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Chapter 67: A Betrayer's End and Astapor's Fall
🕑 Added 2024-10-12 08:29:33 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note:
Last chapter of our beloved Queen; we return to Robb in the next chapter. I don’t know when I’ll post it since I want to start my next fic, as I mentioned in the previous message. But don’t worry, even if the schedule changes, you’ll still get two chapters per week.
Tyrion Lannister.
Astapor.
I loved entering any conversation with the upper hand; the giddiness I felt at this moment was something I could not help. I knew that the only reason Ser Barristan had not started a scuffle in the villa was that we had performed the bread and salt ceremony. Still, I had no doubt he knew my identity. I had spent a lot of time in King's Landing even before my banishment from the Westerlands, and while my stays back then were temporary, after the banishment, I remained there permanently.
My work with Lady Elyse had me visiting the Red Keep frequently, mainly to give reports to the Small Council and to wait for their decisions. For that reason, I knew that Ser Barristan knew my voice by heart. I had to give the old knight props for the disguise; if I had not known who he was thanks to Robb, there was a possibility I might have found out much later. His hair and beard had grown significantly, and he no longer had the regal quality of the past. He did not look much like a knight of his caliber should.
But even then, the only reason no one knew who he was, was because no one in Essos expected someone like him to act as a squire of a eunuch, besides him not using a sword at all.
I smiled, knowing they couldn't see my face, and took my time observing each of my visitors. Jorah Mormont was a danger to Robb's plans, but he would be disposed of soon enough; just a few words spoken before the future queen, and he would be of no consequence. Then there was Ser Barristan Selmy, someone I had great respect for, even if sometimes he held his oaths more dearly than others. It was not my place to tell, but I would like to think I would have done something to help the last queen from her suffering under her husband. The fat eunuch made me pause; there was not much information about him in the message, but the little Robb said was believable upon seeing him in the flesh for the first time.
He was a huge man, weighing probably fifteen stones, maybe more. I did not doubt for a moment that he could squash me like a bug if he so desired. Against the eunuch and “squire,” I doubted the presence of the Manderly men would save me if push came to shove. Thankfully, there was no need for bloodshed in this meeting, and I hoped to begin ingraining myself with the little queen.
I understood now why Robb decided to marry her; dragons or not, she was a beauty. While too young for me to appreciate fully, she was perfect for someone like Robb Stark. She carried herself with a weight far beyond her years, showing the hardships she had to overcome to reach this place.
She had been hardened by all the hardships she had to suffer during her exile, and thankfully, the late Viserys had not harmed her thanks to her value, something she probably didn't realize. It was something I needed to talk about with her in the future, to take the rose-tinted glasses she had toward her family. While I would not fault her for the sins they committed, some people would do so just out of spite.
Her silver-gold hair almost glimmered, even after being at sea for a moon-long journey, demonstrating why people said Targaryen looks were as deadly as swords. Seeing her made me realize she had been born to rule; there was something about her that made me believe that quite easily.
“May I know who I am speaking with?” Daenerys asked softly, gazing hard at Ser Barristan, who began to fidget upon hearing my voice.
“You may, Lady Daenerys,” I smiled at her, lifting my mask to reveal my identity.
“Tyrion Lannister,” spat Ser Jorah at her side, instantly reaching for his sword.
The exiled princess's face went blank after that declaration, with Strong Belwas inching closer to her in case something happened. Ser Barristan was still shaking off his stupor but quickly regained control to do what he needed. The old knight took his staff and gripped it with enough force that it creaked.
“Indeed,” I nodded, “but I ask you to respect the rules of hospitality. We had given you bread and salt, after all. It would be a shame to bring the wrath of the gods if we were to spill blood in such an important meeting.”
The princess looked at me critically, probably wondering if she should trust me. Good; at least she had a good head on her shoulders, I was after all a member of the family that caused her the most heartache.
She lifted a hand to the rest of her companions. “We will hear what he has to say; after that, we are leaving.”
Giving her a small smile, I pointed at the food on the table. “Please, help yourself, my lady. The servants prepared a feast for you. It would be a shame for it to spoil.”
The Manderly men took their seats beside me, leaving the other chairs for the future queen’s entourage, with enough space to react if someone tried to attack.
Strong Belwas was the first to take his seat, starting to eat almost immediately, causing me to snort; I could already tell he was somewhat of a lackwit.
Taking a moment to compose herself, she shared a look with Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan in disguise, with Ser Barristan giving her a nod.
