Cold rain fell from a leaden sky, a relentless, rhythmic sigh against the bronze and brick of the city. Dragons do not love the rain, a fact Eddard experienced firsthand on this dim morning. Through the mental link of the [Animal Friend] bond, he felt the irritation of the water on silver-white scales.
Golden wings stirred up a localized gale, and the raindrops that touched Viserion's hide instantly hissed into wisps of white mist. The massive dragon circled Daznak's Pit before landing heavily in the red sand. Eddard opened his own eyes, detaching his consciousness from the beast.
Even after several successful "mergings," Viserion remained skittish about the invasion of his mind. The dragon stood dazed for a moment before pouncing on a huddled group of sheep, his injuries from the pit fight now mostly faded into scarred, cream-colored hide. Hunger was his only remaining master.
"Your Majesty, you're back?" Karas Snow offered a chalice of golden Arbor wine. "Ser Barristan requests your presence in the Audience Chamber. The Meereen Ruling Council is convening."
"So soon?" Eddard took a sip of the wine, the warmth spreading through his chest. "Then let us go. Viserion is fed; he won't go looking for snacks in the city streets for a few hours."
The Audience Chamber had been stripped of its monarchical vanity. Following the arrest of Hizdahr zo Loraq, Ser Barristan had ordered the King's ornate dragon-thrones hauled into the storerooms. In their place sat a massive, circular table made of dark cedar. Barristan, though nominated as Hand, refused to sit above the others in the Queen's absence.
When Eddard arrived, the room was a tapestry of Meereen's splintered power.
Admiral Groleo and the "Lion" of the Brazen Beasts stood to greet him. Beside them sat a scowling Jorah Mormont, leader of the Strong Shield Army, and the silent, golden-eyed Missandei. Grey Worm represented the Unsullied, flanked by three stoic sergeants in spiked bronze helmets.
The mercenaries were also present: Jokin the archer and a grim, scarred axe-man known as the "Widower," representing the five hundred Stormcrows left behind after Daario Naharis was taken as a hostage. Romo, a bow-legged Dothraki, sat for the remnants of the Queen's khalasar.
Most surprising was the presence of the pit fighters: "Grull the Giant", still sporting a massive bruise from Eddard's slap - "Belakowo the Bonebreaker," and "The Spotted Cat." They sat like caged tigers, their eyes darting between the Westerosi King and the silver-clad Knight.
Finally, Strong Belwas shuffled in. The eunuch was a ghost of his former self, his skin sallow and his massive belly hanging in loose folds, yet the "Pale Mare" of the poison had not claimed him.
"Whitebeard," Belwas wheezed, sitting heavily. "Where is the liver? Belwas is thin. Someone must die for making Belwas thin."
Barristan ignored the demand for meat. "This morning, Prince Quentyn of Dorne left the city."
"The over-eager suitor?" Scarback Simon, commander of the Dragon Mother's Servants, chuckled. "A fool."
Eddard caught Barristan's eye. Two nights ago, he had suggested that Quentyn and the Windblown mercenaries return to the Yunkish camps to act as a "Trojan Horse" to rescue the hostages. Barristan had agreed but kept the plan a secret from the council to prevent the inevitable leaks to the Harpy's spies.
"The hostages remain our greatest concern," Barristan said. "Jhoggo, Admiral Groleo's replacement, and Daario. I have sent the Green Grace to the Yunkish camp to negotiate a ransom."
"The Yunkai'i don't want gold," the Widower spat. "They want the Queen dead and the slave-collars back on every neck. The Green Grace will bring back nothing but flowery excuses."
"Ser, I've told you," Eddard interrupted, tapping his fingers on the cedar table. "There is only one currency that slave-masters respect. Blood and fire."
The chamber fell into a heavy silence.
"Lord Eddard," the Lion asked from behind his bronze mask. "If we march, will your fleet support the city?"
"My fleet holds the harbor," Eddard said, standing up. "I can spare two thousand of my 'Winter Guards' to bolster your line. They are veterans of the Blackwater and the Westerlands. They do not break, and they do not fear the dark."
"And the dragons?" Jokin asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"Viserion is under my guidance," Eddard stated plainly. "He will fly. He will burn the Yunkish siege engines and scatter their mercenaries. The masters can bribe men, but they cannot bribe the sun's fire."
The announcement sent a ripple of frantic whispers through the room. Only Jorah Mormont remained silent, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles were white.
"What of Rhaegal?" someone asked.
"Rhaegal is wild," Eddard admitted. "He may join the fray, or he may decide to hunt the horses of your own Dothraki. Without a rider, he is a force of nature, not a soldier. We plan for the worst and hope for the best."
The meeting adjourned an hour later after Barristan presented the tactical maps of the Yunkish encirclement. Eddard followed the Hand onto the terrace of the Great Pyramid.
The rain had stopped, leaving the city slick and shimmering. In the distance, Rhaegal was perched atop the Hazkar Pyramid, his green-and-bronze scales a stark contrast to the black soot of the fires he had set.
"Can you not stop him, Eddard?" Barristan asked, looking at the charred ruin of the Hazkar seat.
"I can," Eddard replied, accepting a cup of wine from a servant. "But the Hazkars sent a fleet to block my passage. They are slavers who pray for the Harpy to return. Rhaegal's hunger is merely justice in a different form."
Eddard leaned against the parapet. "Fear is a tool of governance, Ser Barristan. Daenerys tried benevolence. She married a snake and locked up her children. She got poisoned locusts for her trouble."
Barristan's smile was bitter. "She sought peace."
"She sought a lie," Eddard corrected. "Your enemy isn't a group of men in masks. It is the system of Slaver's Bay, a thousand years of bone and coin. You cannot negotiate with a plague. You either succumb to it, or you burn the infected house down."
"The Queen wishes to return to Westeros," Barristan said defensively.
"Then she must leave a desert behind her, or she will find the Harpy following her across the sea," Eddard said.
A servant hurried onto the terrace. "My Lord Hand, Lord Eddard. The Green Grace has returned from the Yunkish camp."
Eddard drained his glass. "Let us see what the 'Wise Masters' have to say for themselves."
[Event: The Battle of the Mander (Meereenese Front) initiated.]
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