Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Malcolm Tent, Priapus, Marethyu, Mike God of Lore, Beans
The Unbound
Chapter 21: Day of the Warrior
— King Orys Baratheon —
To call the wedding an extravagant affair would be a considerable understatement. The entire affair lasts seven days, each dedicated to one of the Seven.
Oddly enough, the actual wedding ceremony is on the sixth day, dedicated to the Mother, as the seventh is dedicated to the Stranger.
As with seemingly every part of the tourney and wedding, there was an argument over whether the sixth day should be dedicated to the Mother or the Father. The Lannisters wanted it dedicated to the Father, being more male focused, while the Tyrells wanted the opposite so it would be more focused on the bride. At the end of the day, the Tyrells paid for the wedding and did most of the planning for it so they got their way.
Today, the first day, is the day of the Warrior. In truth? It feels like another day of the tournament.
Well, that's not fair. They arranged for martial performers from across the lands to show off their skills today. It's more of an exhibition than a competition.
"You seem a little exasperated, your Grace," Lady Alerie says, getting a quiet laugh from me.
"Maybe a little," I admit, watching the water dancers of Braavos. "I have to admit, this entire affair is a little too extravagant for my tastes. The tourney was just as guilty, but it had the benefit of coming first so I could hide it better."
"I can't say I disagree," Alerie admits after a moment.
The plans got even further overblown after my 'blessings' became known. It went from a royal wedding to a borderline divine wedding and the Faith got involved. Olenna doesn't seem pleased at her carefully crafted plans being changed at the last second but she's not going to make an enemy of the Faith at a time like this. The Faith is enjoying a boost to their legitimacy and power by pure extension of my blessings.
But at the same time, the more faithful members of the highborn and members of the Faith itself have argued that this is too extravagant and bordering on blasphemy. Only the most zealous are calling it that, given the support of the crown, the Faith, and the Tyrells, but there have been whispers all the same.
Fortunately, they aren't from people who actually have the power to cause a scene for one simple reason. People in power know how to play the game, and openly being antagonistic to the Tyrells (and by extension, Hightowers) isn't how you stay in power as a member of the Faith. Nor would the smarter ones want to antagonise the Crown at a time when the Faith seems closer to the King than they've been in decades.
Essentially, it's countryside Septons and Begging Brothers that are making a fuss and they don't have the influence to do more than blow hot air. Some smallfolk might listen, but the Tyrells are also using this to show off their wealth and how good a Tyrell Queen is by spreading alms throughout the same smallfolk that are being preached to. The Tyrells, likely orchestrated by Olenna, want the Smallfolk to see a Tyrell Queen as a blessing, and they've put a lot of effort into wooing the people of King's Landing.
Between my reputation and the food and coin they're getting from the Tyrells, the worst of the complaints are falling on deaf ears. Still, I can see the start of a schism in the Faith. Not all are convinced of my 'blessed' status, it seems.
There's a travelling septon calling himself The Sparrow that seems to be convincing the most people of the sinful lavishness of this wedding. He's charismatic, no doubt. Oddly enough, he's avoided mentioning me at all in his sermons and speeches. Instead, he has focused his ire upon the High Septon and the current administration of the Faith for indulging this wasteful extravagance.
He might be a problem. If he gets enough support to become High Septon, I can already tell he won't be anywhere near as… pliable as the current one. It's not a problem for the immediate future since High Septons keep their position for life, but it'd be an ironic pain if I empowered the Faith through my actions only for the next High Septon to become a problem. Ideally, the current one lives long enough for Tommen to take his position, but the current High Septon is a glutton.
Well, he's a glutton who has direct access to the Chalice of the Mother. It won't stop his bad habits from killing him, but it will at least slow down his inevitable end.
"I suppose it doesn't help that more than a few people are expecting you to pull out a blessing from each of the Seven on their appropriate day," Alerie agrees softly.
"Too true. It's foolish to think the Gods will act according to a schedule set by men," I snort. Well, they just might. A couple of public blessings would go a long way to silencing the complaints.
Mara has already agreed to bless my wedding, but then it is her domain and in her own words, her favourite part of the position. Zenithar thinks this is as over the top as I do. Still, he understands the need to make a showing to further reinforce his position as 'the Smith'.
