Trembling all over, with a hint of hope hidden in his nervousness, Petyr's heart was practically leaping into his throat. How many years had it been since he last felt this way?
Reason told him that his concern for the Queen's safety was because she was his only hope of returning to Westeros. But a voice in his subconscious whispered that it was more than that.
Twenty full years had passed since he lost the duel for Catelyn Tully against Brandon Stark and was cast out by House Tully. He believed he had long since become hard-hearted, no longer truly fearful for anyone. But Daenerys possessed a magic that could turn the impossible into the possible.
Littlefinger instinctively stood on tiptoe, eyes wide, straining with all his might just to see whether the Queen was on the back of that Black Dragon.
The Black Dragon had grown much larger compared to three and a half months ago. Petyr could barely confirm if it was indeed the Queen's Drogon. At that moment, it flew a hundred meters away from the terrace, raising its head with elegance, flicking its tail, and tilting its body as it began to circle the top of the pyramid.
The sky was clear and bright, not a single cloud in sight, and on the dark back of the Black Dragon, a white, scarf-like shimmer glinted under the sunlight. It was the silver hair of a Targaryen.
...
The appearance of the Black Dragon quickly drew the attention of all the Queen's followers in the city and the pyramid. Five or six core figures of Meereen's new ruling council soon gathered on the terrace. Under their ecstatic gaze, Drogon circled once, then again, announcing his return to the entire city, before beating his wings against the wind and landing lightly on the terrace's edge in a manner completely unsuited to his size. He lowered his head and obediently lay down. Then the familiar, slender figure everyone knew so well stepped onto the stone paving of the terrace, using the "steps" the Black Dragon had deliberately created with his wing roots and flank.
Daenerys seemed incapable of tanning. The sunlight made her skin glow, illuminating her face with indescribable beauty. The fatigue from her long journey could not conceal her radiance. After gazing at her for a moment, Petyr swallowed all his complaints and doubts.
The Queen was indeed beginning to accept and respect him, but she was still far from liking or trusting him. He was merely a counselor and senior advisor, and he must know his place.
"Welcome back, Your Grace. All of Meereen has been eagerly awaiting you."
---
A moment later, in a small hall on the upper level of the pyramid, Daenerys attended a council meeting she had missed dozens of times.
To be precise, it was an expanded council. Around the small round table, one familiar figure was missing, while several unfamiliar faces had appeared.
"Where is Daario?" Daenerys looked around and asked instinctively.
Petyr frowned. This was a meeting of great significance, and the Queen began by asking about her lover. It was utterly awkward. Despite his displeasure, he answered truthfully. "I sent him east of the city to protect our trade route with the Lhazareen, to ensure your people are fed and clothed."
"I hope he is capable." I hope this is not a dangerous task, Daenerys thought. She also vaguely sensed her words and actions were inappropriate, so she quickly changed the subject. "And who are these new friends..."
"They are Ironborn warriors who sailed from the Iron Islands, a thousand miles away, to welcome your return to Westeros," Petyr said. Like most people from the Seven Kingdoms, he disliked these pirates, but that did not change the fact that they had rendered great service in the war. "In the defense of Meereen last month, they launched a surprise attack on the Yunkai fleet in Slaver's Bay and struck the enemy's flank after landing, greatly reducing the pressure on the Unsullied attacking from the front. Furthermore, the smoked ham, salted pork, and bacon, as well as some grain, brought by the merchant ships in their fleet, slightly eased the hunger of your people in Meereen."
"We bought them on our way from Westeros," the burly representative of the Iron Fleet said with a proud expression, emphasizing the method of transaction. "Paid with the iron price."
Iron price? That meant they stole it. Daenerys, who had already learned from Littlefinger the customs of Westeros, shook her head inwardly. But she also understood that as a beneficiary, she had no standing to quibble.
If Petyr's description had given Daenerys an initial favorability of minus ten toward these Ironborn, then the man's rude behavior and the way he stared at her reduced it by another ten. However, this Iron Fleet was the first organized force from Westeros to pledge allegiance to her. That fact alone instantly added fifty points. Although her title had long included "Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men," even Daenerys herself knew this was merely self-consolation. In Westeros, hardly anyone truly expected her return.
The appearance of the Ironborn filled this void and greatly strengthened Daenerys's confidence in the future.
...
"My lord, may I ask your name?" Daenerys asked softly, smiling as warmly as she could.
"I am no lord. Your Grace may call me 'Barber' Nute. When I was young, I was excellent at throwing axes. I could even throw an axe to shave heads and beards, so people gave me this nickname," the sailor replied, then stood up angrily and pointed at another man beside him. "Furthermore, I must expose this demon to you at once! It was he who whispered nonsense into Captain Victarion's ear, causing the Iron Fleet to lose its leader!"
Another sailor stood up as well, angrily claiming that the wizard beside him should not be present at the meeting, but tied to a stone and thrown into Slaver's Bay as a sacrifice to the Drowned God.
"I told Lord Greyjoy he did not need to blow the horn himself, but he ultimately chose to take the risk. He was a warrior, and he paid the price for his bravery."
The man accused of being a demon defended himself in loud and clear Westerosi Common Tongue. Daenerys had already noticed him. She had traveled half of Essos, yet had never seen such a man. He was a head taller than Daario, his waist more than three times as wide, his belly so swollen it could contain her curled up, and his face was covered in tangled bone-white whiskers, like the mane of an albino lion.
His skin was black, not the pine-brown of the Summer Islanders, not the reddish-brown of a Dothraki khal, but pure black. Blacker than coal, blacker than dragonglass, blacker than a raven's wing. He looked burned, Daenerys thought. The red tattoos covering his cheeks and forehead resembled blazing flames, and his fresh red robes clearly indicated his identity: a follower of the Lord of Light.
