Considering the volatile history between the Targaryens and the Baratheons, and Stannis's notoriously rigid, pathologically legalistic mind, Eddard's original plan had been simple: send Daenerys back to Westeros with her three dragons and a small, elite guard of Unsullied. He had intended to keep her in the East until the spring, after the dead were broken, ensuring she wouldn't trigger a civil war while the Wall was still under siege.
But the absolute, fiery loyalty of her followers had shattered that neat calculation.
She would not abandon them, and they would not let her cross the salt-water alone. Standing on the sun-drenched terrace of the Great Pyramid, Eddard looked at the eager, stubborn faces of her commanders and realized he would have to adjust the board. He nodded in silent agreement to each of them, finding a comfortable seat to watch how the young Queen would distribute her power.
"Ser Barristan," Daenerys said, her purple eyes fixed on the white-haired Kingsguard. "Of all my subjects, you are the most steady, the most respected. I need you to stay. I appoint you Hand of the Queen and Regent of Meereen. You will govern this city and oversee the reconstruction of Astapor."
Ser Barristan's aged face fell. He tried to protest, he was a knight of the white cloak, not a politician but the pleading, regal intensity in her gaze silenced him. He knelt on one knee, his armor clanking against the marble. "I accept, My Queen."
"Aggo, Marselen, Symon, and Molono," she continued, her voice gaining strength. "You will stay to assist the Hand."
She was leaving her core strength behind: the Dothraki khalasar under Aggo, the Mother's Men under Marselen, the Free Brotherhood under Symon Stripeback, and the newly reorganized Strong Shield Army under the former scribe, Molono Yos Dob. It was a massive defensive force, more than enough to hold the newly renamed "Free Bay" against any Yunkish counter-offensive.
"As for the Windblown, the Second Sons, and the Stormcrows," Dany said, turning to the mercenary captains. "Your contracts are extended. You will accompany me as my vanguard until we reach Pentos."
The decision was a masterstroke of economic pragmatism. Keeping three mercenary companies on the payroll while Meereen was rebuilding would have emptied her treasury within a month. By taking them with her, she could use them to secure her passage through the Stepstones and then formally dismiss them once they reached the free city.
The Ragged Prince of the Windblown smiled, his silver hair catching the light. He knew what this meant: his dream of reclaiming Pentos was finally within reach. Ben Plumm of the Second Sons quickly nodded in agreement; he had already aligned his company with the Windblown's ambitions.
Daario Naharis of the Stormcrows knelt, his blue beard trimmed and his eyes burning with devotion. "I will follow you to the end of the world, My Queen. To the freezing Wall of the North and back to the summer of the East."
Dany didn't acknowledge his romantic overture, but she gave a shallow nod of acceptance. "And Grey Worm. You and the Unsullied will cross the Narrow Sea with me. We sail for my birthplace."
The Unsullied commander struck his armored chest. "We follow you to the death, Mhysa."
Eddard watched the distribution of forces and silently approved. Taking the disciplined Unsullied was a sound tactical choice. The Dothraki, on the other hand, were a nomadic horde of raiders who would have turned every Westerosi lord against her the moment their horses touched the shore. Leaving them in Essos to guard her new empire was the only way to preserve the peace.
After the council was dismissed, only Eddard and the Queen remained in the spacious tent.
"Lord Eddard," Daenerys said, her voice dropping into a quiet, vulnerable register. "In Westeros... do I truly have no family left?"
The naive girl who had been traded like a horse to Khal Drogo had grown, but she was still a child who hungered for a home. Her brother Viserys had been her only link to her past, and he had died in a crown of molten gold.
Eddard looked at her, the heat of his heavy silver-and-gold plate armor making him uncomfortable in the warm tent. He decided it was time to reveal the final piece of the puzzle.
"Daenerys," Eddard asked calmly, "do you know the story of the Tourney at Harrenhal? The False Spring?"
A flicker of panic touched her eyes. "I do. Ser Barristan told me of my brother Rhaegar. He placed the crown of winter roses on Lyanna Stark's lap."
"It wasn't an imprisonment, Dany," Eddard said softly. "It was a marriage. And before they died, Rhaegar and Lyanna left behind a son. His name is Jon Snow. He is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."
Dany's breath hitched, her purple eyes widening in absolute shock. A blood relative. A brother's son, alive and guarding the Wall. The loneliness that had defined her life seemed to evaporate in a single heartbeat.
Before Eddard could react, she ran to him like a joyful fawn, planting a quick, platonic kiss of profound gratitude on his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes wet, before running out of the tent to find her dragons.
Eddard wiped his cheek, a wry smile touching his lips. He walked out into the sunlight, preparing to inspect the fleet.
The Westerlands fleet was loaded with the spoils of Yunkai. Daenerys had been incredibly generous, granting seventy percent of the slave masters' gold, silver, and silks to Eddard to pay his men and buy Northern grain. The giants worked alongside the Free Folk, their deep laughter carrying over the docks as they loaded the massive cogs.
Viserion circled overhead, his silver-white wings casting massive shadows across the harbor. The dragon was growing at an exponential rate.
With Salladhor Saan leading the way on the Valyrian, the combined fleet of nearly two hundred ships weighed anchor, setting a course directly east across the Narrow Sea toward Pentos.
King's Landing. The Red Keep.
Stannis Baratheon threw the letter from the Wall onto the council table. "Read it."
Davos Seaworth, the Hand of the King, picked up the parchment, his eyes scanning the urgent warnings of Jon Snow regarding the Others and the Horn of Winter. His face turned grave as he handed the letter to the new Master of Coin.
Mace Tyrell, the "Lord Puff Fish," squinted at the lines, his chins wobbling.
Stannis's uncle, Eldon Estermont, who had previously been sweating over the empty treasury as Master of Coin, sat in his new seat as Master of Whispers with a beaming smile. He had gladly dumped the bankrupt ledgers onto the Tyrells' deep pockets. Highgarden was rich, and if Stannis wanted to fight a war, the "Puff Fish" would have to pay for it.
"Others?" Mace Tyrell mumbled, his voice full of a southern lord's skepticism. "Dead men walking? Is this a Northern joke?"
"The cold winds are rising, Lord Tyrell," Melisandre said from the shadows, her red robes seeming to pulse in the warmth of the newly installed iron stoves. "Do do not doubt the fire of R'hllor, and do do not doubt the shadow that is coming. We have seen it in the flames."
Stannis nodded in grim agreement.
"What is there to discuss?" Monford Velaryon, the Master of Ships, said, tossing the letter aside. "The fleet is ready. We've broken the krakens at Pyke, and the sailors are eager for another fight. We send the prisoners and the steel to the Wall."
"But why should we provide the coin for free?" Axell Florent grumbled. "The North has declared independence. If the Starks want our help, they should kneel."
"I believe the threat is real," Stannis said, his voice a low, heavy iron bar that silenced the room. His grey-blue eyes swept over his council. "I will not let the realm burn while we bicker over taxes. Lord Tyrell, you will raise the provisions. We prepare for the War for the Dawn."
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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