"Daenerys."
Eddard turned to the young Queen, his voice flat and heavy as he cut through the desperate cries in the tent. "When you spared Yunkai the first time, you showed them the mercy of a girl. They repaid your kindness by hiring every sellsword company from Qarth to Volantis to choke Meereen. You cannot buy the peace of Slaver's Bay with soft words."
The moment the words left his mouth, the Wise Masters of Yunkai prostrated themselves, their gold-tasseled, heavy silk tokars dragging in the dirt.
"We were wrong!" Mogghaz zo Zorlor wailed, his forehead pressed against the plush carpet. "We beg the Mother of Dragons to forgive our ignorance! We will leave Yunkai, we will leave Slaver's Bay entirely and never return!"
"The people of Yunkai do not want war!" another master sobbed. "We look forward to the Queen's peace! Please, Mhysa, grant us mercy!"
The frantic pleas echoed off the black canvas walls, filling the pavilion with a pathetic, desperate chorus. Daenerys looked down at them, her violet eyes clouded with a deep, lingering conflict. She was still the girl who hated the sight of blood, and if these men were truly repentant, she wanted to believe they could be spared.
Eddard saw her hesitation and sighed. He knew that a slaver's nature does not change with a few tears.
"I will agree to let these people leave Slaver's Bay alive," Eddard said, his voice cutting through the groveling. "But they leave empty-handed. Every coin of gold, every treasure, and every slave stays in Yunkai. You may take only the clothes on your backs and enough silver to buy bread for the journey."
The groveling stopped instantly. The Wise Masters looked up, their tears freezing on their cheeks as they processed the terms. To a Ghiscari noble, a life without wealth and slaves was no life at all.
"This… this is plunder!" Mogghaz zo Zorlor gasped, crawling two steps toward the Queen. "We beg the merciful Queen! Let us depart with the wealth of our ancestors! Settle us with our gold, and we will never trouble you again!"
"They are treating you like a child, my Queen," Daario Naharis chuckled from the shadows. He drew his Myrish stiletto, his thumb tracing the gold-sculpted hilt of the naked woman. "Say the word, and I will paint this carpet with their blood before the sun sets."
"No," Daenerys said, her voice suddenly hardening. She looked at Eddard, then at the cowering masters, and realized the truth of his transactional math. Her mercy had only ever bought her poisoned locusts. "You chose war when you hired the sellswords, Masters. Now, I will give you war."
Outside the tent, Viserion let out a terrifying, earth-shaking roar, as if sealing her decree with fire.
Castle Black.
The wind howled along the frozen battlements of the Wall, kicking up blinding flurries of snow that swirled like white serpents in the dark.
Clink. Clang. Clink. Clang.
The sharp, clear ring of practice steel echoed over the courtyard, cutting through the freezing draft. Jaime Lannister, his long golden hair dusted with frost, moved with a fluid, predatory grace. He wore the heavy black wool of the Night's Watch, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he lunged. His blade was a silver-grey blur in the winter light.
Jon Snow raised his shield, catching the impact of the sword with a heavy, wooden thud. He used the shield to block Jaime's vision, subtly thrusting Longclaw out from the side in a quick, defensive counter-strike.
Jaime's green eyes flashed with a brief, mocking amusement. His waist twisted with a flexibility that defied the heavy wool, dodging the thrust by inches. He gripped his hilt with both hands, leaned his shoulder into Jon's shield, and slammed his full weight forward.
Jon lost his footing on the slick ice, stumbling backward. Before he could recover, the blunted edge of Jaime's practice sword was resting firmly against his throat.
"That's two, Lord Commander," Jaime grinned, his breath forming a thick cloud of white steam. "You promised me that if I beat you three times, you would transfer my father back to Castle Black for steward duties."
Within the Night's Watch, the Rangers were the ones who bled and died on the ice. When Jaime had learned that Tywin Lannister had been assigned to the active patrols at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, he had set out to buy his father a safer post.
The relationship between the Lannister men had always been a cold, transactional thing, but here on the Wall, stripped of Casterly Rock and the family name, they had finally found a fragile peace. Tyrion held the West, and Jaime was content with that. Without the burden of inheritance, he only had to worry about the steel in his hand and the safety of his father.
"I keep my word, Lannister," Jon said, pushing the practice blade away. "As long as you keep yours and stop starting brawls in the yard."
Jaime snorted. "I don't start them, Snow. It's those common recruits. They can't stand a noble 'Kingslayer' in their midst, so they call me 'the Gilded Pup' and provoke me. I only defend my honor."
"By knocking them unconscious and leaving them pantsless in the snow?" Jon glared at him. "Maester Aemon has spent half his week treating frostbitten rear ends because of your 'honor.' Half the garrison wants to slit your throat while you sleep."
"Let them try," Jaime said indifferently, running a hand through his hair. "I have three hundred Casterly Rock guards wearing the black with me. We aren't easily butchered."
Jon sighed. Managing the Lannister contingent was a constant headache, but he could not deny Jaime's sheer martial brilliance. He was a force of nature on the yard, and the brothers were beginning to respect the steel in his arm, if not his name.
"Just keep the peace, Jaime," Jon said, walking toward the lift cages.
As they reached the platform, the heavy iron cage descended from the fog above, its chains rattling violently against the ice. Dolorous Edd scrambled out of the iron box, his face pale and his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Lord Commander!" Edd panted. "There's... there's something outside the gate."
"Wights?" Jon asked, his hand instinctively dropping to Longclaw.
"They're chasing two riders," Edd wheezed, wiping frost from his eyes. "They're almost at the tunnel."
"Jaime, get your men," Jon commanded. "Grab the dragonglass arrows and meet me at the gate."
"I'm on it," Jaime said, a familiar, bloodthirsty light entering his green eyes. He was already close to his hundredth wight-kill; with a little more luck, he would earn his father's discharge.
"Lord Commander, wait," Edd called out, his voice shaking. "You don't understand. One of the riders... he's on a giant elk. And the other... the other is riding a black wolf. A wolf identical to Ghost, but as black as the night."
Jon Snow froze, his heart stopping in his chest. He looked at Edd, the cold wind of the Wall suddenly feeling like a distant thing. "A black wolf?"
He turned his gaze toward the dark tunnel of the gate, his mind racing through the names of his lost siblings. The shadow of the North was finally returning, and it had brought the ancient magic with it.
[System Notification: Narrative Convergence: The Return of the Direwolf.]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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