"Sophistry! You must have used sorcery to control Captain Victarion's mind, which is why he did such a foolish thing, almost seeking death!"
"Friends," Petyr coughed, interrupting the quarrel among the newcomers with displeasure. "I do not quite understand the details of your conflict, but I must kindly remind everyone that this is the Queen's council chamber, and this is your first time meeting her."
This immediately silenced them. The two Ironborn who had stood glared at the Red Priest with fire in their eyes, then sat down sullenly. The priest, however, remained seated as if the two men did not exist, watching Daenerys with eyes full only of interest.
Daenerys was well aware of the attraction her beauty held for men, but the Red Priest's gaze contained no lust. Instead, it was full of fanaticism and joy, as though he were looking at a rare treasure. It made her slightly uncomfortable, yet for some reason, the sleeping Dragon within her remained silent. She could not bring herself to be angry.
The Queen shifted slightly in her chair and asked, "Those two are members of the Iron Fleet, so... Priest, why are you here, and why are you in conflict with them?"
"I am Moqorro, as you can see, from the Red Temple in Volantis, a faithful servant of the Lord of Light. I was sent by High Priest Bennero to provide guidance and aid to you, the Prophet." The black-skinned giant puffed out his chest, his face solemn. "The Long Night is dark and full of terrors. An evil eye watches you, unaware, and the servants of the unspeakable Other are plotting to overthrow you. You are in danger. And in the west of Essos, the land where you were born, an Iron Chair destined to be yours awaits your royal return. A final war that only you can win awaits your presence. In the most perilous far North, your most powerful follower, one of the three heads of the Dragon, is bearing the burden that should be yours, holding the line that protects us all, and desperately needs your support. You have little time left. You must seize every moment and get to where you belong as soon as possible."
After landing, Bennero had displayed many unusual and remarkable qualities, and he represented the faith of the Red God, which had strong influence in many Free Cities. This was why Petyr allowed him to be among the first to meet the Queen. But if he had known that his purpose in meeting Daenerys was to spout such fearmongering, charlatan rhetoric, he would have ordered the Unsullied to bar him from the pyramid long ago.
But it was too late to reprimand him on the spot. The Queen's Hand could only frown, hoping that the young woman he served would not be so easily fooled.
"Thank you for your warning and advice." Daenerys's response pleased Littlefinger greatly. She showed great composure, her expression unchanged, offering only a polite nod before turning to the two sailors beside her. "Lord Nute, and your companion, I will not hide my joy and gratitude at seeing you travel so far to help. Can you explain who this Captain Victarion you mentioned is, and what exactly happened between you?"
...
The two Ironborn sailors exchanged glances, and finally "Barber" Nute spoke. "To answer Your Grace, two years ago, Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands who rose up against the Baratheon usurpers, died unexpectedly. Under the will of the Drowned God, we reconvened the ancient Kingsmoot to choose a new leader. Ultimately, Euron Greyjoy won the support of the Ironborn and reclaimed the Seastone Chair."
"King Euron despises the usurpers and their brothers' debauched or cruel rule, and has always longed for the peace and stability of the Seven Kingdoms during the Targaryen dynasty. So, as soon as he heard news of you in Slaver's Bay, he dispatched his brother, the supreme captain of the Iron Fleet, Victarion Greyjoy, to lead us here to welcome Your Grace back," the other sailor added. "The Ironborn are doing everything possible to wear down the strength of Stannis and the false Aegon, the two false kings and their supporters, and we have secretly prepared everything, waiting only for your return to Westeros to raise an army for you, to reclaim the Iron Throne and avenge the usurpation and the destruction of our family."
"Touching loyalty, but wait a moment." Who was Littlefinger? Naturally, he easily found the flaw in their words. "Euron ascended through the Kingsmoot, so is he now the King of the Iron Islands?"
The two Ironborn exchanged awkward looks, then reluctantly admitted this point.
"Oh, that is troublesome. May I ask, what does this King of the Iron Islands want by sending his fleet to show goodwill to Your Grace? He likely cares little for gold and silver. Does he want the status of an independent kingdom for the Iron Islands? No one who sits the Iron Throne would agree to this, or they would bear the eternal infamy of splitting the Seven Kingdoms." Petyr's gaze was sharp as he pressed them. "Or is his self-proclaimed title merely convenient for rebellion, and when the Queen returns to rule the Seven Kingdoms, he will set aside his crown and submit?"
"This... King Euron did not explain in detail when we set out, we dare not answer on his behalf," Nute replied, sweating profusely. "But is there not a way to resolve this? King Euron is in his prime and unmarried. If Your Grace were willing to marry the King of the Iron Islands, then there would be no need to consider whether Westeros will split."
Petyr looked at Daenerys with a half-smile. "Then everything is clear. The Ironborn are not supporting Your Grace because they long for the Targaryen dynasty. What they want is the three Dragons, the Iron Throne, and you yourself. The Queen's husband will naturally be the King of Westeros."
Daenerys nodded. She was no longer the naive girl who had been sold to Drogo by Magister Illyrio years ago. She naturally understood there was no giving in this world without expecting something in return. Although this Euron, whom she had never met, had a large appetite, he had at least actively shown goodwill. As for the price, that could always be negotiated.
"Then may I ask, where is this Lord Victarion Greyjoy now? Was he injured in battle and recovering in the city?"
After a few seconds of silence in the room, the black-skinned Red Priest answered.
"He is dead, killed by the Dragonflame of one of your three Dragons, slain in a foolish attempt to tame a Dragon."
(To be continued.)
***
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