Before long, the table was filled with silence, a palpable tension hanging in the air, but people began eating, excluding the Manderly men, since Ser Jorah would recognize them easily. I did not want him to run off just yet.
“What are you doing so far from King’s Landing when your family is at war, my lord?” Daenerys asked seriously, taking some lamb for her plate.
Poor thing; my heart went out to her. I could not imagine how hard her life had been in exile. Thankfully, I was in a position to help her.
“My family and I do not see eye to eye, Lady Daenerys,” I replied softly. “You can ask that man over there if you want another opinion,” I pointed at Ser Barristan.
The old knight almost choked on his food, causing me to stifle a snort. Oh, how I loved messing with him in this moment, to see such a renowned knight fidget in his seat.
The queen gazed at him intently, and I could not help but laugh out loud, causing her to look at me quizzically.
“I think you can see she is a worthy queen to follow, Arstan Whitebeard,” I snorted. “You can stop hiding your identity. Believe me, she, along with whom I follow, will make Westeros great again if the gods permit it.”
“Truly? How can you be so sure?” he asked, gazing at me as if he could see right through my eyes to my soul.
I just gave him a firm nod, and it was true. I honestly believed that Daenerys and Robb could unite Westeros once more, just as Aegon Targaryen had during his conquest—perhaps even better than him since they could look at history and avoid his mistakes.
He sighed, looking into Daenerys's eyes. “I ask for forgiveness, Your Grace. I just wished to learn more about your character before I made my decision.”
The queen looked at him seriously. “I already knew you were hiding your identity, Ser. You are far too old to be a squire, and even more telling was your ability to handle a sword.”
Ser Barristan nodded his head proudly at her before bending his knee toward Daenerys. “My name is Barristan Selmy, Your Grace, and I want to offer my sword to you.”
The queen gasped at hearing his name, and I allowed a smile to spread across my face. I was witnessing history; my name would go into the annals of history, and unlike my father, it would show me as a good person, not a monster.
Clapping to show my appreciation but also to steer the moment back on track, I continued, “I know my opinion might not matter much to you, but I can vouch for him, my lady. He had no ulterior motives for hiding who he was; he just wanted to see if you were a sane ruler, not like your father. Westeros is still wounded after his reign.”
Daenerys looked at me sharply before sighing. “I recently heard about the atrocities he committed, and I assure you I do not wish to be like him.”
“Oh, I know,” I said enigmatically, trying to project the image of someone who knew more than the rest. “I can assure you that Ser Barristan will do magnificent work as your Queensguard, even giving his life for yours if that were needed.”
“But what an intriguing group of people follow you—an exiled knight turned spy for the crown, the best sword in Westeros, and the finest fighter the Meereen fighting pits ever created.” I smiled and lifted my goblet of wine in a mock toast.
The reaction was immediate: the eunuch stopped eating almost instantly, Ser Barristan stood up with more speed than someone his age should have, and the queen let out an almost sob before she composed herself, all three of them looking at the frozen knight.
When that happened, my men moved, taking off their masks and advancing toward the frozen knight. They took his arms to hold him in place while Ser Wendel delivered a blow to his face that I could feel reverberate through my body.
“You don’t have any idea how long we’ve wanted to do this, slaver,” Ser Wendel spat on his face. “Not only a slaver but a treasonous cunt to boot.”
Daenerys stood up, tears in her eyes, her body shaking almost uncontrollably. “Tell me the truth, Ser Jorah.”
The kneeling man tried to move, but the Manderly men would not budge. “It’s not what you think it is, Your Grace,” he wept. “I tried to tell you half a hundred times. I saved you from the poison. I warned you about Arstan not being who he claimed. I warned you that Xaro and Pyat Pree were not to be trusted—”
“You only wanted me to trust you and you alone!” Daenerys shouted. “Trust no one but Jorah Mormont. All this time, you wanted me for yourself!”
I kept my silence, looking with morbid amusement at the last moments of Jorah Mormont. He was a danger, and his grace wanted him gone, away from the queen lest he try something untoward to her. I was happy to oblige, to be honest. There was not a single speck of understanding in me toward the bear knight.
“My queen, please forgive me. It’s true, I took the gold from the eunuch. I read and wrote some ciphers, but that’s all I did. You have to believe me.” He was already begging, and I tried to hide my amusement.
"How long did you do that?" she almost snarled at his face.
“For a time,” he said grudgingly. “I swear I stopped, Your Grace.”
The queen was already cleaning her face of the stains from her tears, her expression almost blank in the face of such betrayal. “When did you stop? Was it before my sun-and-stars died? When you offered me running away to Yi Ti or somewhere far to have me for yourself?”