The simple truth is that we are performing the greatest con in the history of Westeros. The Gods won't jump to follow my orders, but they'll jump at a chance to gain new followers and a foothold in this world.
There's already been a massive argument whether the day of the Mother and the Smith should be renamed to Mara and Zenithar's Day. In the end, I put a stop to that by pointing out that it felt wrong to only name two of them when we don't know the rest of the names.
The name issue has been a point of contention for the Faith, but 'my' side is winning simply because… well, we have blessings and the other side don't. If the Mother doesn't approve, why do we have a chalice that heals with golden water?
But there is a large movement that believes that the Gods shouldn't be named. Not that they shouldn't have names, but that we mortals shouldn't speak them freely. Part of why the High Septon abandons his own name when he takes the post is because he's supposed to be an avatar or mouthpiece for those nameless gods and shouldn't have a name, only a title, in the same vein as the Gods. I'll have to change that before Tommen takes the seat, I won't have my brother toss aside his name in the service of the gods.
Despite her agreement, I know Alerie herself is hoping to see more signs of divinity. She isn't meant to be seated here, but as the mother of the bride and a Hightower, she has some sway. I suspect she's gone against Olenna's plan with this, but it seems that Alerie's increasingly zealous nature has caused a rift, as Olenna is not the type to hold her tongue, even when dealing with the Gods. I've allowed it because if I must have a zealot as a goodmother, she might as well be zealous in her support of me rather than a thorn in my side and relationship.
"I do hope your lack of enthusiasm isn't aimed at my daughter, but I suspect that's not the case," Alerie adds after a moment, her lips twitching slightly.
"It certainly isn't. If anything, I'm just frustrated they've put five extra days in the way of her being my wife," I reply easily. It's not like the entire castle and seemingly all of King's Landing haven't heard of our storeroom escapade from my father's boasting and joking.
Mother was the one to say that we shouldn't put a stop to it because it humanises me a little. Between the massive changes I've been making and my blessed nature, it's easy for people to fear me and fear leads to suspicion and scheming. If they see that I'm still a teenage boy under it all, it makes me seem less threatening. Of course, she also wants to further my reputation until I'm above reproach or challenge but for now, it helps.
If I appear too inhuman, awe will turn to dread. It also makes me seem unapproachable which comes with its own problems.
"Margaery said something similar. She wasn't thrilled at her wedding becoming such a… spectacle," Alerie admits with a small smile. "Royal weddings always are, of course, but this one has gone beyond even the expected grandeur."
"Indeed," I agree, my eyes wandering the crowd of 'honoured' guests. Beyond the expected Highborn, we have more than a few foreign guests in attendance. Merchant princes, the Sealord's son and his concubines and finally… slave traders.
Diplomacy aside, the fact that some of the Essos men feel so confident as to bring slaves into my kingdom is infuriating. I can't just cut off their heads, the realm isn't stable enough for me to pick a fight with the free cities, but I still find it… vexing as I lay eyes on a particularly fat bastard from Astapor. One of the 'good masters'.
He wasn't invited but showed up anyway. There's a lot of that going around but the wedding is generally open for everyone.
It's separated into two main events, one for the smallfolk and another for the important guests. The Tyrells really went all out, and it benefits them to have more people see their future queen. But by making it open, they've opened the place up for anyone who feels like showing their face, and while I might find their… business extremely distasteful, it doesn't change the fact that they're too influential and wealthy for me to kick them out and have them join the smallfolk celebration.
"Olenna wasn't pleased at their arrival either," Alerie almost whispers as she spots me staring at Kraznys mo Nakloz. He's an arrogant, fat bastard who seems to be taking pleasure in showing off his merchandise and boasting about how much more sophisticated Astapor is to us 'sunset savages'.
Mephala whispers in my ear, offering to send a single spider his way but I don't give in to the temptation. Not because I don't want him dead, but because a single slaver dying is far from enough.
If the Free Cities had continued to ignore me, then I'd have been willing to ignore them right back. Well, until matters in Westeros were well and truly settled at least. I'm sure my ambition would have driven my eyes eastward eventually but while they might not care for the Seven as Westeros do, they do care for power.
The very nature of the Free Cities means that if even one of them decides to deal with the Seven Kingdoms, the rest must follow suit or risk being left behind. Qohor's attention meant the rest turned their eyes to the west, wondering how they could use me and my blessings for their own ends.
