the alleys to the left and right. These men must not pass!”

With an enthusiastic cry, his men reformed their lines and took up positions behind their comrades trying to keep the more heavily armored knights at bay. They not only extended across the width of the street, but their lines also extended further left and right to cover two small alleyways paralleling the main road. There were at least a few dozen knights attempting to sneak down the two passages and outflank the Mantaryns.

As his men set themselves, he saw one man in particular among the mounted troops to the far left of the boulevard’s opening. It was a man in blackened scale armor, wearing the sigil of House Targaryen on his crimson surcoat. Wielding a bastard sword in his right hand and his horse’s reigns in his left, he wore a simple iron helmet with a central ridge and coverings for his eyes.

“The slave king is there!” Lord Iasher bellowed, pointing his sword toward the mounted men in black and crimson. “Take him down! Kill him!”

He was proud of the men who surged to the right, slashing and shoving with their spears and swords which were similar in design to the slave infantry opposing them, except for being a half foot longer than their opponents. He could see the Mantaryn right and center focus on the gleaming knights surrounding their false Valyrian king – the man’s hair’s nearly as dark as most of our slaves, a veritable jape – and pushed harder against them, starting to pin the Westerosi against the pale red brick building containing a merchant guild, pinned between the building and the Mantaryns.

His heart leapt into his throat as he saw some of his men grabbing at the bridle of the false king’s horse. Despite the flashing blade in the king’s hand he recognized as Valyrian steel, within a few moments he tumbled somewhere to the ground, hidden by both the Mantaryns and the defending knights. An ever-increasing amount of knights were getting unhorsed by his men, and the screaming whinnies of the wounded mounts now joined the screams of the bleeding men.

Praise all the gods, but this will work, he thought as he and his men pushed forward. As mighty as those dragons are, they will be lost without their master, as will the slave soldiers and Westerosi sellswords we faced. We can still hold and scatter them, even though we’ve lost far too many men to call this a great victory. One more minute… just a few more feet forward…

The next thing he noticed was instantly frozen into his memory as clear as the day both his parents died. In a frozen moment, he could see the center of his line had drifted over to the right to pursue the false Valyrian king, but it meant the men who remained in the center held a thin line only two men deep across its middle. He noticed the dismounted knights in the center had drifted away as well, some to help protect their king and others to their opposite right flank. We should be able to hold…

Then, he saw it. It was a long column of Dragon Army soldiers four wide, now sprinting toward the market square out from the north gate. Lord Iasher saw the cloud of dust behind them, the spears tucked and braced underneath their arms and shields locked together. The thin Mantaryn line of soldiers had all eyes toward where the king had fell and not toward the oncoming slave soldiers. We are lost.

It was a clash of steel against steel, steel against wood and leather, as the speeding column of Dragon Army soldiers flung the few Mantaryn infantry strung along the middle of the boulevard into either direction. As they poured into the market square, they immediately began to reform ranks on two sides to allow first their comrades immediately behind them and then the Westerosi nights to follow them straight into the open spaces.

The results on Mantaryn morale were immediate. At least half of them broke ranks immediately and began to scatter, escaping through every narrow alleyway and side street that could be found. Half of those who fled also left their weapons and shields behind as well. There were a few men, a handful, who stayed, among them his personal guard armed with two-handed swords as tall as a regular man’s chest. They would fight, the general knew, but he knew what the end would be. He now held his sword above his head, preparing for the assault he knew would come.

He saw him in the middle of the street, several yards away, surrounded by a semicircle of the Westerosi knights. He was on foot now, his helm nowhere to be seen, and there was a noticeable streak of blood along the base of the left side of his neck, but the so-called High King appeared to be unharmed.

In a single movement, his personal guard and some other Mantaryns nearby lunged at the man in black. The king’s knights held off most of the attackers, but three of Lord Iasher’s men approached him, two-handed swords held high. All his personal guard were more than six feet tall, and the king on foot seemed several inches shorter.

The first one swung downward at his unprotected head, but before he was halfway through the strike, the king had already taken just enough of a step to the left and parried the guard’s sword down and away. In the second motion, the king slashed in the opposite direction and sent the guard’s head flopping to the ground.

Lord Iasher’s breath caught in his mouth. If I had blinked, I would not have seen all of it.

The second guard swung diagonally down and to his right, but the king had already ducked to the right and down. Resting on one knee, he sliced his own sword in a shorter sweep that slashed across the guard’s unprotected thigh. As the guard went down, the king slid to his feet and with a sharp thrust sunk his blade into his neck and down into his chest, past the man’s protective breastplate.

The third guard, maybe twice the size of the king, had barely begun his attack when the king swung up with the Valyrian steel and connected with the man’s wrists. Although the man’s iron armguards protected him, the impact stunned him enough for him to lower his sword waist high. Before he could recover, the king lunged and stabbed the man past his helmet and cheek guard and through his right eye.

Before the king stood before him, Lord Iasher knew he had no chance against the younger and quicker opponent. Throwing his sword off to the right, he raised his arms. “I yield!” he shouted.

The king glanced at him from head to foot, not with violet or light blue eyes but those resembling the grey of steel while pointing the tip of his sword at Lord Iasher’s neck. “You yield your men?” the king asked in High Valyrian, but in a harsh accent, full of gravel he had yet to hear.

“Men, drop your arms! Yield!” They did not require a second command to do so.

The king nodded. “You will have a chance to save your life, slaver. Wait here. I have business with your ‘Guardian of Valyria.’”

Lord Iasher was surprised to see a slave soldier on horseback riding up to the king. His breastplate was spattered with other mens’ blood and he wore a gold medallion with a flying dragon and three stars. A rider behind him carried a black banner with a slash of red in the middle, and Iasher realized: This is the Dragons’ Claw.

“You are well, Your Grace?” the slave general said in a Valyrian dialect.

“I’m glad for your concern, my lord, but I am well. Thank you for your reinforcements; they came just in time.”

The Dragons’ Claw brought his right fist up to his heart. “Your orders, High King?”

He waved his sword toward the city. “Your men branch out, make sure there are no pockets of resistance. Get to the main slave pits and set them loose – they should tell us where their former masters will look to hide. I and the Andal Legion will pay a visit to their palace.”

“As you command.”

He called out in an unfamiliar language to his Westerosi knights, and a great cheer rose up from them. He guessed it was the Common Tongue of Westeros. Before he could try and ask the High King what his fate would be, four insistent Dragon Army infantrymen, spears at the ready, motioned for him to join some of his other men in captivity. I only pray this High King is a man of his word.

Jon

A war of conquest is a sport of young men and braggarts, he thought as he approached the Mantaryn royal palace. The only reason we are taking this place is the stupidity of these slavers. It’s a ridiculous business.

As the knights led by Sers Benjen and Walter followed him, his attention had drifted away from the fight and to other matters. It took the initiative of one of his knights to thrust the helmet he’d lost in the scuffle near the market square before he thought to find protection for his head. Dany would be scolding me for not going into a battle with a helmet, he thought.

Then: This business needs to be over tonight. Even if it ends today, we’ll have been away from King’s Landing and little Aem and Ella for a full year if we go forward with this whole progress as we planned. Too bloody long.

The twins had to come with them, of course, so they would better understand the eastern half of the high kingdom, and Benjen had not yet been weaned and would never had tolerated being left behind. But they had been advised by Tyrion, still Hand of the King, to keep five name days old Prince Aemon and three name days old Princess Rhaella at home in the event a disaster happened during the progress. Dany was against it at first, but Jon convinced her of its soundness. For a man who had grown up hearing there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, it was a sensible precaution.

He had to stifle a laugh as he remembered his sisters arguing over who would look over the young prince and princess while the royal couple was away. At one point, he could have sworn Arya challenged either Sansa herself or her husband Ser Joren to a spar to settle the matter. Finally, Jon brokered a “truce” which called for Arya to travel to King’s Landing with her two eldest children for six months to look after Aem and Ella, then they would travel by ship to the North and spend time in their Aunt Sansa’s court.

Glad that’s the most significant dispute I’ve had to settle in Westeros these past few years, he chuckled to himself.

He looked up at the great pink marble palace, with the octagonal dome in its center and the five onion-shaped towers surrounding it, with something of a jaded eye. He’d grown up in Winterfell and had lived in Kings’ Landing these past six years, so he was used to imposing buildings and ostentatious structures. These highborns of Mantarys must have been impressed with this place when it was finished however many centuries ago, but Jon had seen the dead rise and fought them, ridden on dragons, and seen the Great Pyramid of Meereen in his time. It took a lot to impress him, and he had other business than sightseeing. He wanted to return to his children.

There was nobody to oppose them as they crossed a bridge which appeared to be made of the same marble as the palace. There were two main doors to the palace, massive oak-plank ones bound in bronze fittings, three times the height of a man and more than a foot thick. They had been flung open and no one was waiting for them when the knights arrived.

All the servants in here were slaves, Jon reckoned. They seem to already know their captivity is at an end. In the main hall below the dome, he saw a half-dozen man armed with whips and three-pointed spears laying on the floor, dead from stab wounds or blows to the head.

“Spread out in this place,” Jon commanded Sers Benjen and Walter. “Make sure none of the slavers escape but bring them alive if you can.”

They made their way up the marble staircases, with gilded wooden railings on top of the marble floors. Jon had known from reports the king’s private quarters were on the highest of the three floors, facing the south and the view of the Sea of Sighs. As he and the knights climbed the stairs, they continued to see the scattered bodies of guards and some servants sprawled across the floors in pools of their own blood.

At first, Jon thought the entire palace might be abandoned. Did their king try to flee? He was considering how to get word out to the cavalry scouts to keep watch for anyone fleeing the city when he got to the third floor and glanced down a hall. He saw twenty men wearing the same armor and tunics as the dead guards downstairs, poleaxes at the ready, guarding a massive arched doorway protected by heavy oak doors with bronze hinges and fixtures.

With a sharp yell, the knights around him fell onto the guards, and Jon let them do the fighting as he regarded the doors. They appeared to open outward, and he assumed there was a beam barring the door closed from behind.

After his knights made short work of the guards who fought to the last man, Ser Benjen and another group made their way to the king. “Do we need a battering ram, or some hammers, perhaps?”

Jon shook his head, though he had not unsheathed his sword. “There’s a bit of a gap between the doors, see? Grab one of those poleaxes and see if we can lever the thing open.”

