Ser Harry Strickland rode at the head of a small party toward the meeting site with Lord Aeos. Accompanying him were the commanders of the two other sellsword companies, a dozen handpicked mercenaries, and, from the Dothraki side, Khal Gorro with three of his bloodriders. Khal Gorro was tall, broad shouldered and a powerful man with a menacing appearance. Although a Dothraki Khalsar consisting of twenty thousand fighters was not the biggest or the most powerful Khalsar, it was still more than enough to give Khal Gorro a reputation of his own.
A middle aged translator rode beside them, tasked with bridging the language barrier with the horse lords.
The meeting spot was near a small hill which was about half an hour's ride from their camp.
When they arrived, precisely on time, the sight that greeted them drew a ripple of surprise through the group. Only three horses stood waiting, bearing Jon, Melisandre, and Grey Worm.
Jon was sitting astride his black stallion a few paces ahead of the others, calm and unhurried.
"Ser Harry Strickland," Jon's voice carried across the quiet space, steady and composed, breaking Harry from his brief moment of disbelief.
"Lord Aeos," Harry replied cautiously, inclining his head.
"You seem unsure that I am who I claim to be," Jon said with a faint, amused chuckle.
Harry gave a small, guarded smile.
"I did not expect you to come with such a small escort," he said, glancing pointedly toward Melisandre and Grey Worm.
Given the situation, that his own camp lay but half an hour away while Lord Aeos was supposedly a full day's march from Meereen, Harry had assumed Aeos would arrive with a formidable retinue, perhaps a hundred men or more.
"Does it matter?" Jon asked lightly.
Harry frowned. Of course it mattered. Every instinct honed through decades of mercenary life screamed that it did. Right here, right now, he held the upper hand.
If he gave the signal, his men, together with the Dothraki riders, could strike. Killing Lord Aeos would end this war before it began.
Destroying Meereen would not guarantee Aeos's death but bringing Lord Aeos's head to the Magisters? That would fetch a far greater reward than any contract ever written.
And for a fleeting moment, Ser Harry Strickland wondered just how much that head might be worth.
"Already planning to kill me?" Jon asked lightly, amusement flickering in his tone.
Harry's expression did not change. His eyes remained calm and unreadable.
"We are mercenaries, sellswords," Harry said evenly. "But even we have some honour, Lord Aeos. We do no such despicable thing."
Everyone scoffed at this. Except for not breaking their contract, Golden Company was implicit in every despicable thing possible.
Before Jon could respond, another voice cut across sharply, laced with impatience.
"We are not here for philosophical talk, are we?" the cavalry commander snapped. "Tell us what it is you wanted to discuss. Why have you called us?"
The Dothraki khal said nothing, merely watched the exchange in silence while the translator murmured quietly in his ear.
Jon chuckled softly.
"Very well," he said. "I have invited you here to ask one simple thing. Withdraw from this campaign. Leave my cities alone."
"And what do you offer in return?" The siege commander chimed in.
Jon's lips curved into a faint smile. Though it was hardly visible in the darkness of the night which was being pierced only by the fleeting moonlight.
"What do I offer?" he repeated, his voice calm, almost playful. "I could offer gold. Or wine. Or the spoils of Meereen's vaults. But instead, I offer you something far more valuable than any of that."
The siege commander leaned forward, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Jon's smile widened slightly. "I offer to spare your lives."
For a moment, there was silence. Then the words sank in.
The siege commander's face flushed in anger. He shot up from his saddle, fury blazing in his eyes.
"Are you mocking us?" he bellowed.
Even Khal Gorro's bloodriders stirred at the outburst, their hands instinctively gripping the hilts of their arakhs, while Jon merely sat, composed and faintly amused.
"Does it look like I'm mocking you?" Jon retorted, his tone sharp but controlled. "I aqm merely stating a fact."
"Accepting my offer would not just save your lives. It will save the lives of every man in your camps. Every single one of them."
"Lord Aeos," Harry spoke before anyone else could, his voice calm but edged with frustration. "I have heard many tales of your brilliance, of your strategic mind and supposed military genius and I assume that most of them were true, but it seems the situation you are in has rattled your head a bit. Perhaps you should seek a remedy for that."
He gave a humorless chuckle.
"You do realize that, if we wished, we could kill you right now? Coming here with only two others. I had not expected such foolishness from you."
"Kill me?" Jon echoed, his tone turning icy. He spread his arms slightly, "then why do you not try?"
For a fleeting moment, Harry almost gave the order. His heart screamed at him to strike. But something, some old soldier's instinct buried deep in his bones, made him hesitate. Perhaps there were hidden men behind the hill, perhaps this was all a trap. He could not be sure, but the feeling was enough to still his hand.
Before he could speak, Khal Gorro muttered something in Dothraki.
"He says," the translator relayed, his voice nervous, "you are quite an arrogant one. The Khal will personally cleave your head if he faces you in a battle."
Jon smiled faintly and responded in flawless Dothraki, "You will get the chance, Khal. You will get the chance."
Khal Gorro's expression hardened, but he said nothing more. His dark eyes stayed fixed on Jon, burning with wordless challenge.
"You have wasted our time, Lord Aeos," Harry said finally, shaking his head in disappointment. "Is there something really important that you want to say or have you called us only for this?"
"I still say," Jon replied. "Accept my offer."
He exchanged a brief glance with the other commanders before tugging on his reins to turn his horse.
They had barely begun to move when Jon's calm voice drifted after them.
"Ten thousand men would not be enough, Ser Harry."
Harry's horse faltered mid step. The other two commanders exchanged puzzled looks.
"You have lost your senses, Lord Aeos," the siege commander spat. "We have thirty five thousand men. Why are you only counting Ser Harry's?"
Jon did not respond. He simply smiled. Slow, deliberate, knowing.
Harry frowned deeply but said nothing. He gave his horse a sharp nudge, muttering under his breath, "Let us go."
The rest followed suit.
"We should have not let them go," Grey Worm mumbled once they were out of the hearing range. He knew that with his Lord Aeos's abilities, their number had been nothing that could have caused them a problem.
"It does not matter, Grey Worm," Jon said. "For anyhow, this is a night of massacre."
Grey Worm did not say anything. He had been assured that all the enemies would be killed today. How? He had no idea. Only three people- he, Lord Aeos and Lady Melisandre had come to fight the battle from Meereen. What was Lord Aeos about to do? Grey Worm did not know.
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