Arianne's words about Dorne ring through my ears once more. She was right to point out that Dorne is foreign and alien to me, and the Free Cities are doubly so. I have a general understanding of the political climate in Essos but nothing beyond that.
The intricacies and major figures of the Free Cities are unknown to me, and that puts me at a disadvantage I simply cannot afford while dealing with them.
I can't start a war with them, not yet. Nor do I want to start something that would have Essosi forces invading a recovering Westeros. No, if I want to deal with them then this will require more… subtlety.
Besides, if the Targaryen girl ever turns her gaze back to the west, she'll need support that the Dothraki can't provide. I won't hunt her for the crime of existing, but the Dothraki do business with the slaver cities. It's possible that one day Daenerys, or her children, will find support from those slaver cities and try to reclaim the Iron Throne. Ensuring they cannot provide support, either Unsullied or financial aid, to a future attempt is simply logical.
As I proved with the Ironborn, I'm not afraid of bloodshed if it is for the good of my realm. I just want to ensure the ones who bleed are my enemies and rivals, not my subjects.
"I'm just glad Ser Bonifer and his men have arrived. I'm sure most of the visitors simply wish to see the chalice but I don't trust our eastern guests," I reply softly.
Ser Bonifer has become the Knight of the Father, and with him comes his holy hundred. They might not be the strongest, but their faith is known throughout the land and it makes them the perfect guardians of the Chalice of Mara and any other divine artefact I choose to craft.
"I've heard that the Grand Sept has seen more visitors since the reveal of the chalice than it usually does in a year. Or three," Alerie says, her own eyes narrowed at the idea of the chalice being stolen by Essos.
"The High Septon believes it has become something of a pilgrimage destination for the faithful," I explain with a small smile.
More than that, it's become a source of… hope. Even the bedridden Hoster Tully has risen from his deathbed to make the trip in the hopes that the Chalice can cure his illness. He's a talented Lord Paramount who has kept the Riverlands in good order for his time as Lord, so I won't mind him clinging to life just a little longer despite his advanced age.
Crippled knights and ill lords alike are looking to the Grand Sept with hope and while Mara (rightfully) takes the lion's share of the credit, the High Septon ensures that nobody forgets that it was Orys the Blessed who forged it.
"It truly is a wonder to behold. My family and the Starry Sept have both expressed a considerable interest in it, and in you, Your Grace," Alerie admits.
Ah, the Starry Sept want their own divine relic, do they? They are the biggest 'rival' for the Grand Sept and the more power that gets consolidated under the High Septon, the more irrelevant they become.
And yet, the Hightowers have considerable influence over both the Faith through the Starry Sept and the Maesters through the Citadel. Oldtown holds far more influence than I'd like. It's both the richest and largest city in Westeros.
Ensuring the High Septon does not become too powerful by spreading my blessings to the Starry Sept is not a bad idea. And yet, at the same time, empowering Oldtown further is troubling.
And yet, they are my goodfamily now. Perhaps empowering them further wouldn't be a bad idea to get a better control over the Citadel through the Hightowers? I'll have to think about this more. Historically, Hightower overreach has rarely ended well.
Under my father's reign, each region has been more or less free to be run as the region's lords have seen fit. I'm sure that they've enjoyed this freedom to do as they please after the reign of the Mad King, but that is not how I intend to rule.
"I've heard wonders of the Starry Sept, though I've never had the chance to visit Oldtown myself," I say with a smile, guiding her to speak of her home and family. I don't need Mephala's gift to see the attraction she has for me, and she shares some of Margaery's beauty, aged like the fine wine of the Arbor. Still, while I don't intend to act on it, it's useful in making her one of my unwitting agents.
With a little prying, she even informs me about Margaery's exiled aunt, Lynesse, who apparently ran off with her slaver husband and then left him to become the concubine to a Lyseni merchant prince. Each family has its black sheep, it seems.
At least Joffrey is just a cunt.
Still, I wonder if I could make use of this goodaunt of mine. Lys is a slaver city but likely the least offensive out of them. Shaking my head, I focus again. Between Vale and the Boltons, I need to focus on domestic affairs before I start to truly scheme about the Free Cities.