My eyebrows raised at that comment. I had to respect the man for having the balls to try something like that.
“My last report was from Qarth—” he said, his face held down. The poor man couldn’t even look the queen in the eye because I wanted to avoid that situation. I knew they had been close for a long while, and I wanted to keep feelings at bay before they could convince the queen to let him live for whatever feelings she had toward him. Ser Wendel and the rest already had orders for that, just in case it happened, even after all my precautions.
“From Qarth?” she asked, shocked. That had been not long ago; even I could feel the sting of betrayal, and I wasn’t even involved.
“They knew I was with a child because of you. Was that because of your jealousy?” Daenerys asked heatedly.
Before he could respond, I intervened. “Indeed, he was the one who shared that tidbit of information, my lady.”
Daenerys jumped to her feet, and I felt somewhat offended since that meant she had forgotten my presence, but I just smiled genially at her.
“How would you know, Imp? Wasn't your family the one who sent all those assassins after her?” spat Ser Jorah, trying to lift his head to look at her, but my men would not let him.
“My king knows a lot of things,” I replied mysteriously. “You have no idea; I know of all the messages you sent to the Spider. I know the reason why you did it in the first place.”
“Reason? King?” murmured Daenerys.
“Indeed, my lady. The latter will be discussed when we have the time and fewer problematic figures present, I assure you. But as for Ser Jorah's reasons, he wanted a pardon for his crimes, to be allowed to return to Westeros as a free man, and the king was happy to grant it if it meant the last ‘dragon spawn’ was dealt with.” I mimicked the quotes with my hands. “Quite funny, since you planned to return to Westeros either way. I’m afraid our fellow here lacks some common sense.”
The queen's face purpled with rage, and I was grateful that the dragons weren’t here, as I did not want the recently repaired hall to be burned in their fury.
“I want him secured,” she said through gritted teeth. “If you would be so kind to prepare him, my lord?”
“Gladly, my lady,” I smiled at her. “Go on, boys. I know you have waited for this a long time. Just make sure you don’t kill him.”
Ser Wendel smiled toothily. “It will be our pleasure,” and with that, they took him to the back rooms.
“You knew about him!” shouted Daenerys at Ser Barristan. “Why did you not say anything?”
“He was useful while alive, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan replied with a shrug. He had a hint of shame on his face, but it was quickly squashed under pragmatism. “I was always close, just in case anything happened. I would not allow him to put you at risk.”
She was conflicted; I could tell easily, but I needed to have this conversation before she started her crusade against the Good Masters.
“My lady, if you would like somewhere to rest before we continue?” I offered softly knowing that she would not accept.
Daenerys shook her head. “No, let’s get this over with.”
“All right,” I replied. “As my companions told you in the harbor, we have been waiting for you for a long time. I was sent here as a gift to serve as your advisor during your stay in Essos before you return to Westeros.”
“That sounds wonderful and all, my lord. But every gift has a price,” Daenerys said, shaking her head. “Tell me, what do you want from me?”
“Good,” I said. “My king wants to fulfill a pact between both of your families.”
“A pact? What pact are you talking about?” asked Daenerys, showing a confused look.
Ser Barristan’s eyes opened wide. “The North—had they been preparing for this for the last five years?” he asked in shock.
“Indeed, Ser Barristan,” I smiled. “He is probably already being called The King of the North, King Robb Stark, wants to fulfill the pact between the Starks and the Targaryens. He sent me here to help the queen as an advisor, and hopefully a friend, in how to govern a country while he prepares Westeros for her return. He wished for your hand in marriage so that they both can rule.”
Daenerys was silent for a moment as she furrowed her brows. “A pact with the North? What do you know about it, Ser Barristan?”
“It was in a book I read in the Red Keep, Your Grace. The Pact of Ice and Fire was made by Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and House Stark. She sent her son Jacaerys to Winterfell to ask for support from the Starks and a pact was made between them: a princess of Targaryen blood would marry a son of Cregan Stark. This led to Cregan and the famous Hour of the Wolf, but the pact was never fulfilled. While Cregan Stark received coin and honor for his actions, no son of his was wed to the Targaryen line.”
The queen took it all in. “Why should I trust him?”
Before I could speak, Ser Barristan answered, “The Starks are known for their honor, Your Grace. If they make a promise, their words are enough for you to trust them.”
“As Ser Barristan says, Lady Daenerys. His grace promises an equal marriage; in his own words, he does not need a trophy wife. He wants, needs, a wife of equal stature—someone who can push him to be better, as he does the same for her.” I continued, “I know him better than most, and I assure you, he made compelling points as to why this would be the best course of action.”