It was Ser Benjen who picked up one of the poleaxes and eased it through the gap in the door. There was a spike on both the top part and the point opposite of the axe head was also a shorter flat spike, so it was able to fit through the gap with some room to spare.

“I think I got caught on something, lads,” Ser Benjen huffed through his black beard long enough to touch his chest. “Give ‘er a hand, mind?”

He instructed two of his men to lean down and brace the poleaxe with their shoulders. Using those two men as a lever, Ser Benjen and three other knights pressed their weight down onto the shaft of the poleaxe.

“I feel something moving, lads!” Ser Benjen called out. “You two, move up higher, the rest of you keep pushing! Aye, that’s it… A little more…”

There was a giant thoom from the other side of the door as something fell to the floor. “Think that was the bar, Your Grace,” Ser Benjen called out.

With Longclaw and his free hand, Jon waved for his knights to stand back. “Wait here.”

He reached out with his left hand toward the large bronze door ring for the door to the left. Carefully, he pulled the door open, surprised at how it eased open without much effort on his part. He kept away from the growing opening, wary of a sword or arrow threading through the gap.

He saw the proclaimed Guardian of Valyria standing before him at the rear of the chambers, wearing full chain and plate armor over a crimson tunic and gold trousers, as well as an elegant gilded helmet with a horsehair crest. Jon was first surprised to see the king alone, and then a little more so to see him wielding a blade clearly forged from Valyrian steel. Waving at his knights to stay back, he entered the chambers and stepped over the fallen wooden bar.

“You wish to slay me, slave king?” the man said in High Valyrian in a high-pitched but forceful voice.

“Not by my will,” Jon replied in High Valyrian, lowering his sword. “Yield and I will give you yet another chance to spare your life.”

“I’d rather take my chances against you and your men,” he scoffed.

“Just me, King of Mantarys.”

The king barked out laughing. “And your men will just stand there and let me live if I strike you down?”

“I order my men to spare your life if you manage to strike me down. If.” He kept himself from rolling his eyes at the last statement but let out a sigh at the end of it.

“It matters not,” the other king said, lifting his sword above his head with both hands. “I intend to be a live King of Mantarys and Guardian of Valyria or a dead one. There is no other choice for me.”

Bloody-minded people, Jon muttered in his own head as he took Longclaw in both hands. “So be it.” He charged forward.

Chapter Text

4.

Jon

A minute later, he emerged from the king’s chambers, sheathing his now-cleaned blade. “Any news from Lord Gray Worm or Red Flea?” he called out.

Ser Benjen gestured for a scout from the Dragon Army’s cavalry to come forward. After saluting Jon with a fist to his own chest and bowing, he responded, “General Red Flea reports the legions now occupy both the inner and outer city walls and have control over the inner and outer gatehouses.”

Jon nodded. “Send the order no one is to leave Mantarys for the time being. Make sure to bring any of the noble slaveholders and their overseers to the grounds outside the palace. We will need to deal with them.”

“Yes, Your Grace, but there is other news. Our scouts detected and stopped several carriages traveling westward on the Demon Road. They say the queen of Mantarys and her children are among them.”

Jon took in a deep breath before nodding. “Very well. Make sure to bring the slavers here to the palace under guard. I will travel to where this wagon train is.”

“Do you require a horse or escorts to her, Your Highness?” the scout called out as Jon made his way to leave.

Jon looked up into the sky. “I will be able to find my way to them well enough,” he said. “Give my complements to Lord Grey Worm and Red Flea. Ser Benjen, I need the assistance of you and your men.”

#

On top of Rhaegal, he was able to spot the wagon train easily enough in the open plains west of Mantarys, stopped in their tracks by a semicircle of Dragon Army scouts. As quietly as a massive emerald dragon whose length could be measured in multiple yards could be, he carried Jon down to the ground about fifty yards from the lead carriage.

“Your Grace,” two of the scouts called out and saluted to him.

“Is the queen in there?” he said, pointing to the lead wheelhouse. One of the scouts nodded. He stepped toward the wheelhouse. “Is the Queen of Mantarys here?”

“One who was Queen,” a voice nearly whispered from inside. “Are you the new King of Mantarys? The High King of New Valyria?”

“I’m not the King of Mantarys by choice,” Jon responded. “Can we speak? I have no quarrel with you.”

The door to the unadorned wheelhouse opened and a figure clad in a brown woolen cloak exited, letting her hood down. There was an echo of his wife in her appearance, although there was a more pronounced gold tinge to her silver hair and her eyes were deep blue rather than violet in color, and she was perhaps a head taller than Dany. The cloak hid a green and light blue gown underneath it, and she wore sensible brown leather walking sandals on her feet. He saw no jewelry on her.

“I am Lady Sirrea Hozar, formerly of House Gaeran. What is your name, High King of New Valyria?” she said as she stared at Jon.

“Jaehaerys Targaryen, third of my name to rule in Westeros, the first to rule in New Valyria.”

“How old are you, Jaehaerys Targaryen?”

He tried not to hide his surprise at the question. “Nine and twenty namedays.”

“My age,” she replied. “My husband was your age when he began to rule in Mantarys, and the great nobles there believed him to be barely more than a child. I wonder what they will believe of you?”

“Their opinions I will not take much into consideration.”

Her brow furrowed as she regarded him. “Your High Valyrian is passable, but I cannot place your accent.”

“It is of the North of Westeros, my mother’s people,” Jon said. “I lived there for much of my life.”

“The few tales I have heard of the place describe it as harsh to live in, covered in ice.”

Jon shrugged. “It could be at that.”

“Is that a dragon?” a small voice piped up from inside the wheelhouse.

Two small heads popped out of the doorway, identical to their mother in coloring but something of the appearance of the man he’d just killed minutes before in the fullness of their chins and brows, as well as their violet eyes.

“Danzar, Ecceran, hush, please,” she called back to them.

“What’s the beast’s name?” the eldest of the two boys called out.

Gods, he could be Rhaegar in a few years, he thought with an ache in his heart. “He is Rhaegal, named for my father.”

“Can we look at him, Mother?” the younger of the two asked.

She looked at Jon. “Rhaegal is resting, but they would not disturb him,” he replied. Boy, stay calm.

Why wouldn’t I, kepa? I just ate, huffed Rhaegal inside his head.

Excited, the two former princes, clad in the regular tunics the slaves of Mantarys might wear, scampered out of the wheelhouse and toward the emerald form lounging on the plains.

Jon looked as they approached Rhaegal. “They… appear to be in good spirits.”

“They knew their father was dead when he decided to stay in Mantarys,” Sirrea said. “He is dead, is he not?”

After a pause, he finally nodded. “I gave him one last chance to spare his life. He refused.”

She closed her eyes. “He vowed to me he would live as a king or die as one.”

“He said nearly the same to me. I have your husband’s body – I wished to know if you wanted it returned to you for burial.”

“He was a king of Mantarys,” she replied, shaking her head. “It would be best if he was buried there. Can you see he is provided a decent burial?”

“I can.”

“And what else do you wish for me, and my sons?”

“Nothing,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Wives and sons are not responsible for their husband and father’s misdeeds. Where were you seeking to travel?”

She turned away from him, facing the road to the west. “My younger brother, Sarma, was estranged from our family and moved to Pentos to establish himself as a trader and powerful merchant. As war came closer to us, he wrote to me and said he would be willing to shelter me and my sons.”

“How did you plan to get there?”

“We planned on traveling the Demon Road west until Volantis,” Sirrea said. “From there, we believed we could find passage on a ship to Pentos…”

“I would not advise it,” Jon replied, shaking his head. “Volantis is currently in the midst of a slave revolt, one so widespread it may soon become civil war. It would not be safe for a widow and her children, noble birth or not.”

“Then what would you suggest…?”

“Travel east past Mantarys on the Demon Road to Tolos,” he interjected. “It will be a far shorter trip on land.” He reached inside his armor and handed her a letter sealed in wax with the Targaryen and High Kingdom sigils. “This is my seal, in my hand. Take this to the harbormaster of Tolos. He will ensure you safe passage by sail to Pentos.” He waved to one of the captains of the scouts, who rode up to him. “Select a detachment to travel with these people,” he said. “Guard them and ensure their safety until they reach their family in Pentos.”

“Your Grace,” the captain said, then bowed before him on his horse before returning to his men.

Jon saw Sirrea gazing at her two boys, avoiding the napping Rhaegal’s head emitting smoke periodically out its nostrils and instead inching toward the dragon’s side to pet its scales. “I feel I owe you some great favor, High King.”

“None to me,” Jon said. “If you wish to do me favor, raise your sons to be good and honorable men. That will be enough.”

“Are you now a father yourself, Your Highness?”

He nodded. “A few namedays less than yours, but yes.”

“I see. I said I believed I owed you a favor. You are now responsible for Mantarys, and a more quarrelsome city there has never been. You have my sympathies.”

“I’ve had to deal with the Dothraki, the Freefolk of Westeros, and the nobles of Westeros,” Jon chuckled. “I’ve had some experience with quarrelsome people.”

She bowed before him. “Then, I wish you good fortune, if there is any to be found in Mantarys.”

“And I wish you safe travels toward a place you can call a home,” Jon said.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

#

He and Rhaegal landed in the city square in front of the main gate to the royal palace of Mantarys. His men had a crowd of slaveowners in one corner of the courtyard at swordpoint and a larger crowd of their overseers in another corner of the courtyard in a similar situation. He saw Red Flea and Grey Worm standing in another corner of the courtyard by themselves. Jon walked to them. “Are these all of them?” he asked.

“All that could be found, High King,” Grey Worm replied.

“What is that place?” Jon pointed to a raised platform built of fitted marble situated in the square and several yards forward from the gate.

“The people have said it is where the kings of Mantarys spoke to their people,” Grey Worm said.

He glanced first at the slaveowners, then at the crowd gathered wondering what would happen next to their home city. Time to let them know what will happen.

Jon walked to the rear of the platform and walked up the stairs to the top. There was a carved marble podium at the front of the platform, and a railing carved of marble. How much time did some stonemasons spend building this? He felt the eyes of the crowd on him, freemen and former slaves alike, as he began to talk.