Though… Mephala has planted herself into the religion of the Summer Isles and I have an exiled Prince just sitting around occasionally begging for us to fight his battles for him.
Mephala's giggling tells me that she's entirely down to use her new worshippers as bait for the Free Cities. Something to think about.
As Margaery arrives, Loras following behind, I hide a chuckle at how harried she seems. She gives me a dirty look, knowing full well why I'm smirking. It's not so funny when it's not me being swarmed, huh?
I might be the star of this show but she's sharing the spotlight.
"Six more days," I mutter under my breath, getting a sigh from her.
"Believe me, I know. When this was planned, I wasn't going to be Queen by the end of the week, but your father disrupted everyone's plans," Margaery agrees, giving me a kiss before she takes her seat beside me.
"He seems highly proud of that fact. It doesn't help that he's planning to run North to avoid the mess he left," I laugh. Father doesn't like playing the game, but he doesn't mind flipping the board on his way out. His final act as King was to piss on the plans of the rest of the Highborn and accelerate the schedule. In truth, it's worked out well for me because it means I've had the chance to take advantage of the chaos.
The realm thought they had more time to ingratiate themselves to the next King, to get a better measure of me while I was still just the Crown Prince. Instead, I'm the King when they've had no time to work out how best to approach me and are stuck improvising in a position where a misstep could be far more harmful. It's made them all act with more caution than they would have otherwise.
Of course, the several dozen heads I've taken in my short reign aren't helping there.
I'm almost grateful to fools like Trant and Baelish for helping me show how willing I am to spill blood when wronged. It's ensured that people don't underestimate me for my young age. I'd rather be loved than feared, but as it turns out, you can be both if you play your cards right.
Love stops people from scheming against me directly, and a little fear helps keep them on the lawful path because most people value their necks more than whatever profit they could get through corruption. My father's inaction let them act as they pleased, and I imagine quite a few dubious highborn have stopped their own questionable decisions since Littlefinger and Trant's executions. If I'm willing to behead my Master of Coin and a Kingsguard, and dissolve an entire Great House, nobody is truly safe.
As the exhibition continues, I have to admit that while I do find this all a little much, the performances are truly impressive. I imagine that Olenna paid quite a fortune to draw in so many talented performers from the Seven Kingdoms and beyond.
My eyes fall on the fat slaver once more, seeing his dismissive sneer as he mutters to his group. The arrogant man has acted like this entire day is in his honour, mocking each performance in High Valyrian. My enhanced ears have picked up his disdainful comments and boasts of the skill of his Unsullied.
Despite my words to Alerie, it seems the Gods do indeed act according to the schedules of man as one of the Nine Divines reaches out to me. Unlike the Daedric Princes, the Nine are more unified and those who haven't yet been let in watch through the eyes of their fellow Aedra. I listen patiently, as the God of Mercy, Compassion and Justice speaks to me.
But as with most of the Nine, he's not so limited as Stendarr, God of Righteous Rule by Might expresses his own disdain for the slaver bastard. By his side, mighty Talos, God of Might, Honour, War and Man joins him in sneering at the 'Good Master's' claims.
I'm not entirely sure what a Thalmor is, only that Talos thinks that the Good Masters would make good ones. Something tells me that's not a compliment to either side.
"Orys?" Margaery asks, making me open my eyes which are glowing with a soft golden light. Alerie gasps at the 'telltale sign' that I'm communicating with the divine. I just give them a secretive smile.
As the performances come to a break, I find myself once more playing to the crowds of well wishers. I don't know why they keep praising me for the amazing show, I didn't do shit. As funny as it would be to take the credit for Mace's work, I do make sure to push the praise where it's deserved because amusing myself isn't worth alienating my goodfamily and Olenna is the type to get even.
"A savage stag that thinks it's a dragon," I hear in the distance, muttered High Valyrian insults that weren't meant to be heard. "At least the Targaryen had some elegance."
My eyes land on the source, and despite his arrogance I watch Kraznys mo Nakloz freeze at the unamused look in my eyes. What he doesn't know is why I'm truly annoyed.
His aura has the image of a black goat with red eyes hovering over it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember that Astapor supplies Unsullied to Qohor, and that Qohor worships the Black Goat.
I wondered why a slave trader would bother coming to a land he sees as 'savage' where his very trade is outlawed. Now, I know. I was right to assume that he's here about my Valyrian steel, but he's not here on his own behalf.