“What do you know about him, Ser Barristan?” she asked seriously, and I stayed quiet. There wasn’t much I could do to convince her; I was a complete unknown to her, so it was clear I needed to depend on Ser Barristan before I could ingratiate myself in her inner circle. My plan for now was to support her in her quest to liberate Slaver's Bay while also trying to mitigate the mistakes Robb said she would make.
There were many topics in his letter, but if they were true, I could fix a lot before the situation became dire. Losing Astapor to the Butcher King, and the Sons of the Harpy in Meereen—those were common mistakes, and I did not fault her for committing them. But with me here, at least I could make the damage tolerable. We had time, after all. There was no way for Robb to acquire sufficient galleys to move all of the army Lady Daenerys could muster here quickly unless he attacked the Ironborn and took all their ships—something I was not sure he was capable of. I needed to learn what was happening in Westeros fast; I hated being in the dark.
“I don’t know much about him, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan admitted. “I only heard his name in passing while I was on the Small Council. But the smallfolk and the North in general love him. It was said that he was the reason for the prosperity the North has enjoyed in the last half-decade.”
Ser Barristan took a swig of his cup of northern vodka, savoring it in silence while he gathered his thoughts. “As you may have heard, the North was the poorest of the Seven Kingdoms, or at least the kingdom that suffered the most during winter. The motto of House Stark is 'Winter is Coming.' This was because the winter in the North was particularly dreadful. It is the biggest kingdom of all, but its population was on a lower scale for its size. Parents and older brothers were known to go hunting on the worst nights of winter in hopes of procuring food for the vulnerable. If they were successful, they would live to see another day and feed those who needed it most. If they failed, at least they would not become a burden for the young ones, leaving them the scarce food available to survive.”
“That’s horrible,” gasped the exiled princess. “How could the crown allow that to happen?” she asked, thinly veiling her horror.
Ser Barristan sighed. “Your Grace, one thing I learned during my work at King's Landing is that no king cares for the people. The North suffers the most. Even the late King Robert, who was the best friend of the Warden of the North and grew up with him in the Eyrie, did nothing for them.”
“Indeed, my lady,” I interrupted. “The king even sent me as part of a delegation some years ago with the task of finding out why the North stopped buying food from the Reach after they became capable of feeding their people by themselves. The lords of the Reach were unsatisfied with the amount of gold they could bleed out of the North for food. The North had always depended on the Reach during the worst winters. Their lands were not fertile thanks to the weather; snow so high you could die buried in it is common even in the mildest winters.”
“Aye,” Ser Barristan nodded. “All the kingdoms took advantage of them to bleed them dry,” he said shamefully. “But that changed five years ago when Lord Robb Stark suffered an accident on the outskirts of Winterfell.”
“According to the songs, the young lord suffered a wound to the head in mysterious circumstances. The smallfolk found him wandering with a bleeding head through the town. When he fell unconscious, he was sent to the maester to be saved. According to the few spies the Spider had at that time in the North, the young lord’s attitude changed for the better after that incident. That’s not to say he was a bad person before, but you could say he was not someone worth spying on.”
I snorted at that. “I’m sure Lord Varys is regretting now having only so many spies over there.”
Ser Barristan shared my amusement, having no love for the eunuch. “Aye. Like I was saying, Your Grace. After that incident, we started hearing a lot about the young lord. For the next couple of years, he earned the moniker 'The Ghost of the North' for everything he did during his travels. A lad of only two and ten, on a journey through the North, killing all the bandits he could find, saving the smallfolk from their vile clutches. He even ended the house of one of their vassals; the Boltons were one of the strongest houses in the North, feared even in other kingdoms. They were known for flaying their enemies in the past before it was prohibited by the Starks after a failed rebellion. It is said that after Lord Robb killed the last lord and heir, they found some supposed skins of Starks of old in their dungeons.”
“A nasty history, that of that house,” I added seriously. “The last Lord Bolton was known as the Leech Lord, a cold and calculating man who followed Eddard Stark during the rebellion against your family, Lady Daenerys. He also battled against the Ironborn less than a decade ago.”
“He sounds... adequate,” sniffed the princess, and I did not bother to hide my snort.
“That is not all,” I laughed. “He entered the Dreadfort in the night, accompanied only by six or seven men-at-arms, all youths even then. The heirs of Houses Umber and Karstark, along with Theon Greyjoy, the ward of Winterfell, Jon Snow, his bastard brother, and Jory Cassel, the nephew of the master at arms of the castle. If I remember correctly. The oldest one was barely twenty-name days old. They entered one of the most feared castles in all of Westeros and took the lord and heir outside without anyone noticing.”