“People of Mantarys! I did not wish to rule this city! Not in the least! However, your rulers left me no choice. Let me speak of what I mean before you,” he said. “When I declared the creation of New Valyria, I declared our citizens were no longer slaves, and slavery was no longer the rule of the land. I said nothing of those peoples of other lands. All we asked was they did not seek slaves in our lands to keep the peace. And this was what the vile slaveowners did, steal my people from their homes and loved ones to serve their own desires.”

There was an unpleasant murmuring at the news, while Jon immediately picked up on it. “However, even with this provocation, I did not immediately declare war. I communicated with your sovereign, your nobles, if they decided sensibly to return our citizens to us, I would forget and forgive all and let us enter peace. But they did not, and with their denial, they lost the right to rule Mantarys.

“And yet, even then, I was willing to spare the slavers their own freedom and wealth,” Jon continued. “I swore on my honor that those who left Mantarys before the Dragon Army’s arrival would leave in peace, and they could take all their wealth with them except for their slaves. Very few of the slavers took up my offer, but I kept my word and spared those who did harm. Those who did not, however, they have forfeited their freedom and their wealth as a result.”

He glanced around the packed square. Not only were his men watching, but the former slaves of Mantarys also intermingled with them. He saw one of his officers, a man with hair and complexion resembling red clay, kneeling down next to another man who appeared to be a former slave, resting in a litter, and holding his hand.

“Even now, then, I will still give these men one last chance at mercy,” he called out, his grey eyes now filled with cold fire. “They have squandered the chance to rule in Mantarys and then squandered the chance to preserve their freedom and wealth. But they will have one last chance to preserve their lives.”

He now turned to them, the slave holder nobles in their silk and wool finery, lined up in four rows stretching the length of the square. In a larger, more disorganized cluster of men in front of the nobles were men in simpler tunics and trousers, some wearing leather or mail armor. These were those overseers who had guarded and driven the slaves at the bidding of their employers.

“For your crimes against your own people and the people of the High Kingdom, highborn slaveowners of Mantarys, you have a choice. You may choose to serve in the Dragon Army for life to atone for your crimes. Or, you may choose execution. Your choice is freedom or your life.”

There was a roar of protest from the men lined up. “Outrageous!” Lord Ullar bellowed. “This is no bargain at all!”

The former slaves and the men of the Dragon Army jeered and whistled at his words, while the others around the square, the lower-status freedmen of Mantarys, were silent. Jon raised his arms for quiet, and it eventually came.

“I gave you and your king every chance to make things right between the High Kingdom and yourselves, and you threw away every opportunity,” he scoffed. “This is the only bargain you get now.” He nodded to a group of four Dragon Army troopers on the side of the square, and they lifted a heavy wooden block from the ground and began carrying it to a place in front of the platform.

As Jon descended the platform and approached the nobles and overseers, one of the latter, a large, bulky man with a shaved head and a dark tea complexion managed to stagger to his feet despite his hands being bound behind his back. He took a few stumbling steps before falling at Jon’s feet and beginning to babble in a version of Valyrian so bastardized he couldn’t easily recognize it.

Two of his Dragon Army legionnaires rushed up to the man as if to drag him away, but Jon held up his hand. “Can anyone tell me what this man is saying?”

The scout officer… Chorrin, he thought the man’s name was – kneeling by the slave stood up and ran to them. “I can, Your Highness.” He leaned down and spoke to the man in his language for a few moments.

Chorrin stood up. “He asks for mercy; he believes you wish to put him and the other overseers to death. He asks for mercy since he only tried to help feed his family.”

They are a different group. He nodded. “Tell them what I say, captain.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He now stared at the group of overseers. “Those of you who served the slave masters, but did not own slaves yourselves, hear me. If you choose service in the Dragon Army over death, I pledge to you now, that you will only be required to serve a single term of duty.”

A murmur passed through the crowd as the captain translated his words, and the overseers began whispering intently amongst themselves. “What is… term?” one of the overseers in the crowd stuttered out.

“Ten years,” Jon replied.

As the captain repeated his words, the overseer who had ran to Jon managed to get up on one knee and bow before him. Soon, all the gathered overseers got to their feet, surrounded Jon and knelt before him in a massive semicircle.

Easy enough once you show a little mercy. He looked up at Red Flea. “This man is now your commander. You will go where he tells you, and you will be fed and treated decently in your service.”

The group of overseers rose and made their way toward Red Flea, who directed the commander of the Fourteenth Legion to take them into custody, and his serjeants began removing their bindings and leading them toward the army’s temporary encampment between the inner and outer walls.

Jon now glanced at the rows of slaver nobles, kneeling on the ground. “What say you men?” He called out. “You may have your freedom, or your lives. You cannot have both.”

There was silence for a few moments. Finally, first one and then other members of the Mantarys elite rose to their feet, knelt before Jon, and followed their former employees into service with the Dragon Army. As with those men, the serjeants removed their bonds and led these people away to the hisses of the former slaves in attendance.

Afterward, there were only thirty noblemen still remaining in two ragged lines, kneeling. Jon approached one of them. “I remember your face. State your name, my lord.”

“Lord Iasher Ullar, commander of the defenses of Mantarys in the name of the Guardian of Valyria, which you are not,” the man growled at him.

“If you speak of your former king, he no longer lives. That was his choice. You choose death as well?”

“Go ahead and make sport of us, usurper!” Lord Ullar bellowed. His eyes shot up as familiar rumbling shrieks rattled the square. Drogon and Rhaegal flew in a lazy arc over the square. Unable to land with all the people present, they choose to fly on and make their way to the more spacious area between the inner and outer walls of the city.

“Without those beasts, you would have had as little success as all who attempted to take this city in the past five centuries,” he japed. “You might as well feed us to them and make your point that none oppose the dragonriders.”

He stared down at Lord Ullar, then over at the block in the middle of the square. “My uncle was no dragonrider, but Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, in the Northern Kingdom of Westeros,” he said so all in the square could hear him. “After the deaths of my parents, his sister and goodbrother, he claimed me as his own to hide me from those who would harm me. I was his son and he was my father, and it was him that taught me right and wrong.

“There were many times when he had to administer justice in the name of his king. Many lords in other lands would give this duty to other men, executioners. But my lord father taught me the man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. He knew it to be a grim task, but a necessary one. And, I am my father’s son.” He unsheathed Longclaw in one movement. “Bring them to me.”

More of the legionnaires came out from the crowd. With two of them on each side of a man, they would lift one of the former slave owners to their feet, beginning with Lord Ullar, and then gather them into one line. Eventually, the line began to come to Jon, who was now in front of the execution block. Lord Ullar was the first brought to kneel before the block and lay his neck down on top.

“In the name of the High Kingdom of New Valyria and Westeros, for the crimes committed against its people and your own, I, Jaehaerys Targaryen, Third of my name, High King of New Valyria and Westeros, sentence you men to death.” He looked down at Lord Ullar. “Do you have more to say?”

The lord’s silence was interrupted by the hiss of Valyrian steel through the air.

#

Jon cleaned his blade at the end, with thirty highborn heads separated from thirty highborn bodies lined up in separate parallel roads. It appeared his soldiers had managed to successfully match each body with the proper head.

The former slaves and freedmen of Mantarys had looked on through it all, no applause or jeers but a silent witness to it all. The former slaves have seen more brutality than this, surely, Jon thought.

He sheathed Longclaw and turned to the people as his soldiers began to take the execution block and the bodies away. “All those who call Mantarys home are now and forever free men,” Jon called out to the crowd. “But it is also up to you, the people of this city, to be the caretakers and guardians of this place as well.

“Tonight, you will choose men or women to represent you.” Jon pointed to the palace. “After dawn tomorrow, your representatives will meet me here, and we will discuss the destiny of this place. Farewell for now.”

With that, he turned on his heels and headed through the main gate and across the small stone bridge into the palace. “Fucking seven hells, it’s time to get some sleep,” he said to Grey Worm. “Make sure you wake me when those representatives come.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lord Grey Worm said.

#

Jon woke the next day in the same bed he assumed King Daenar had slept in. To him, it was ridiculous to complain about the conditions of his accommodations for how elegant they were. He’d slept in far more humble cots and beds during his days in The Old Watch, as its veterans and most of Westeros now called the former Night Watch. He knew from where his irritable mood came from. He had been away from his wife and his children for too long, and a reunion would be the only way to completely raise his spirits.

After he dressed and broke his fast in his room, he made his way to his meeting. He disdained hosting it in the former throne room and great hall of the palace, so he had decided instead on a smaller formal dining hall nearby. He imagined a more modest gathering. They must feel part of this place, part of its rule. Otherwise, it’s just another place to garrison.

The room held a long, narrow table than ran along its center. There were several doors leading to a balcony outside. Jon decided to sit at the center of the table with his back to the balcony.

Grey Worm and Red Flea entered the room trailed by their personal guards and aides. After bowing to him, the two sat at either side of Jon, with Grey Worm to his right. “Get any sleep last night?” he asked Grey Worm.

“A better rest than many before,” Grey Worm shrugged.

Ser Benjen Hill and Ser Walter Rivers arrived and sat to the outside of the Dragon Army generals, along with their aides. Finally, Chorrin entered the room and bowed to Jon. “Your Highness, the Mantaryn representatives are here to meet with you.”

Jon nodded. “Bring them in.”

Chorrin opened the doors of the dining room and gestured for the representatives to come in. Four men and one woman, dressed modestly but neatly in light colored tunics, fine leather sandals, and more vividly colored light wool cloaks.

As a group, they kneeled before him. The man in the center, a stocky character in his forties with a neatly shaved and balding skull, said, “We welcome you, Your Grace…”

“Thank you, you can rise,” Jon said, getting up from his seat. “You already know me.” He gestured to his right and then his left. “Lord Grey Worm of House Dragonclaw, Lord Commander of the Dragon’s Army. “Lord Red Flea, commander of this army occupying Mantarys. Ser Benjen Hill and Ser Walter Rivers, of the Andal Legion of Foot. I would now wish to know what your names are and who you are. You speak for the free people of Mantarys?”

“We do, Your Grace.”

Jon sighed as he took them in. “Anyone need food at the moment?”

“We broke our fast before coming here, but thank you, Your Grace.”

Jon nodded. “If you need refreshments, water, wine, whichever, let us know.” He walked around the table and toward the first man. “Let’s start off the introductions with you.”

The man nodded. “Erozn, Your Grace. Once a slave, no longer. I designed and built structures for King Daenar. The bridge you walked across to enter this palace, I designed it.”