Each of the Free Cities has someone here, except Qohor. My miraculous forge makes their 'famed craftsmen' seem pathetic in comparison because simply reforging pre-existing Valyrian steel is no real feat when someone else can forge that same steel from scratch.
I've had security around my Forge increased, but it might be worth increasing it even further.
Well, I wasn't willing to kill the Good Master when he was just flaunting his business. If he's actively working against me on behalf of one of his biggest customers? That's a different matter entirely.
As I'm partaking in the food on offer, and just generally enjoying myself because this really is a well put together event, the main black spot on a mostly bright day does eventually swagger over to me. He seems openly insulted at my Kingsguard preventing his Unsullied from getting closer. As if a foreign merchant would be allowed to just walk up to a King with armed slaves.
If there has ever been a sign of how little Astapor thinks of the Seven Kingdoms, this would be the final nail in the coffin. He's either very confident or outright delusional. Is the black goat in his aura shielding him? Ah, I see. Blood magic.
Interesting. That would explain his sheer confidence in a foreign land hostile to his trade. Instead of speaking to me, he speaks High Valyrian to the dusky-skinned woman by his side. She's well dressed, for a slave.
I can see the chain connecting her aura to his, but she doesn't seem to be a pleasure slave. There's something about her gaze that seems too… intelligent for that.
"The Good Master, Kraznys mo Nakloz, thanks you for the… magnificent showing today, Your Grace," the woman says, hesitating as she generously interprets his words.
"Thank you, but I won't need a translator, I'm perfectly fluent in High Valyrian," I respond, switching to High Valyrian myself. "You didn't seem overly impressed, Kraznys."
"Oh, it was a decent showing, King Orys," Kraznys finally responds. He seems a little put off by my use of his language, but Grandfather would never permit me to not be able to speak the 'noble' tongue regardless of his opinion of the Targaryens. "But I am used to far more impressive showings from my men."
As he speaks, he gestures to his blank-faced Unsullied. I can think of several responses to that, and only four of them are slurs.
Fortunately, I get to keep up my regal image as someone speaks on my behalf.
"I'd hardly call them men, Good Master," an all too familiar voice purrs in High Valyrian, Kraznys turning to the source with a sneer before he pauses at the sight of Arianne.
As always, she's dressed to impress and the fat master's eyes wander her barely covered form before he scoffs at her words. Margaery makes eye contact with Arianne as a silence falls over the buffet, but after a moment she nods and Arianne returns it. For once, they're at least willing to have a ceasefire in the face of an 'outsider'.
"Lady Arianne, a pleasure to see you as always," I greet, genuinely happy to see her for once. I still think she's trouble, but she's a thorn in someone else's side for once. "I don't think I know your friends."
Arianne is leading a small group herself, and while I recognise one as the Sealord's son, the rest are unknown to me.
"How rude of me, my apologies, Your Grace," Arianne replies with a deep, almost-mocking bow. "Allow me to introduce my mother, Lady Mellario of Norvos, and my new friend, Bellegere Otherys, you may have heard of her by her other name, the Black Pearl of Braavos."
The famous courtesan gives me a more respectful curtsy, as does Arianne's mother. With the benefit of hindsight, I can see the connection. Mellario is paler than her daughter, but they share a certainly… womanly charm. Bellegere might just be the first woman I've seen that beats Arianne when it comes to curves, with light brown skin and noble features that remind me that she's descended from dragons. Aegon the… fourth, I think. Yeah, that sounds right.
"And this is my other new friend, Marenzo of House Antaryon," Arianne finishes with a flourish.
"An honour, your grace," the handsome boy, around my own age, says with a respectful bow. "My father sends his well wishes, but could not attend this grand affair in person, much to his regret."
Marenzo is charming, but the main thing that makes me pleased with him is the way that Kraznys looks like he's swallowed a lemon at the presence of three figures of import from the Free Cities.
Still, Arianne has been busy after her little show at court. She's always up to something, isn't she? Dorne is looked down on by the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, so she's looked for allies in the Free Cities.
"A pleasure, and send the Sealord my well-wishes. I've heard much of your city, but I'm afraid this show is one of my only experiences with your culture," I reply easily. "Your Water Dancers are truly impressive. But where are my manners? This is my betrothed, soon to be wife, Lady Margaery Tyrell."