The princess’s eyebrows rose high at hearing that. After all, it was something rarely heard in history. The biggest example of that was Ser Barristan saving the Mad King from his capture. It was no easy feat, and to hear of a lad without a hair on his chest capable of doing what the best sword of Westeros was capable of was hard to believe.
“I won’t bore you with too many details, my lady. I’m sure we will get to know each other during our stay in Slaver’s Bay. If you want, you can keep grilling Ser Barristan for information about him. We will support you until you’ve decided on King's Robb’s offer,” I said with a calm smile. “For now, I think it’s better to talk about your plan to obtain the Unsullied.”
“Oh? You expect me to believe you know something I just decided and haven’t told anyone in my retinue?” she asked confusion and not a little heat in her voice.
“Yes, my lady,” I smirked. “One of the advantages of working with someone like his grace.”
“Go on, tell me, Ser Tyrion. What have I planned?” she asked curiously, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
“To offer your biggest dragon as payment for all of the Unsullied available,” I said coyly. “Then ordering all of them to butcher all the Good Masters present. A marvelous plan, I admit. I’m filled with wonder at what you’ll become when you are older.”
The princess's eyes got progressively bigger, her heartache over the betrayal by her trusted knight forgotten by the surprise of my knowledge, just as I planned.
“How?” she asked, arching her eyebrows.
Ser Barristan stood up at the beginning of my sentence but calmed down after hearing what she planned to do to regain her dragons.
“Like I said, my lady. Let me help you during your stay in Slaver’s Bay, and you will find out all of the advantages of this offer from his grace,” I said graciously. “I’m sure we will all look back on this moment in the future and be glad we worked together.”
The princess was silent for a moment, considering the offer. I could see she was enthusiastic and hopeful about it. After all, one house was waiting for her return, offering help in reclaiming the throne, and knowing the history of her family, I was sure that meant a lot to her.
“All right, Lord Tyrion. I will allow you to stay with us,” she said graciously. “And I wish to hear more about your king during our stay.”
“Easily done, my lady,” I smiled, extending my hand for her to shake. “Now, before you retire to rest, what do you want to do with the betrayer?”
Her face went blank. “Do as you wish, my lord.”
Next Day
“I want them all,” Daenerys said firmly in the Old Tongue. “How many Unsullied are ready?”
“This whore has no gold to buy more than one of thousands, and she wants all the nine and thousand available?” the Good Master said with a contemptuous smile.
Daenerys waited for the words to be translated, but I could see the tightening of her eyes at the insult. These Good Masters were digging their graves without a care in the world. It was amusing, to be honest; they acted all high and mighty when the reason for their power was so easily snatched.
“The Good Master says that the princess only has enough to buy one thousand Unsullied,” the translator said boredly, an old man with graying hair standing by the five brokers.
“What if we add a dragon to the offer?” she said, acting as if she reached a difficult decision.
Intakes of breath were heard all around us, and I gladly played my part alongside Ser Barristan and the rest of the Manderly men. Not all of us were present, but Ser Wendel along with a unit were there for our protection. While according to Robb this would work, I didn’t want to leave it to chance for any of us to be injured.
The Manderly men were giddy since last night, finally able to serve the long-needed justice against Ser Jorah Mormont, who if the queen asked, was already dead. In truth, the rest of the units along with their commanders were taking turns with him in a secret dungeon in the manse.
The Good Masters were shocked by the offer, and it was easy to see the greed in their eyes. I couldn’t fault them; having a dragon at their beck and call was something they would not even dream of, and right now it was within their grasp.
“Done,” they agreed in their thick Valyrian.
With their agreement, the queen ordered the blood riders to bring Drogon to the Good Masters, and everyone held their breath.
“The whip, to the queen,” one of them said while handing the object, something that would be the final action in their disgusting lives.
Daenerys smiled, sweetly at first, but then it turned bloodthirsty. “It is done,” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “You, Unsullied, belong to me!”
Drogon started fussing and pulling at the rope held by the Good Master, who tried to control the magnificent beast to no avail.
“A dragon is not a slave,” she said firmly, lashing down as hard as she could toward the face of the slaver.
Everyone was in shock at the scene, and the dragon took the opportunity to free himself from the rope around his neck. He spread his wings and roared for all to hear.
“Drogon!” she cried to the sky. “Dracarys…”
And hell broke loose in the red city.