Jon nodded. “It is a sturdy bridge, surely.” He shook the man’s hand. “Please, have a seat.”

The second man was much older, somewhere over sixty name days, with a full head of straight thick white hair and an equally thick white beard. “I am Ranar Ryman,” he said, “once a free man, then a slave, and now a free man thanks to the mercy of His Grace.”

“What did you do as a slave, Ranar Ryman?”

“I was a learned man when taken from my home,” Ranar said, fixing Jon with an almond-eyed stare. “I had been captured on a slave raid run by the father of the last king, when he was King of Mantarys and Guardian of Valyria. Due to my knowledge of texts and languages, I was tasked with the teaching of first the last king, and then his sons.”

“The former queen did not seek to take you with her and her family when they fled?”

“She took you at your word not to have her slaves accompany her,” Ranar said. “Besides, my children and my grandchildren live in Mantarys, and I would wish to live no other place. I may now teach my grandchildren their letters and numbers without fear of the overseers.”

“Then, I am glad you are here, for that reason and others.” He shook the older man’s hand. “Have a seat.”

The third man was about Jon’s age, several inches taller, and from his stance and demeanor there was a certain amount of soldier in the man’s nature. “You are, then?”

“Turgan Gonnar, Your Grace,” he said with a bow. “I served as a captain in the city guard, not one of the overseers. We have heard talk the city guard is to be disbanded?”

“We have ideas for the defense of Mantarys,” Jon said. “However, I wish to talk with you of this matter before we move forward. Come and sit with us.” With another bow, Turgan took a seat.

The fourth person was the only woman among the representatives. She had long hair, somewhere between gold and red, hanging loosely down to her waist and held with only a linen headband. Petite and narrow-hipped, she appeared at least a few name days younger than him. The woman looked up at him with greenish-blue eyes.

She bowed to him. “I am Erria,” she said. “A slave once but freed by my former mistress a few years previous on her death bed. I served as one of her pillow slaves in her pleasure house, known in your tongue as The Jewel of Mantarys. I now have the honor of being its owner and proprietor.”

“I see. Are your… charges slaves?”

“No longer,” she said. “I had them earn their freedom, enough to make a profit even. My last lady earned her freedom not six moons ago. The other pillow house proprietors say I am a madwoman, but both I and my ladies have never earned more coin.”

“Good to hear. Good woman… what is the condition of the city? The women, the children? How much do you know of it?”

She appeared surprised at the question but nodded. “Most of the people are in good health and condition, but many of the poor, the orphaned, the former slaves, many do not have ready access to food or sometimes shelter.”

“I see,” Jon said, nodding. “Our army might be able to spare some rations, but those are limited… Our scouts will see what forage there might be around the area, and I will send word to Meereen for more supplies. We will do what can be done for the people.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” After a bow, she took her seat.

The final man was older, built like a wide barrel, with salted black bushy hair and beard, a darker complexion than any of his companions, and well-weathered hands at the ends of thick arms. “And you are, good man?”

“Yoel Rohm,” the man said with a bow. “I am captain of the fishing vessel Sailor’s Luck.” After he bowed, he added, “I wish to thank you for your mercy towards our vessels.”

“No need to harass peaceful sailing and merchant ships,” Jon said. “We were just making sure none of the slavers were trying to make a water escape.”

“I thought you had said they could leave, if they abandoned their slaves,” Rohm said.

“Their time to flee Mantarys had come and gone by the time we arrived,” Jon replied. “How is fishing in the Sea of Sighs?”

The older captain shrugged. “Up and down at times. Our ships have had to travel to the southern end of the sea for fresh fishing this year.”

“I’ll be interested to hear more of what the fishing life is like here,” Jon said. “Please, join us.”

“Your Grace,” he bowed before sitting.

“Right,” Jon said, as he took his seat. “I asked for you to come here so that we can discuss what will become of Mantarys and how it will be led from this time forward. Although it will now be part of the High Kingdom, you will be responsible for much of its governance.”

“What will change, now that we are part of your High Kingdom?” Erozn asked.

“Not as much as you might anticipate,” Jon said. “Slavery, of course, is a dead issue. No person, adult or child, may be sold, bought, or traded as property, and any related activity is prohibited or must face the High Kingdom’s justice. In addition, any slaves fleeing captivity from other nations or realms must be given sanctuary in the High Kingdom and be allowed to lead free lives.”

“Are there other laws Mantarys must follow?” Ranar said.

“No person may be deprived of their lives, freedom, or wealth without the rule of law,” Jon said. “People may choose their own heirs, but in the absence of a will, the eldest child of either sex will be the heir. There are a few other rules to keep in mind, but those can be reviewed in time.”

“Very few new laws, it seems,” Ranar said.

“The High Queen and I do not believe in managing every aspect of our citizens’ lives,” Jon responded. “I do not anticipate spending much time in New Valyria, much less Mantarys. King’s Landing and Dragonstone in Westeros are my seats of power. It makes more sense for those who live in Mantarys to have more of a say in the day-to-day workings of the place.”

“Who will be in charge of this… home rule, Your Grace?” Erozn asked.

“That can depend,” Jon said. “Some parts of the High Kingdom are ruled by high lords, others vassal kings. Some realms in New Valyria have formed councils or similar bodies for such matters. It will simply be a matter for you to decide which to choose and to inform the First Minister, Lady Missandei Dragonclaw, of your decision.”

“We have heard speak of a High Council in Meereen,” Erria said. “Will we be part of this group?”

Jon nodded. “Our soldiers are currently conducting a census, a count of the number of people in Mantarys and the surrounding areas. Once they have made an accurate count, you will be allotted a certain number of ministers to serve on the High Council in proportion to your population. They have a considerable hand in the running of New Valyria. Lord Grey Worm, for example, sits on the council as Lord Commander of the Dragon Army.”

“Speaking of the Dragon Army, how will Mantarys be defended?” Captain Gonnar said. “You are disbanding the City Garrison?”

“Yes. That group was supported by the leading houses of Mantarys, the… Seven Brothers, I heard them referred to as? We believe it is best for New Valyria to have a unified defense, not reliant on such nobles.”

“In Westeros, it is said the Night’s Army, their equivalent to the Dragon Army here, is smaller than the combined forces of the Westerosi lords,” Gonnar quipped. “Why do you not do the same here?”

“Circumstances are different here than in Westeros,” Jon said. “The nobles of Westeros have not enslaved their smallfolk since at least the Andal invasion, likely longer. The noble houses of these lands are… not as hospitable. All of Westeros is united, and we have been at peace these past six years. Here, in New Valyria, we are surrounded by those friendly, hostile, and in-between. We must have a united front here.”

“Volantis,” Ranar said.

Jon sighed at the name. “They have been the most aggressive of those hostile to us. They sent sellswords against us as we laid claim to Westeros, yet we have never struck back at them in response.”

“And they just happen to be on the verge of civil war due to their slave revolt,” Erzon said. “Not that they’re our blood brothers, mind, despite our shared Valyrian heritage.”

“We have done nothing,” Jon said in the mildest of tones. “If the rule of Volantis is collapsing, blame would have to go to those which have ruled it.”

“And your New Valyria did not serve as inspiration to the rebelling slaves? Do the Red Priests not speak of Azor Ahai being the liberator of his people?” Erria replied in a tone equally mild… and with perhaps a touch of flirting in the mix.

“I do not answer to that name, though the Red Priests might use it,” Jon chuckled. “My adoptive father, Lord Eddard Stark, once said lords can command a man’s respect and obedience but cannot control a man’s thoughts. Only tyrants are deluded enough to think they can do so. As I cannot control Red Priests and their followers from thinking of me as Azor Ahai, so I cannot control the desires of slaves in other lands.”

“Recruits do not need to consider you a friend to follow you into battle; you only need their respect and belief,” Captain Gonnar said, nodding. “So, if the Guard will not watch Mantarys, who will?”

“For the time being, we will assign the Twelfth and Thirteenth Legions to garrison Mantarys,” Jon said. “That will be 10,000 soldiers, enough to protect this place and keep the peace. Those from Mantarys who will come into service with the Dragon Army will be transported to Astapor for training. They will make up the bulk of a new legion we will use to replace one of the legions here.”

“I would wish to serve in this army,” Gonnar said. “I have and will swear loyalty to you.”

“From my understanding, Gonnar is a capable officer and fighter,” Ranar said. “I think he would be an asset.”

Jon fixed Gonnar with a glare. “You would be willing to swear a term or service?”

“I would and serve in any capacity Your Grace or his officers would deem fit,” Gonnar said.

“Right. We’ll have you join with the Twelfth. They will decide whether you would serve as an officer or in what capacity. We’ll also give you time to continue to serve on this council, if you wish,” Jon concluded.

“I thank you for your generosity, Your Grace,” Gonnar replied, bowing in his seat.

Jon turned to Erzon. “I would ask your opinion of Mantarys as a builder, good man,” he said. “What repairs or improvements are necessary here?”

The builder glanced past the room and to the horizon of the city outside. “Despite the fighting, there’s been not too much damage to the city, with the exception of the main gates, thanks to your scaled children,” he said.

“Our engineers in the legions can help any craftsmen you can muster to fix the damage,” Jon said.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He thought again. “The last king’s father began building a sewer system in Mantarys but left it half finished due to insufficient coin.”

“Our engineers in King’s Landing have been expanding our existing sewer and water systems,” Jon said. “Perhaps we could do the same here.”

Jon now turned to Rohm. “I was going to ask you more about the fishing this year on the Sea of Sighs.”

Rohm’s thick, bushy eyebrows raised at the comment. “Well, as I stated, Your Grace, fair to middling. Our ships have had to travel to the southern end of the Sea of Sighs to find fresh fishing grounds.”

“And how much do you know of the condition of trade for Mantarys?”

He shrugged at that. “It has been limited for the past year, at least. In times past, we traded with Tolos, Volantis, some of the villages along the shores of the Sea of Sighs. Occasionally we have journeyed further west by caravan to the other Free Cities. When Tolos pledged their loyalty to the High Kingdom, King Daenar forbid trading there. And the slave revolts in Volantis have disrupted trade there and made traveling through those lands difficult. It’s been little wonder the city’s tax revenues have been drained.”

“That makes sense,” Jon said. “And another disadvantage is there is no direct water passage from Mantarys to the Summer Sea. Perhaps we could change that.”

“That would not be possible, would it?” Erzon said.

Jon nodded to Red Flea, who placed a map of the Sea of Sighs onto the table. “See this part of the sea, this bay off to the west…”

“We call it West Bay,” Rohm said.

“Really?” Jon said. “A direct name at least.” He turned back to the map. “We can dig a canal right… there at the end of the bay. From the map it would be a mile at most and your ships would be in the Summer Sea, due southeast of Volantis and within easy sail of the southern Free Cities.”

“It could happen?” Erzon said.

“I have engineers currently digging a canal across The Neck of Westeros, a farther and trickier prospect than this one,” Jon said. “Our engineers would have to take a closer look at the site, but the work likely could be done in a couple years.”

Erzon took his own glance at the map. “One of the Valyrian roads crosses the path. We’d have to dig it up.”

“And put a bridge in its place,” Jon said, nodding. “You think you might be able to come up with a design for such a structure?”

He measured a distance on the map with a single fingertip. “I know the area somewhat. Depending on the height, a drawbridge might be the best option, to allow for taller ships. You would do this for us, Your Grace?”

“Why not? A prosperous Mantarys is now a prosperous New Valyria. Think of it as a new gateway to the world.”

“May we?” Erria said. She requested some wine to be given to everyone. Holding her glass high, she said, “A toast then. To new gateways and beginnings.”

“New gateways and beginnings,” all responded, then took a celebratory sip.

#

“Your Grace, how much longer will you be staying here?” Erzon asked.

“No more than another day, at most,” Jon said. “I am overdue to be reunited with my family in Meereen and have missed the first part of their progress through New Valyria. Lord Grey Worm will come with me, but Lord Red Flea and four legions will remain here for the time being to keep the peace and help with any needed repairs.”

“Will we see you again soon?” Ranar asked.

“I wish to bring our progress and my family to Mantarys within a couple months,” Jon said. “Afterwards… we will have one more place to visit before returning to Westeros, and it is a place I wish to ask you members of the… let’s call it the Acting Council of Mantarys about.”

“What place do you wish to know about, Your Highness?” Ranar asked.

“Lord Red Flea, can we see the map again? The one of the Valyrian Peninsula? Yes, there it is.” He spread both hands across the map. “It is my sincere hope that I never have to lead a war of conquest again. The only territory we claim that does not have our soldiers occupying it is the home of the former Valyrian Freehold.” His finger began to trace the line of one of the Valyrian roads traveling east and then south from Mantarys. “And our next step towards reclaiming this place is… here.” His finger stopped on a dot on the map at the end of the Valyrian road, on the shores of the Smoking Sea, dividing the intact portion of the Valyrian Peninsula to its shattered end.

“Oros,” Jon proclaimed, standing up. “We know little of this place except for the odd legend or two.” He turned to Ranar. “What do you know of Oros? What do your records and histories say of the place?”

Ranar rose from his seat and took a sip from his wine glass as he contemplated the dot on the map. “Oros… Your Grace, I can say with confidence no travelers claiming to be from there have entered the gates of Mantarys for at least a hundred years, perhaps even fifty and a hundred. What have your maesters said of the place, your histories?”

Jon sighed. “From what we know, Oros was the second largest city in the freehold, only exceeded by Valyria itself. Now, it is all but ruins.”

“We have heard the same things,” Ranar said. “There were some survivors of the Doom in Oros, but they were directly affected by the Doom. It is said the southern half of the city crumbled into the Smoking Sea due to the eruptions. Barely a fraction of the citizens from those days were said to have survived.”

“Is the Valyrian road still the best way to approach Oros?” Jon asked.

“In recent years, Mantaryn cavalry scouts have traveled as far as a hundred miles south down the road,” Ranar said. “From what they have said, the road is still in sound condition. Are you planning on traveling there with your family, Your Grace? I cannot say what unknown dangers are there now.”

“I am not taking my entire family there, but regardless,” Jon said, “We must see conditions there for ourselves. The mistake past expeditions to Valyria since the Doom have made is only sending smaller fleets and expeditions to the area. We will not make the same mistake. We will march to Oros on land, not with a scouting party but with at least two legions of Dragon Army soldiers.”

He fixed his grey eyes on the dot of Oros. “There are still many mysteries of Valyria remaining,” he said. “If we plan to truly rebuild a New Valyria, we must seek out what is there and understand it.”

Chapter Text

5.

Rhaegar

He took a deep breath as he glanced in the polished bronze mirror in the cabin.

The Prince of Dragonstone was dressed much in the manner of his royal father, down to his light crimson wool trousers, sturdy black leather boots, and a coat of black iron scale armor a smaller duplicate of the elder Targaryen’s.

“You look quite striking this morning, Your Grace,” the veteran knight who had helped him dress for the morning said.

“Thank you, Ser Bonifer,” Rhaegar said. “I hope I did not try your patience today.”

“Not at all, My Prince,” Ser Bonifer Hasty said as he stood up with his charge. “When I swore my oath of loyalty to your royal mother, I swore it by extension to her children to come. This is an honor.”

Ser Bonifer was the head of the Royalguard that protected the royal family of the High Kingdom. Tall and still lean well past his fiftieth name day, he kept his iron-grey hair cut close to the skull. His sad warm brown eyes, broad nose, and tight mouth could never be called handsome when put together, but Rhaegar never doubted the older man’s loyalty and treasured the advice he would give freely, especially when his father was not available. When Kepa and Muna had announced their progress to New Valyria, Ser Bonifer had insisted on accompanying them on the voyage along with a dozen of his most trusted Royalguard knights.

“Thank you, Ser Bonny,” Rhaegar said, unconsciously slipping into the nickname he’d first given the knight in an earlier time past memory. “You have been nothing but helpful.”

“What are your thoughts, Your Grace?” Bonifer said. “You seem troubled.”

“Well, we’re finally going to be on land again, so I’m happy for that, Ser,” Rhaegar replied. “Perhaps I worry about nothing.”

“Worry about what, Your Grace?”

“Well, I want to be good for those we rule. Also, we meet Muna’s close friend Lady Missandei, and I wish to make Muna proud of me.” Rhaegar sat down on his hammock, hand on his chin in contemplation.

Ser Bonifer came over to him and patted him on the shoulder. “You honor your parents, young prince, with your concern to your duty at so young an age. There are so many kings of Westeros – indeed, even many kings in living memory – who showed little of your concern even as adults. Your heart is true enough, so you are better than many grown men, do not doubt it, Prince.”

Rhaegar took a deep breath as he stood up. “Well, best we find Muna, Lya, and Benj. You look quite dapper, Ser Bonny,” he chuckled.

“You flatter me, My Prince, but I am modest enough,” Bonifer said. He was dressed in mail armor, and a purple surcoat with a white diagonal stripe across it, but he also wore plate metal gauntlets and leg greaves. “After you, My Prince.”

However, the prince and his guard did not find the rest of his family below-decks but had to journey to the top deck of The Sea Dragon to find them.

Muna and his siblings were there on the forecastle of the ship as it approached the shore. Muna was beautiful as always, in a pearl-white long-sleeved gown with a silver Targaryen pin over her right breast, her hair braided in what she always called Dothraki style, although he remembered Kepa saying Muna wore many more braids when they first met than now. She wore a silk crimson sling over her right shoulder and under her left arm, and it was where Benjen rested, swaddled in a simple light linen wrap.

Not able to help himself, Rhaegar walked over to Muna and peeked into the sling to see his baby brother. There was a prominent tuft of chestnut brown curled hair like Kepa’s, but the violet eyes that stared at him were his own and that of Muna’s. He reached into the sling and rubbed the tip of the babe’s nose with his finger. “Hello, lad, good to see you,” he whispered as Muna drew him into a hug.

“You look perfectly handsome, sweetling,” she murmured to him.

“Thank you, Muna. Where’s Lya?”

“Right here, Rhae.” She peeked around the skirt of Muna’s dress. She wore a sleeveless crimson dress embroidered with the Targaryen crest over her right breast, and crimson silk slippers.

“You look lovely, Lya.”

“Thank you, Rhae. Muna, will we be able to see Astapor?”

“By now, we should be able to. Shall we go on deck?”

“Yes, Muna,” the twins chimed.

They climbed the stairs and reached the quarterdeck, where Ser Bonnie and Admiral Aurane were waiting. “Your Graces,” they chimed in turn and bowed as they approached.

“Hello, Ser Bonnie, are we at the city now?” Lya said.

“Well, Little Princess, it’s well within the gaze of the Myrish eyes Lord Aurane holds in his hand,” Ser Bonnie said. “Would you care to look at it yourself?”

“I would, Ser Bonnie, thank you so much,” Lya said. She got up onto a crate near the railing, and with the helping hands of Ser Bonnie keeping her from toppling over into the sea. She raised the eye to her own true one and gazed to the east.

“Muna, you need to see! It’s a fantastic city, it is!” Lya exclaimed, hopping on her crate and then handing the Myrish eye to her mother.

#

Daenerys

She accepted the Myrish eye from her daughter and raised it to her true right one, scanning the east for the sights there.

It stretched in front of her across the port, much as it had been in her memory, although she first saw it from land rather than the sea.

The city was much as it had been from her memory. The port stretched across the cove next to the city as it had been, and the red brick walls surrounding Astapor stood as they once did. However, there were subtle differences from the time more than a dozen years past when she had entered Astapor as a hunted woman seeking power.

The number of docks and the ships moored near them seemed to have doubled from the time she had seen them last. There were some ships of Westerosi origin, but there were more arriving from the Free Cities, Qarth, or even the Summer Isles.

“There’s so many ships in the harbor, though, Muna,” Rhaegar said. “It’s nearly as many as you’d find in the harbor of King’s Landing, but some of these ships I’ve never seen the like. Adm’rl Aurane, what are those strange vessels to our port side, the ones with the curved sails and the twin canoes lashed together?”

“I recognize them as being likely coming from the Summer Isles,” Lord Aurane said. “Often they are used to fish or hunt whales, but they are capable of carrying smaller loads of cargo. There appear to be vessels from at least a dozen nations and realms in this port, at least.”

“It is far busier than I remember it a decade ago,” Dany said.

The red brick walls surrounding Astapor were no longer crumbling and in disrepair. Many new bricks were in their places and the battlements rebuilt. She saw the men of the Dragon Army taking time from their defensive duties supervising and in some cases assisting with the rebuilding of the walls, adding new bricks to the gaps in the wall and reformed battlements at their zenith.

Then there was the carved sandstone statue now on top of the open harbor gate. It was no longer the crumbling Ghiscari harpy of her memories. Yes, the figure was one of the old Ghiscari harpy, with a woman’s torso, a bat’s wings, an eagle’s legs and a scorpion’s tale. But this harpy was newly carved, and instead of a chain with open manacles at each end grasped in its eagle’s talons, this harpy grasped the spear and shield of the Dragon Army in them. The red pyramids loomed in the distance, standing study and well within the city’s walls, but she knew not of who lived in them.

This is where I met Missandei, and the gods be good I will meet her again and call her friend once again. I will meet her children, and they will know me and mine. All will be well.

 She turned to children. “I present to you Astapor, one of the great cities of Dragons’ Bay,” she said to them. “This is our birthright, where we will meet our friends and allies. Are you ready, dear children?”

“We are, Muna,” Rhaegar called out immediately. Oh, Rhae, you are brave and sure as is your Kepa, but there is much you will learn, she thought to herself.

“Right, then,” she chuckled. “We will soon explore new places and meet new friends.” She gazed down at Benjen, safe and secure in his sling. “Are you prepared to charm those of Dragon’s Bay, lad?” The dark-haired and violet-eyed lad cooed in response, not knowing exactly what he agreed to but taking comfort in his Muna’s voice. “Time to meet the people of Astapor, darlings,” Dany murmured to them. With that, they made their way down the gangplank from the ship and onto the pier.

#

She and the children disembarked from the vessel and onto the central pier. It appeared to have much the same purpose as the central pier in the port of King’s Landing, a pier for the largest of ships or those carrying the highest profile dignitaries. The piers immediately surrounding the central platform kept ships that were obviously Royal Navy vessels, flying the High Kingdom’s banner. A large group of piers to the right were dedicated to arriving and departing merchant ships, while a smaller contingent of piers to the left were dedicated to the local fishing fleet.

As they set foot on the pier, they saw a sizable crowd of onlookers on each side of them leading toward the city gates. Some appeared to be merchants, but many appeared to be regular smallfolk or workers. All were at worst attentive to the new visitors and at best cheering their arrival and casting flower petals or paper streamers in their path. Dany waved to the crowds and her heart felt a tug as the twins attempted waves of their own to the people along their path.

She was struck at the fact many of those along the pier were dressed much in the same way the Daordari, or former slaves of New Valyria, dressed as some traveled to King’s Landing and other cities of Westeros for work and settlement. To her amusement, some of whom appeared to be fishermen, were holding up the days catch of cod, tuna, or crabs.

“I wonder how much has changed here in the times since I was here last,” Dany whispered to Lord Aurane.

“Of all that has transpired I may not know much, and we may have to inquire with the First Minister for details,” he responded. “There are more citizens who live in Astapor than in recent years past, but not as many as which live now in Pentos and Qarth. As all are freeborn, there are many who wear the tokar to denote their freedom, but it is the current custom of those in Dragons’ Bay, especially those previously enslaved, to wear tokars of simpler design and yet with their familiar fringes. Most wear tokars of shorter length, which do not require the wearer to hold it in place with their left hand and arm. From what I have heard from those familiar with the area, those longer tokars are now seen as decadent by the population, reminiscent of the old slave holders.”

“It is good to see the former rulers of this place open to change, even as we attempt to respect the customs of these places,” Dany said, nodding to the towering statue of the Astapor harpy.

She led the way to the harbor gate, Benjen laying on her breast in the sling, as the twins followed her in her wake and Ser Bonnie, Lord Aurane, and their knights and sworn swords followed behind them. Three men at arms carried three banners behind them: in the center, the combined High Kingdom banner of Westeros and New Valyria - with the red dragon symbol on the left and a white weirwood tree with red leaves on a blackened field to the right; to the right, the banner of New Valyria a red dragon flying free from its black manacles on a white field, and to the left, the three-headed dragon banner of House Targaryen.

As their footsteps traveled from solid wooden planks to the dark reddened bricks of the road into Astapor, she saw a welcoming party underneath its gates.

There were at least thirty men and women gathered underneath the harpy. From the distance, she saw three banners flying above them. On their right was the sigil of New Valyria. To the left was a single red dragon’s claw on a blackened field, the sigil of House Dragonclaw, and in the center was the High Kingdom’s banner. Daenerys knew then her friend awaited her inside the gates.

She stood there, in the center of her party, dressed in white. Her kinky dark hair was trimmed close to her skull, not quite as close as Grey Worm had trimmed his hair. Her gown was ivory and flowing, to her feet, and the bronze pin with the Valyrian word “First” emblazoned on it was stuck above her right breast, the sign of her office.

There were many surrounding here, but there was a youth attached to her right side, steadfast in her attention to her. He was the color of light tea, bare-headed, with reddish-brown hair and green eyes, a youth barely of age to bear arms. He wore the uniform of the Dragon Army and a medallion of a lower officer of such an organization. He glared at all who would gaze at her with a sharp eye and a finger on the short sword clipped to his left hip. Alongside him and the woman who had to be Lady Missandei were a variety of youths from five to five and ten years old, all kin to the First Minister.

As Dany and her party entered the modest open square in front of the harbor gate, she heard the familiar voice of her old friend rebound against the walls. “People of Astapor and New Valyria, you stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her name,” Missandei called out. “High Queen of the Valyrians, Ghiscari, Daordari, First Men, Rhoynar, and Andals. Lord of New Valyria and Westeros, and Protector of the Realms. Queen of Meereen. The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Mother of Dragons, The Unburnt, and The Breaker of Chains!” At the last phrase, a mighty cheer rose up among those who still remembered wearing those chains.

“She is accompanied by her children,” Missandei continued. “Rhaegar of House Targaryen. Prince of the High Kingdom, and Prince of Dragonstone. Lyanna of House Targaryen, Princess of the High Kingdom. And Benjen of House Targaryen, Prince of the High Kingdom.” After she was done, she and her entire entourage knelt before the High Queen.

Dany bowed to first Missandei’s party and then to the remaining sides of the crowd. “I thank Astapor and the First Minister of New Valyria for her hospitality,” she called out. “Now, I would wish not to greet the First Minister, but my dear friend.”

“It would be my honor, Your Grace,” Missandei said.

The two women hurried to one another and embraced to another round of renewed cheers from the crowd. “It’s so good to see you again, Your Grace.”

“And to see you, Missy,” Dany whispered to her.

Missandei glanced down at the wriggling figure in Dany’s sling. “And this is the newest one of yours, then. He seems quite the active boy.”

“The day he mastered crawling I had to assign a Royalguard for his protection or he would have crawled through the gates of the Red Keep, I think.”

The youth in the uniform of the Dragon Army hurried to Missandei’s side and bowed to Dany. “Your Grace, you honor us with your presence,” he said, bowing directly to her and yet glancing out of the corners of his eyes for any possible dangers.

“I apologize, young man, for I do not know your name,” Dany said, with a small smile.

Missandei beamed as she laid a hand on the back of the lad’s neck. “Apologies, Your Grace. This is my second son, Sahar of House Dragonclaw.”

“My lord,” Dany responded with a bow. “it is good to meet and know the children of my friend.”

Sahar glanced all around, hand still on his short sword. “Apologies, High Queen,” he said. “I am about my work.”

“He has.,. appointed himself as my personal bodyguard in the absence of his lord father,” Missandei said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Six and ten and he takes this on himself.”

“Mothe… First Minister, my apologies.” He turned to Dany. “In the absence of both my parents, my elder brother Razam helps oversee Meereen with the council of the Dragon Army General Slow Hound. I consider my duty here no less of importance.”

“And I can tell you take it with total seriousness, young lord. Your father has trained you in the combat arts?”

“I have had such an honor, Your Grace, as well as the training of other officers,” Sahar said.

“Kepa has begun my training, but I have much to learn,” said Rhaegar, who appeared next to Dany. "You must have learned much already,”

“I have strived to, young prince,” Sahar replied.

Rhaegar’s violet eyes gazed up at the older boy, and his sharp gaze beheld some sharp ridged scars jutting diagonally from under his armpit and around his rib cage. “Did you receive those scars in combat, my lord, or in training?”

“Not quite, young prince,” Sahar replied. “These were gained under the slaver’s whips, when I was still in bondage in the slave pits of Yunkai.”

Rhaegar appeared struck silent for a time, but then nodded his head and then bowed.
“Those were scars of combat, then.”

“You are wise for your years, Prince of the High Kingdom,” Missandei said to the boy.

“My muna and kepa taught me well,” Rhaegar said.

“Indeed.”

“Your Grace, I wish to introduce you to some of my other children, as well,” Missandei said. “These are Lawanna, Corrino, and Tyanna Dragonclaw.”

The three of them introduced themselves to Dany and her children. Lawanna was around two and ten name days, with an olive complexion, straight black hair, and almond eyes. Dany was not sure if she was of Qartheen or Yi-Ti origins, or some combination of the two.

Corrino and Tyanna appeared to be the same age as the twins. Both had the complexion of medium tea, and hair the same texture and length of Missandei’s, except with a reddish tinge. Both had a broad nose and wide, dark eyes, and the twins were quick to greet them.

“Your Grace, I would be happy to look after young Benjen while you and Mother talk,” Lawanna said. “I have had the honor of looking after several of my younger siblings when the occasion called for it.”

The offer took Dany by surprise. “Well, I do have a wet nurse with me to help me with Benjen. Lanna is following with the remainder of our party, but I would be happy to allow you to assist for now.” She carefully lifted the silk sling carrying Benjen from over her shoulder and laid in across the young girl’s.

“Hello, Benjen,” Lawanna whispered to him. “Such a pretty boy you are, yes you are.” Benjen looked entranced as the girl lightly tapped the tip of his nose as she smiled.

“Let us take you to where we shall be staying,” Missandei said. “We wished you and the admiral to meet with some of our local officials before we begin the rest of our journey.”

“Of course, lead the way,” Dany responded.

As the crowd around the port cheered their departure, the party walked through the port gate and into the city proper.

“Lady Missandei,” Lyanna asked, “do you know why there are different colored red bricks in the walls? They don’t happen to have any pattern I can see.”

“You have a clever eye there, My Princess,” Missandei responded. “In the years since the High Kingdom came to govern this city, much has been done to repair the city walls and defenses left to crumble and deteriorate over the centuries, much less decades. Some engineers, with the help of Dragon Army soldiers and recruits, have been busy making these repairs, which are all but finished. The darker-colored bricks are those most recently made and placed into the walls.”

“Erm, Lady Missandei? I do not wish to speak wrong, but is it sensible to have soldiers do this work?” Rhaegar asked, his face filled with concern. “Might it not remind them of… slave work?”

“I can speak of this, Mother,” Sahar said. “The Dragon Army soldiers learn new skills they can put to use in the days when their enlistments run their course. In truth, they have not minded working to make the defenses of this city stronger, as it is to their benefit in the event of attack.”

“And also, Son, the members of the Night’s Army in Westeros are also assisting with the construction of public works, especially the improvements to the roads and fortifications there,” Dany replied.

“Ah, that makes sense. Sorry if my question was wrong…”

“Not at all, Rhaegar,” Missandei said. “Your mother always said you and your siblings were inquisitive children.”

“Thank you, My Lady.”

They proceeded through the streets, following Missandei and her party, until they came upon a large, stepped red-brick pyramid, tucked into the center of the city. Standing four hundred feet tall, it was decorated with trees, vines, and flowers on its terraces and boasted a carved three-dimensional relief of a dragon at its very top.

“The Pyramid of Dragons, Your Graces,” Missandei said.

“Wait, I recognize this place,” Dany replied. “Did this not used to be known as the Pyramid of Nakloz, after the house it belonged to?”

“It did, and it was Kraznys mo Nakloz whom you agreed to trade one of your dragons for the use of the Unsullied.”

“Which dragon was that, Muna?” Lyanna asked.

“The trade was not completed, sweetling,” Dany responded, choosing to spare them the gory details.

“After Kraznys’… passing, his house eventually fled the pyramid and the city during subsequent fights and rioting,” Missandei said. “Rather than gift it to some family, it now serves as the administrative center of the High Kingdom’s government here in Astapor.”

“And it seems to have gotten some fixing, too,” Rhaegar said, pointing to clusters of darker red bricks in the structure.

“It has at that, young Prince,” said Missandei.

#

Lawanna and the other Dragonclaw children save for Sahar offered to entertain the Targaryen children on a terraced parlor facing to the east, while Dany, Lord Aurane, Ser Bonifer and their party climbed the main staircase to the main meeting chamber of the pyramid. The main lord had once had a throne at the raised platform in the room, and now a long rectangular table sat there instead.

“This now is where the Astapor council meets and does business,” Missandei said. “We have three of their number here to meet with us.”

Three men stood in front of the table. All had a clear Ghiscari origin, with amber skins, dark noses, and reddish black hair. They were well dressed in red, gold, and emerald silks, and wore fringed tokars Dany noticed were much shorter and less unwieldy than those of the slave era Astapor.

Missandei made the formal introduction of the High Queen of New Valyria and Westeros to the men, as well as her companions. “And now, Your Grace, may I introduce Yazar of the newly created House Romar, the chairman of the Council of Astapor.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Yazar said, as he and the other men kneeled before her. “We welcome you to Astapor, the new gateway to the East.” He was the eldest of the party, somewhere around fifty namedays, barely Dany’s height but with a firm, muscular frame and hands that had seen much wear and tear in years past. He wore his beard in a twin fork that nearly reached his chest.

“Newly created?” Dany asked. “You were once in bondage?”

“Once before, but no longer and nevermore,” he said with a smile.

“Where did you previously serve in bondage?”

“I began as a sailor on the slaver gallass Hardship, Your Grace,” he replied. “Many of those who transported slaves around these waters were themselves slaves. In time, I learned the ways of the wind and waves and stars, and thus how to travel over the waters. When not serving Your Highness’ council, my ships now carry goods east all the way to Qarth and all the way to the western coast of Westeros.”

“We noticed the larger number of seagoing vessels in the harbor, and its expansion,” Lord Aurane said. “This is an intentional plan of Astapor’s.”

“We realize the reasoning for Meereen serving as the capital of New Valyria, and it is a reasonable one, due to its size and central location in these realms,” Lord Yazar said. “However, with Astapor being the largest southern port of Dragons’ Bay, we see it as serving as a central merchant hub of New Valyria. The Red City has the most protected harbor of any of the major cities of the realm, excepting perhaps New Ghis.”

“I imagine your city has been busy attempting to replace the slave trade with… more honorable ones,” Ser Bonifer said.

“It has, led by those who once were enslaved by it,” Lord Yazar said. “We now serve as the training ground of the Dragon Army, but we are its main armorer.”

“Armorer?” Ser Bonifer asked.

“The lands around Astapor are rich in base metals, ingredients for bronze, but mostly iron.” He pointed to the second man. “Lord Eimar can speak of this.”

The second man was taller and a full decade younger than Yazar, clean shaven and with such broad shoulders it reminded her of her cousin and goodbrother Gendry. “Eimar of the Hammer, Your Grace,” he said, kneeling. “I was a slave in the smithies of the Good Masters for many a year, but I now serve as head of the Smithing Guild of Astapor.”

“The armorer of New Valyria, then?” Ser Bonifer asked.

“This is the Red City,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Any of the rocks and dirt surrounding this city can be smelted into a halfway decent ore in the bloomeries of Astapor. We have heard of your Street of Steel in King’s Landing, your Stormlands Steel, but we could make enough steel here to pave the road between Astapor and Meereen.”

“As a Stormlander myself, I have a preference for the Stormlands Steel,” Ser Bonifer said, patting the hilt of his own sword. “But I would be curious to see the work of your comrades.”

“We could certainly arrange it,” Eimar said. “Our smiths work equally well with bronze, brass, silver, and gold alike. We can be the forge of New Valyria as well as its port of call.”

“Speaking of port of call, I have someone else for you to meet, High Queen.” He led the third man forward. “May I present Oran er Izar, Admiral of the Astapor Home Fleet.”

“Your Grace.” The admiral was a darker amber shade than most Ghiscari, with a mane of dark woolly hair reaching to his shoulders and a wooly mustache that extended below his mouth. He wore black leather armor and matching trousers and thigh-high boots, and his tunic was silk, one-half purple and the other half-pink. Gold and silver rings ornamented all his fingers except his thumbs, and a heavy navy cutlass hung at his belt.

“Oran er Izar,” Lord Aurane said, a finger to his whiskered chin, “are these your native waters? “I recall hearing the name of a certain pirate named Oran who frequented the waters of the Stepstones, Summer Isles, and northern Sothoryos, plundering vessels wherever they could be found.”

“I was once, but no longer, my lord,” Oran said.

“May I ask what prompted you to no longer reave and raid the southern seas, Admiral?” Dany asked, one eyebrow raised. “I assume you do so no longer?”

“You are correct, Your Grace,” Oran noted with another bow. “I was in Meereen unloading some… goods for trade in the marketplace there when I received a request from Lord Grey Worm to attend a dinner in the Great Pyramid.”

“We knew of Captain Oran’s reputation, both myself and Lord Yazar” Missandei explained. “We believed he could be a useful person for the protection of New Valyria, and after an extended dinner conversation, he agreed as well.”

“The First Minister graciously agreed to pardon myself, my main lieutenants, and a certain number of my more… reliable men in exchange for serving in Your Grace’s navy,” Oran said.

“I thought the example of the Dragon Army and the Night’s Army in that service could serve as well on the waves as on the land,” Missandei said.

“And, as First Minister of New Valyria, you certainly have the discretion to make such a decision,” Dany pointed out. “If you wish to make this a more formalized policy, however, perhaps we would need to have a discussion on the matter.”

“I would certainly be open to beginning that discussion, Your Grace,” Missandei said. “for it matches a discussion Lord Yazar, Admiral Oren, Lord Grey Worm, and myself have continued to have about the naval strength of New Valyria.”

“Yes?” Dany replied.

To her surprise, Missandei and the others turned to Admiral Oren. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but I’ve had the opportunity over the past twenty years or so to be acquainted with the Royal Fleet of Westeros. In an intimate manner, that is. While I am sure you wish nothing else but the protection of your people from all manners of danger. In all sincerity, Your Highness, the royal fleet is no longer fit for purpose.”

Missandei moved to speak, but Dany patted her on the shoulder in reassurance. “Admiral, could you explain what you mean?”

“Aye, Your Grace.” He led the party to a map of Westeros and the known realms, lying on the table on the raised platform. “As you see, the fleet patrols along the waters immediately bordering Westeros. Whether such a navy is of the quality of say, the Sealord of Braavos – and I am not assured of this at the moment – there is a more fundamental problem.”

“And this is?”

He pointed first to Westeros, and then to the area of New Valyria, both colored on the map in Targaryen crimson. “You have lands here and here,” Oren said, “but they patrol in practice these waters.” Using a graphite stylus, he drew an oval around Westeros. “Unfortunately, however, there is no longer a land bridge between the two continents, and your fine dragons might be able to carry you and your family, but not your armies. Thus, the High Kingdom needs to be a naval power, even more than a land power.”

“What do you say we need, then?” Lord Aurane asked.

“For us, my lord, we would need at least three fleets to do the job properly. If I may?” Dany nodded. Oran now produced a writing utensil made of red ochre. “Two here.” He drew two overlapping ovals on either side of Westeros, one covering the western coast on the Sunset Sea and the waters off the southern coast of Dorne, and the other covering the eastern coast of Westeros from the Shivering Sea to the north down to the Stepstones in the Narrow Sea. He drew a third oval, perpendicular to the others but overlapping the second, which covered the waters off the southern coast of New Valyria. “Three fleets, reliant on each other for support, yet independent in patrolling their own waters.”

“I see,” Dany said, glancing down at the map. “Admiral, would it surprise you that my Minister of Sail, Lord Davos Seaworth, has not only proposed something similar to your plan, but has begun its implementation?”

Both the old pirate’s bushy eyebrows rose at the statement, but he kept any further reaction to himself. “Not in particular. The Onion Knight is a crafty mariner for a Greenlander, so I would not be surprised at his thinking.”