Margaery beams as I place a hand around her waist.
"Charmed. I'm not sure which of you I am more jealous of," Marenzo jokes easily. I suspect homosexuality is more accepted over the seas, but with Oberyn lingering around, I've gotten used to it. The last time I spoke to him, he lazily suggested that I lose two virginities in one night by fucking Ellaria while he fucked me. I declined. "I have to admit, I was surprised to see the former First Sword of Braavos taking part. The House Tyrell has good taste, and better connections."
As we talk, I notice Kraznys growing increasingly red at being ignored. For all his pride, he's just a merchant with a King, a future Queen, the Princess of Dorne and her mother, the Sealord's son and a world-famous courtesan. Yes, we are snubbing him, but at the same time he's genuinely the least important person here and he hates it. Oddly enough, he reminds me of Joffrey a little and that just encourages me to snub him more.
Whatever he planned, it was handily interrupted by Arianne and her new friends. None of us are actively insulting him, but he clearly wanted my attention for something and his attempts to draw the focus back to himself are easily ignored by the group.
Mellario is exactly as charming as I'd expect Arianne to be, and Marenzo seems to be taking pride in poking fun at the fat slaver. Braavos doesn't practice slavery, and while Norvos does, I suspect that it does not have the best relations with Astapor. Margaery's Valyrian is not quite fluent, something I suspect she is going to seek to fix given her expression and her surprise at how fluent Arianne is. I've also noticed Arianne subtly filling in the gaps in my own knowledge, explaining things without actually outright saying she was doing so.
Damn it, she's helping me out and that means I owe her and she's certainly going to call on that later.
"Well, you can hardly blame them," Marenzo says easily, waving off Kraznys' words. "The Water Dancers of Braavos are known throughout the world for their grace and skill. I'm sure your Unsullied are impressive enough for slaves but you can't expect them to be true warriors when you've cut off what made them men."
Marenzo is absolutely going out of his way to piss off Kraznys and I don't know why. Whatever the reason, he's drawn the Good Master's attention entirely to him.
"Perhaps we should give our Astapor guest a chance to prove his boasting?" I cut in, getting their attention with an easy smile. "We've seen Braavosi water dancers, the axes of Norvos, and the archers of the Summer Isles, but we haven't seen anything of Astapor, have we? What do you say, Kraznys? Think your men could put on a show?"
"My creatures are the best warriors in Essos, and I'd be happy to prove it," Kraznys says, flustered and insulted.
"Fascinating. Well, then how about we see how the best of Westeros can handle the best of Essos? You don't mind, do you Barristan?" I ask as my Kingsguard steps up.
"It is my duty to fight your battles for you, Your Grace," Barristan replies simply, one hand on his blade. I know he's not thrilled at being put on display, but I also think he knows me enough to know that this isn't just for fun.
"And you, Loras? Care to show our eastern guests the thorns of the Tyrell Roses?" I continue.
"Happily, Your Grace," Loras agrees, drawing his blade and lazily flourishing it. I suspect he doesn't speak Valyrian, which is why I swapped back, but he's smart enough to be able to tell that Kraznys is a problem. The fat man's tone and stare is telling enough.
Kraznys isn't as subtle as he believes, his eyes snapping to the Valyrian steel blade. I can always count on the Knight of Flowers to show off.
"Ah, of course," I say, getting his attention as I clap my hands together. "It's hardly fair to your… warriors to have them face opponents with such superior gear. Why don't we make it fair. My two versus the ten you brought as bodyguards."
Kraznys outright grits his teeth at that, before he composes himself over how I am dismissing the skill of his warriors.
"If you are so confident, how about a wager?" Kraznys finally says, greed guiding him. "Your skill with steel is known even in Essos, Your Grace. If my men win, forge me a dagger."
"And when mine win?" I ask easily, once again causing him to clench his fists. I wouldn't normally be so undiplomatic, but none of my subjects are going to complain about me antagonising a slaver and if Astapor is working with Qohor, they're going to be a problem no matter what.
"What about your translator? She's most impressive," Margaery cuts in, getting all our attention. "Did you know she speaks nineteen languages, Orys?"
I had noticed Margaery approach the woman whose name I still don't know.
