"Poisoning should work, shouldn't it?"
In a dim, vaulted room smelling of stale incense and old secrets, a group of Meereenese Great Masters gathered. Their hair was styled into the grotesque wings and horns of Ghiscari tradition, but their faces were masks of cooling sweat and rising panic.
"How? His food and water are unloaded from his own ships at the docks and carried directly to the Great Pyramid by his own iron-clad guards," a man with a pleated beard hissed. "We have no window of opportunity."
"Assassins, then?"
"The man tossed 'The Giant' Gruhl into a marble pillar with one hand! Even the most legendary pit fighter would be a child before him. And if we kill Karstark, what of the fleet? Twenty thousand Northmen would turn Meereen into a heap of ash for the sake of vengeance."
"We could cooperate with Yunkai..."
"The mercenary companies outside care for nothing but plunder! They want Meereen to fall so they can strip our wives and empty our vaults. They are not allies; they are vultures waiting for the lion to finish its meal."
One master, a woman of the noble House of Pahl, slammed her ringed hand onto the stone table. "Are we to tolerate a barbarian from Westeros riding over the descendants of Old Ghis? His goal is the dragons. Give them to him! Let Viserion and Rhaegal leave with him. Slaver's Bay has had enough of the dragons' ravaging."
"Daenerys's retainers would never allow it."
"Then let our children stir the streets. Use the blood of the 'liberated' to make our voices heard. Tell the people Meereen is for Meereenese. Force Barristan to choose between his guest and his city."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The heavy, rapid footsteps of a frightened servant broke the conspiratorial huddle. A hooded figure burst into the room, gasping for breath. "Noble Masters... to the balcony! Look! The dragons... they have been released!"
"What?!"
The masters rushed to the balcony, their silk tokars flapping in the humid breeze. In the distance, the black silhouette of the Yhazzan Pyramid was silhouetted against a terrifying, orange glow. At its apex perched Rhaegal, his green scales shimmering like jade under the starlight.
The dragon opened its maw, spewing a stream of orange fire etched with green light. Small, flaming figures - the Yhazzan guards tumbled from the heights like falling stars, igniting the storehouses below.
"Are we... still executing the plan?" the man with the pleated beard asked, his voice trembling.
The Pahl matriarch watched the fire, her eyes filled with an ancient fear. "Of course. We must praise the fighters who attempt to slay the beast. We must demand the 'King' Hizdahr support us in purging the city of these monsters. Only then will Meereen know peace."
"And the white dragon? Viserion?"
"No one has seen him. He is a ghost in the smoke."
Viserion was no ghost; he was currently limping behind Eddard Karstark through the broad streets toward Daznak's Pit. The white dragon had taken a heavy beating in the pits, and though his spirit was bonded, his body required rest and meat.
The group passed beneath the towering bronze statues of the arena's entrance. Inside, on the blood-stained red sand, dozens of sheep bleated in a panicked, huddling mass.
"This is for you," Eddard said, gesturing to the flock. He had paid for the sheep in Karstark gold, and even the hostly Meereenese merchants hadn't dared refuse the "Wizard's" coin.
Viserion let out a low, appreciative rumble. He spewed a localized burst of golden flame, flash-roasting a handful of sheep on the perimeter. He lunged forward, his black fangs tearing into the charred meat with a primal greed, pinning a second carcass down with a massive claw.
Quentyn Martell stood at the edge of the sand, looking at the dragon with a mix of awe and profound grief. "Lord Eddard... what of Rhaegal? Are you simply going to let him burn the city?"
"The Yhazzan Pyramid is currently the only thing burning," Eddard replied, his tone indifferent. He had removed his mask, revealing his smooth, hairless head, a striking consequence of the dragonfire. "The Yhazzans are enemies of the Queen and slavers of the worst sort. If they burn, the world gets a little brighter."
"But you only tamed Viserion," Quentyn pressed. "Are you giving up on Rhaegal? He is a weapon of war!"
Eddard turned to the Prince of Dorne, his grey-blue eyes hard. "A dragon is not a sword, Quentyn. It is a creature with the mind of an impulsive child and the power of a volcano. I have Viserion. That is enough. A man can only ride one beast at a time, and a dragon once tamed by me will rarely answer to another."
Eddard thought of his wolves and the bear back in Harrenhal. "Rhaegal will find his master, but it will not be me. Perhaps it will be Jon Snow, a man with the blood of the wolf and the dragon. But for now, he is free to vent his rage."
Quentyn sighed, the weight of his failed mission crushing his shoulders.
"Don't sigh, boy," Eddard comforted him, patting his shoulder. "Revenge is human, but the Lannisters are already broken. Tywin is a Crow, Cersei is a Sister, and I fed Gregor to the earth myself. If Dorne persists in trying to put a Targaryen on the Iron Throne, you aren't seeking justice, you're seeking a catastrophe. Go home. Go see your mother in Norvos."
As they spoke, a squad of Brazen Beasts arrived, led by a furious Ser Barristan Selmy.
"Lord Eddard!" Barristan roared, his white cloak stained with the blood of the King's guards. "Why did you release them? You have destroyed the fragile peace the Queen bled to build! This is madness! It is betrayal!"
Eddard didn't move. He simply looked at the broken iron chains still dangling from Viserion's neck. "Look at the chains, Ser Barristan. Look at the melted iron on the doors. Those pits couldn't hold them for another week. I didn't release them - I directed them. Better they vent their anger on slavers' pyramids than on the innocent."
Eddard turned his head. "Am I right, Viserion?"
The white dragon, sheep blood dripping from his fangs, paused and gave two slow, deliberate nods. Then, he let out a piercing hiss toward the sky. A moment later, an answering roar echoed from the Yhazzan Pyramid. Rhaegal took flight, green wings thundering as he descended into the arena to join his brother's feast.
Barristan stood frozen, his gauntlet-clad hand trembling. "You... you can speak to them?"
"I can," Eddard said. "Now, tell me. Did the 'King' confess?"
Barristan's anger was briefly replaced by a weary professional satisfaction. "Hizdahr denies the poisoning, but he tried to set pit fighters on me. I killed them and threw him in a cell. He claims you and the Dornish are the true conspirators."
"Pit fighters are useful in a sandbox, Ser, but they don't know what it's like to fight a man in plate," Eddard noted. "So, what is the plan?"
"We must secure the city," Barristan said. "But these dragons..."
"Use the arena," Eddard suggested, clapping his hands. "Drive five hundred sheep in here every week. The dragons will stay where the food is. They won't hunt citizens if they're full."
Barristan looked at the two massive predators tearing into the mutton. "And the Yhazzan Pyramid?"
Eddard shrugged, a cold smile on his face. "Count them as unlucky."
[Target Bonded: Viserion (Loyalty: High).]
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