“Admiral, we have begun to assemble the fleets that you have suggested here and here as we now speak,” Dany said, pointing to the ovals surrounding Westeros. “One of the purposes of our progress in New Valyria, which we are not proclaiming to any who might hear, is to begin the process of building such a fleet here in Dragons’ Bay. Would you be willing to lead this fleet for me, and the High Kindgom?”

The old pirate knelt before her. “If you were willing to give me such an honor, it would be an equal honor to accept.”

“The question now should be asked, would you be able to create a fleet sufficient to protect the waters of New Valyria?” Lord Aurane replied.

Admiral Oren nodded. “If given the ability to recruit capable men using the pardoning power of your Lord Commanders of the Dragon Army and the Night’s Army, I can find you all the sailors we would need for such a task. All we would need is the lumber to build the ships needed. The forests near Yunkai and on the Isle of Cedars are barely enough to maintain our merchant and fishing fleets; they are entirely insufficient to build a force of ships. We have sufficient shipbuilders and workers in Astapor, but we will need lumber for them to work their craft.”

“My goodsister, Queen Sansa of the North of Westeros, has answered your call before it was made,” Dany replied. “She is sending a shipment of lumber from her lands that will be able to meet at least your initial needs.”

“I thank you, Your Grace,” Oren said with a bow.

“We can discuss the makeup of the fleet, as well,” Lord Aurane said. “You would wish it to be based in Astapor?”

“In part, but there would also be a presence in Meereen, of course,” Oren said. “As protection for our trade routes, it would make sense to have a base on New Ghis, at least, and perhaps Elyria.”

“We could have such a discussion later,” Lord Yazar said. “For now, perhaps we can sit and enjoy a dinner made up of some of the bounty from Dragons’ Bay.”

“We have appreciated the hospitality of Astapor,” Dany said with a nod. “I look forward to a good meal with both old and new friends.”

Chapter Text

6.

Rhaegar

It would have been simpler with Father here.

He was glad to be here with Mother, it was true, and she was always sensitive to his moods and needs. However, there were certain problems and worries he had only his father in particular could deal with.

As long as he could remember, Rhaegar found himself comparing himself to his father. Lyanna and his mother often felt it was silly to do so, but he couldn’t help himself. His father was not only the most famed person in Westeros, but one for whom the minstrels already sang ballads celebrating his deeds both before and after his crowning. Many of them told of things too fantastic ever to be true. Most of the ballads seemed too florid to Rhaegar, but he enjoyed a few which originated in the North. There was one called “The Arisen,” which supposedly told of how his father had risen from the dead to wreak vengeance upon his killers. He’d asked neither of his parents if there was anything to this, because it seemed so fantastic. Then there was “Good King Jon,” which told of how he had rallied the North and their allies to defeat the Others. Finally, there was “The Hidden Dragon,” which told of how Father was raised in secret in the guise of being Lord Eddard’s bastard. He found himself getting a bit teary-eyed the first time he heard the song as he thought of his father feeling isolated in his childhood home, even with the love of his adopted father and siblings.

And this was Rhaegar’s dilemma. He saw his father as an accomplished man, who had not had an easy life growing up and as a youth faced many trials and tribulations. But Rhaegar… when he was born, he became Prince of Dragonstone. He would have want for nothing – not the love of his family, not for food and shelter. And he lived in a Westeros at peace, and New Valyria, although in a more uncertain situation, was at peace as well.

He remembered the first time he visited his Aunt Arya and Uncle Gendry in their massive keep, Storm’s End, a year ago. Uncle Gendry had shown him around the smithy he’d built for himself in the main tower and explained how steel was forged with fire and hammer and showed how it was done. Rhaegar realized his father had thus been forged, by what he’d experienced. I fear there is no such fire to forge me.

“Rhae?” he heard Lyanna’s voice behind him.

He had been staring out from the aft of The Sea Dragon. Although the Valyrian road connecting Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen was in good if well-worn condition, Mother had reckoned their party would travel faster by ship. So, Lady Missandei, her children, and her party had joined them on their flotilla as they made their way north along the coast of Dragons’ Bay.

Lyanna beamed at him as she tapped him on the shoulder. “What you thinking about?”

“Probably too much, Lya,” Rhaegar said as he turned around. “What did you want?”

“Corrino and Tyanna are at the forecastle, on the lookout for Yunkai when we can see it. Come with us?” Lyanna said, holding out her hand.

Rhaegar took it and walked with her toward the front of the ship. He was close to all his brothers and sisters, but obviously he had a special closeness to his twin. She had an uncanny ability to sense his moods. He was glad she invited him to join the other children at the front of the vessel.

Lawanna was there, as well, carefully watching Benjen as he was beginning to master the art of crawling along the unsteady deck of a pitching ship. Rhaegar could swear his baby brother appeared to pose as he successfully sat up on his own, arms raised. “Hello, everyone. Benjen is showing off again, it seems,” Rhaegar said.

Seated cross-legged on the deck, Lawanna swept the babe up and sat him in her lap. “Young prince, I have not heard the name Benjen before. It does not sound Valyrian.”

“It is the name of my late great-uncle, Benjen of House Stark,” Rhaegar said. “Kepa said he was a great warrior and ranger of the Old Watch. He died saving Kepa’s life.”

“A fine name, then,” Lawanna said.

“Where did you get your name, Lawanna? You and Corrino and Tyanna, where did you get your names?” Rhaegar asked.

Lawanna hugged Benjen to her. “It was given by my master. My old name I no longer use, because I was enslaved under that name. But Father told us the story of how he chose his name, and I decided to follow his example.”

“We did as well,” Corrino said. “Tyanna and I don’t remember the names we were given by our birth parents, or even who they were. We were babes when they were taken from them.”

“That sad to hear,” Lyanna said. “I can’t even imagine not knowing who my parents are or even being apart from them. We miss Kepa so much, even though we know we will see him soon in Meereen.”

“But we’re happy now,” Tyanna said. “We feel lucky Mother and Father chose us to be part of their family. We now feel like we belong, when before we belonged to others and had no home.”

Corrino nodded. “Mother said she cried the day she met us in the home for the slave children, because she wished to bring all the children into her home but she couldn’t give us all a home.”

“You mean she couldn’t give them a place in her home, though,” Lawanna said. “She made sure to find homes for all the children with others. And we have more than twenty brothers and sisters, so Mother has been generous with her home.”

“It sounds lovely, choosing a family rather than simply having one,” Lyanna said as she sat down across from Lawanna and Benjen. “But I think our family is a loving one, not because we are of the same blood, but because Muna and Kepa make sure to prove they love and care for us. But any family can do this, whether bound by blood or not.”

“True,” Corrino said. He looked out over the railing on the forecastle and then sat back down with the other children. “Yunkai’s not here yet. What do you want to talk about now?”

“I’ve a question,” Lyanna said. “Lawanna, thank you for keeping an eye on Benjen, but… is it not tiring to look after a babe all the time? I know Muna often seems weary when Benjen can’t sleep, and she said I and Rhae and my other brothers and sisters were not sleepy sometimes too.”

“You’re right, My Princess, it can be tiring and demanding,” Lawanna said, turning Benjen around in her lap so he could face her. “Certainly when babes or other children are not in good moods, it can be. But I enjoy being with them, playing with them, the enjoyment they get out of our games. It is something I manage to do well, but I suppose it is no different than some boys do better riding horses, while others are more skilled at traveling by sail, or girls who are no good at cleaning their home but do well at weaving new rugs or singing, for example. For me, however, the smiles from the babes are worth it.” Right as if her words were a prompt, Benjen grinned from ear to ear as he began to totter to his feet.

“Eh,” Rhaegal said. “Hope we get to Yunkai soon. Not that I hate sailing, but there’s not too much to do on a ship. We can’t ride horses, our wolves are at home, and you can’t practice bow and arrow because the ship pitches too much.”

“Excuse me, wolves?” Tyanna said. “How can you have wolves at your home?”

“Oh, right,” Rhaegal said. “Actually, they’re direwolves, a bit bigger than the regular ones. It is the symbol of my Kepa’s family, House Stark in the North. Kepa has a direwolf named Ghost who has been with him for years before he became king. He has a mate, Sprirt, and they have pups. Both Lya and I have direwolf pups, but they had to stay behind for our progress. I miss them. Once you get to know them, they can be very friendly.”

“What are their names?”

“Mine is named White Claw, because he’s as white as his father,” Rhaegar said. “Lya’s is Seabreeze because she likes to gaze out toward Blackwater Bay every night.”

“How can wolves live in a city, though?” Corrino said. “Aren’t they supposed to live in woods?”

“You make a good point,” Rhaegar responded. “They adapt to life in the Red Keep well enough, and the godswood is their favorite place there, but they like to go out and hunt every so often. There is a secret passage they take from the Red Keep to the outer walls of the city, and then they can walk across the Dragons’ Span over the Blackwater and into The Kingswood on the other side.”

“They just walk across the bridge on their own?” Tyanna yelped. “Don’t they frighten the children or maybe the horses as they go? They’re supposed to be huge.”

“The adult ones can grow to the size of a pony or perhaps bear, but they cause no trouble,” Lya said. “Their kepa and muna travel with them and they all hunt together. All the Kingslanders know of them and give them their space, and the gold cloaks look out for them – as if anyone would threaten our direwolves.”

“Do you have any animal friends, pets?” Rhaegar said.

“I don’t, because Mother and Father are very insistent we have to feed and care for our pets ourselves, and I’m a bit too forgetful sometimes,” Corrino said. “I wouldn’t want to harm an animal by not looking out for him. Maybe later.”

“I have a cat I call Smokey because of her fur,” Tyanna said. “Two of my sisters are looking out for her in Meereen while we travel. She’s a very sweet kitty and gets along with everyone, but I can’t teach her to do any tricks.”

“White Claw’s not much for tricks, either, but he’s a clever boy,” Rhaegar said. “At this point I think he could find his way in and out of the Red Keep with a cloth over his eyes.”

“A shame I won’t be able to meet him, though,” Tyanna said.

“Well, maybe we can show you our…”

“Rhae, shhh,” Lya said. “We not supposed to tell about them.”

“This different, though, Lya,” Rhaegar said. “Corrino and Tyanna are friends, our families are friends.” He turned back to Tyanna. “We’ll show you when we get to Meereen, promise.”

“All right,” Tyanna said, nodding.

“Look,” Corrino said. “Yunkai’s right there in the distance.”

With that, their conversation came to a brief close as they took in the yellow-bricked walls surrounding the city.