"I wasn't aware that slavery was permitted here?" Kraznys asks venomously.
"It isn't, but I'd be happy to take such a talented woman as one of my handmaidens once she's free," Margaery says, before I notice her sharing a glance with Arianne. Wait, she seems more fluent now. Arianne coached her while the men were busy boasting.
As I said, Arianne is always up to something.
"If that's fine with you… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," I say, turning to the confused young woman.
"This one is Missandei, Your Grace," Missandei finally says, confusion in her golden eyes as she glances at her master.
Kraznys remains unsubtle, what he thinks passes for cunning crossing his eyes. He can't hide his scheming from Mephala, and I can see the way he's seeing this as a 'win-win'. In fact, for just a moment, I think he is considering throwing the fight.
Missandei is too dressed up for a slave that isn't one of the Lyseni pleasure slaves. She's even perfumed. More than that, I can see the tendrils of the black goat touching her. Some kind of charm effect? It's not working because Mephala flicked it away with a laugh, but Kraznys clearly thinks it is working on Margaery instead of me.
"She is a useful creature, but not one I am attached to," Kraznys 'agrees', ignoring the way everyone except Lady Mellario sneers or frowns at how he speaks about another human being. "You have a deal."
He goes to speak to his Unsullied who have remained a distance away, their faces entirely blank and unmoving.
"Barristan, Loras. Crush them," I say, a growl in my tone now that the 'good' master is away. "And someone send word to Varys, I want his little birds watching our guest. Something about him is entirely off."
"It will be done, Your Grace. Slavers have no place in your realm," Barristan agrees softly.
"Dealing with the so-called Good Masters is never an enjoyable experience, Your Grace," Marenzo agrees easily. He has an aura that reminds me of Oberyn, in truth, laid back but undeniably dangerous. "I'll be looking forward to the show, but I hope we can speak more later. We do have some business to discuss."
As he says that, he lazily lifts a chain that was hidden beneath his top, showing off a ceremonial key on the end of it, no longer tucked away.
"I had wondered when you'd come calling," I reply with a wry smile. "The Iron Bank gets its due."
"No need to worry, Your Grace. We're not unreasonable, and we understand that the Seven Kingdoms has been going through an upheaval of late. I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk about, and both walk away rich and happy," Mellario agrees, his arm around the Black Pearl as he struts away.
"Lady Arianne, Lady Mellario, would you care to join us in the Royal Box?" I ask, taking Margaery's hand.
"It would be my honour, Your Grace. I've missed much while away from the Seven Kingdoms, but even I've heard of how much you've done for Dorne," Mellario agrees. Oh gods, another Arianne. Why do I do this to myself? The second I have a free moment, I'm heading into the forest for a hunt.
Well, I've done my part. Your turn, Talos.
It is the Day of the Warrior, after all.
— Bonus Scene — Catelyn Stark
Never, in her life, did she think she'd be happy to smell the unique scent of Kings Landing. Brynden, Robb and Edmure stiffened as a group approached, tired and on guard, but they relaxed as she heard a call of 'Cat'.
Rushing forward, she embraced her husband with an exhausted sigh, almost letting out a laugh at the sight of Robert behind him, fully armoured and gripping his warhammer as if he was expecting them to be pursued by Boltons.
"Why in the seven hells are you two almost nude?" Robert finally asked, looking between Dacey and Robb. "Ah, who cares. Gods, I love the North. Cat!"
Grabbing her in an embrace, he gave her a boyish grin as he slapped Robb on the shoulder. Eddard was more composed, as he thanked Brynden and the Vale group for their aid. While Robert looked younger than she remembered, Eddard looked haggard. She knew why. No matter how much it caused trouble between them, he loved Jon as much as he did any of his children.
"Now, what the bloody hells is that box for?" Robert asked, looking at the covered cage with a frown before he prodded it with his hammer. The entire box shook in response and let out a snarl, making Robert jump back before he simply swung his hammer at it in a response that proved that he was a Northern man in his soul.
The hammer smashed against the wood, breaking part of it open and letting some sunlight into the cage as their prisoner let out a screech of pain.
"Who is she? Why is she nude?" Robert finally asked, watching as Brynden tossed a cloak over the hole. "What'd I miss?"
Eddard just let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead.